I know I promised another blog in no time, but I’m late, as always. Pole Sana. (I’m very sorry). It seems almost silly that I’m writing another looooooooooong blog just before coming home, but hopefully if I can explain a few things now it’ll be easier to talk once we’re all together (it’s not long now!!!). Basically, I want to give a brief run down of what’s happened in the past three months or so.

Girls' Conference

I have to start by going all the way back to June. In June the Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) in the Mbeya Region (my neighbors, basically) put on a Girls' Empowerment Conference. I just happened to be visiting Mbeya the weekend they started planning so I finagled my girls a spot at the conference as well. I felt a bit bad because it was not always possible for me to be at all the planning sessions, but in the end I was glad that I volunteered at the conference and even more glad that I was able to get a few spots for “my girls.”

My girls came from the three schools where I taught for the past two years: Mahaulu Primary School, Kipagalo Secondary School, and Bulongwa Secondary School. I picked the girls by first asking the teachers who they recommended for the conference. Then while teaching I observed these girls and their participation. In the end I went to the Head of School (Principal) with a short list of girls and together we chose two to represent the school. In the end I was thrilled with the girls who would be accompanying me to Mbeya.

Basically the conference was a 5-day conference in which the girls were “empowered” to live better lives. I’ve always scoffed at the use of that word. Who says that these girls need us to “empower” them anyway? They’re amazing, smart, insightful girls with bright futures. Why do they need a bunch of white kids to “empower” them? But then I think back to my time as a high schooler going to leadership conferences. I probably didn’t need someone to empower me, but the boost of confidence in itself was empowering. Those FBLA and HOBY conferences taught me a lot of things, but I think the most empowering part of those conferences was being told that I was special. That I had something to offer my school and the world. I think that my girls were really touched but that very same realization.

Well, I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. Picking the girls was the easy part. Getting them to the conference was a bit harder. While it’s easy for me to get transportation to a main town on any given day doing so with 6 extra people (Students! Who I’m responsible for…) was a bit more of a task. I tried to book a car ahead of time, but then the car turned out to be in Mbeya instead of my village the day I wanted to go. I managed to get another car, but on the morning of our departure when he didn’t arrive at the planned time I knew we had a problem. Turns out I offended him with something I said in a text (God knows what) and he left without us. Eventually I got another car, and only about five hours late. Once the girls were stuffed into the car (one sat the entire trip on my lap), I started to relax a bit. But then after a few hours on the windy roads my girls started to get car sick. The cookies Bret bought to share turned out to be not such a hit. The girls were too busy tossing their cookies to enjoy eating any.

Once the girls took a nap and recovered a bit though the rest of the week went really well. A lot of the sessions were taught by us PCVs and our counterparts. For this project my counterpart was a primary school teacher named Gloria. Gloria has been my neighbor for the past two years and she’s been a Life Skills teacher herself since going to a training seminar by SUMASESU (the NGO I now work with, more on that later). Together the two of us taught lessons on self esteem and healthy relationships. It was interesting our very different teaching styles and life experiences melded so well. I think the sessions were really very helpful for the girls.

When teaching about self esteem we explained to the girls that while self esteem may not seem like a very important topic it’s critical in their (and our) lives. I explained that you can know everything about HIV/AIDS, but maybe if someone comes and seduces you, you’ll agree even though you know it’s dangerous because you don’t have enough self esteem. We also talked about how self esteem can help you reach your goals in life. Without believing in yourself it can be very hard to get through the challenges and roadblocks of life. (Interesting side note, by the way, there is no Kiswahili word for self esteem it can be translated kujiamini or kujiheshimu which mean to believe in yourself or to respect yourself. I think those words each have a lot more meaning than our stuffy, self-help sounding words.) So, in order to help our girls raise their self esteem in a healthy way we had each girl, teacher, and PCV tape a piece of paper to their backs. Then we took turns writing a compliment or strong character trait about each other on those pieces of paper. When we were done with the exercise each girl had a piece of paper full of special things about themselves. While they didn’t all know each other very well some of the insights they had were deep and very edifying. I was proud of them and as they read their various comments I could tell that they too were proud of themselves.

When we taught about healthy relationships it was a more relaxed setting. We met with several small groups of girls in order to make the conversation more intimate. It was interesting how open the girls were with us (especially with Gloria who is an adult with daughters old enough to be at the conference), but we had really interesting talks with the girls and their teachers about what a healthy relationship looks like. We talked about having standards for a relationship and for how to stick to those standards. We also discussed openly about how to deal with relationship difficulties. For example the old line “I’ll dump you if you don’t have sex with me” is used in Tanzania as well. Interestingly though, sometimes girls were honest and said they would agree even if they had initially said they wouldn’t, and then it wasn’t me or any of the teachers who intervened to offer guidance or advise but the others girls who were at the seminar. It was wonderful to see girls talking about these difficult topics openly and honestly and counseling each other with good advise.

Throughout the whole week there were many lessons on various Life Skills. The girls learned about many topics including: HIV/AIDS, STIs, goal setting, role models, condom use, self defense, assertive communication, delaying sex, income generation, reproductive health, and how to make menstrual pads and cycle beads. They also were trained in how to teach their peers about these topics and they had a practice teaching session. We PCVs were present to offer guidance, but it was awesome to see how some of the girls really shone while teaching.

Speaking of having a time to shine…the girls had lots of opportunity to “strut their stuff” so to speak. They had a pre and post test about HIV/AIDS and there was also a talent show at the end of the week. I’m proud to announce one of my girls was a top scorer on the test and my girls as a whole took second place in the talent show! My girls (some of whom had never left our village) beat out the city girls of Mbeya. Needless to say, I was one proud Mama.

It was an emotional week too. One of the most fascinating sessions featured prominent women who work in various fields. One of the guests was a doctor and she encouraged the girls to study math and science (topics that girls do traditionally poorly in here in Tanzania). There was also a female law enforcement officer who works in a special field to prevent crimes against women. It was invigorating and sad to see the girls’ reactions to this speaker. She mostly just explained laws and women’s rights, but she was often interrupted by thunderous applause like the President during the State of the Union Address. The last speaker was probably the least impressive in terms of salary or credentials, but she brought me to tears. The last speaker was a student at the University that was hosting our conference. This young woman actually came from one of the villages that was represented at the conference. She explained how she had loved math and science as a student and always wanted to be an engineer, but her family was poor and it seemed like an impossible dream. She managed to finished Ordinary Level of school (equivalent to our high school) but was unable to afford Advanced Level (kind of like junior college, but required before University studies) so instead she went to teachers college. After that she worked for many years as an elementary teacher and she worked hard to save up in order to put herself through University. Eventually, through her small savings and governmental loans she made it to University. As she explained to our girls, “Never give up.” It was breath-taking to watch this young woman start her speech with a nervous, quiet voice and turn into a passionate preacher. By the time she finished I was in tears. I could see one of my own students standing in her shoes in just a few short years. This student is incredibly bright and beautiful and especially talented in the fields of math and science, but she recently has gotten involved with a not-so-studious crowd. I decided to give her a bit of a pep talk. Unfortunately, my Kiswahili pep talks need a bit of work, but I think she got the message. And I was excited to get an unsolicited report after returning to school that even the other teachers at her school have seen a difference in her behavior and attitude in the past few months since the conference. Hallelujah!

I’ve gotten many such positive reports about my girls, but unfortunately not all the updates are sunshine and roses. One of my brightest students has recently dropped out of school for still unclear reasons. I cried when I got the news. This girl is bright beyond understanding and could really go far. I hope to get the bottom of all the crazy stories I’m hearing and really help her get back on track. We’ll see what happens.

Independence Day

Right after the girls’ conference Bret and I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and then immediately upon returning to the village we hosted a huge 4th of July party. It was really fun hosting all our friends! The weather cooperated and it wasn’t too cold. We ate TONS of good ol’ American dishes: chili, hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, macaroni salad, tacos, brownies, no bakes, chocolate cake, coffee cake, and s’mores! Might not sound like much to you guys at home, but to us it was quite the feast. We even had CHEESE!! It was pretty fun to celebrate American Independence Day with German drinking games in Tanzania!

Choos

In July I was promised by the Head of the Building Committee that the choos would be done by August, but unfortunately there has been yet another unexpected advancement. The school had decided to cut down one of its forests and to sell the lumber to get the money to finish the building project. Kwa bahati mbaya (By bad luck) someone else started cutting down the school’s trees and claimed them as their own. Now the school is trapped in a legal battle over the trees. And, again, unfortunately, the bureaucracy in Tanzania isn’t much easier to pass through than it is at home in the States. Hopefully in the next few weeks will have some news. You can bet I pester any and all school and village leaders I meet. J

Upendo Chicken Project

On a more positive note my chicken project was finished just in time! All my PLWHAs now have a beautiful chicken coop stocked with healthy young chickens. It has been really rewarding to go back and check out the progress of each individual family. Some of the men have added additions onto their coops and some of the women have an obvious talent for poultry raising. Needless to say progress looks and tastes great! I’ve been blessed with a few thank you gifts of eggs! Fresh Tanzanian chicken eggs are the best. They’re a bit small, but the yolks are bright orange and are delicious and very healthy. I’m so proud to have gotten to play a role in helping these people improve their nutrition and financial situation. It’s neat to be able to go to the market and put money in the hands of some of the group members that’s not a loan or a hand-out. It’s money they’ve earned. Another great side effect of this project is that the main constructor of the coops (a member himself) is now highly esteemed as an expert in our village. He’s been hired to make several coops for other prominent villagers and has made a pretty penny doing so! I always felt bad that he was working so hard, but I guess his efforts have paid off. Even the vender who sold us building materials at no profit to himself has been getting extra orders due to all the publicity he received through out project! I actually made a video to show a bit about the project (I’m an amateur, sorry). Hopefully when I get home to quick internet I’ll be able to post it on my blog or I’ll post a uTube link or something. J

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Night…

The first week in August was my last in my village. Earlier in the year I had to decide if I wanted to extend or not. I decided that I did indeed want to extend, but not for another full year. Thus I decided to stay for an extra three months. I really wanted to stay and continue working in my village—my home, but I knew if I stayed for only a few more months I would be preventing my village from getting another volunteer and they’d have to wait for another 9 months or so. I wanted to stay so badly, but it seemed more important that my village have a consistent volunteer to support projects and progress. So, with that in mind I set off to find a site that would take me for only a few months. I was starting to get stressed as the extension deadline loomed, but eventually I remembered that there’s an excellent NGO that works right in my district of Makete. The NGO is called SUMASESU. Over the past two years we’ve had a bit of contact because they’re goals and my goals as a health volunteer really overlapped. I decided to approach them and ask if they’d be interested in having a volunteer and they immediately agreed. So….with that in mind I begged PC to let me stay a little longer and begun to prepare to leave my home of the last two years.

It was incredibly difficult for me to leave my village because not only was I leaving a house and friends, but meaningful work and people who rely on me. I was incredibly busy in July trying to finish everything up (hence the lack of blog entries). I had to close all my grants and try and ensure all my projects were strong enough to sustain themselves even after I left. I prepared peer educators to take over my Life Skills periods. I prepared my counterpart, the new Ward Development Officer, and the leaders of Upendo to carry on with “my” PLWHAs group. I also wrote a 10-page single spaced letter to the volunteer who would replace me explaining about all the work I’ve done, who I’ve worked with, and projects I would recommend he or she take on. A part of me felt pretty confident leaving…although the other part of me was a mess. I’ve grown just as dependent on my friends, co-workers, students, and neighbors as they’ve grown on me. But as the days drew to a close I had a strange sense of peace. Even as they told me they wanted my going away party to be at my house on the day I was supposed to get picked up by SUMASESU I didn’t freak out (too much). I was mostly packed and cleaned up and ready to go. It was time.

Saying goodbye to folks turned out to be a bit more difficult than boxing up my stuff though. I cried as I said goodbye to my students. I tried to tell them that they’d never know how much I care about them and how much I want them to succeed. Some laughed a bit at me (can’t blame them), but I think a few took me to heart and I hope they’ll remember what I’ve taught them over the years when life catches them in a tight spot. I hope when they have no more hope that I’ll have enough for all of us. I hope that when no one else believes in them they’ll remember the crazy mzungu who always did. We’ll see…

My village as a whole and my PLWHAs group decided to each throw me a party. The village party was first. We made lots of food and eat and talked and laughed. There were short speeches and I had a chance to make peace with everyone before I left. Bret and Marie and Moritz (my mzungu friends) all happened to be out of town so it was one last chance for me to be with my villagers completely and to give them the goodbye they deserved.

The next day was the party being planned by Upendo. I knew this party would be a lot harder for me because I’m much closer to my PLWHAs and I know that they’re probably the most devastated by my departure. The day brought another added stress because the night before Bret informed me that one of his friend’s villages were expecting a volunteer, but the PCV discovered they had decided not to bring another and had to break this news to her village. I didn’t think this was possible in my village because PC seemed so interested in bringing another volunteer, but I decided to check in the next morning anyway. In the morning as I helped prepare the food for my party I got the worst response via text message imaginable—Sorry, we are not replacing your site. I cried. Again. I know, you’re probably sensing a pattern here. Tanzania has turned Jess into a cry-baby. The thing is Tanzanians don’t really cry outside of funerals and they tend to laugh at you if you do, so I think it’s a change inside me due not so much to latitudinal context. I think the difference is that in Tanzania I’ve learned that it’s ok to be passionate about people, ideas, and goals. And sometimes that makes me the happiest woman in the world and sometimes that makes me crumple into a big ol’ mess. The day of my going away party…I was a big ol’ mess.

Through a heated conversation with my APCD, I learned that several of the new year’s volunteers had already left the country and that their departure had created a void at my site. My entire district, the district in Tanzania with the highest HIV/AIDS rate, now has no health volunteer. My programs may die. My friends will not be as well taken care of. It was a rough day. I cried through grace. I cried through my goodbye. I cried through presents and pictures. You’d think my party was a funeral not a celebration, but I was happy to have the opportunity to say goodbye to my friends and tell them how much I love them and care about them and how hard it is to go. They returned the sentiment and at the end of the day, while I felt drained. I felt some sort of peace.

That peace was tentative that first day, but it’s grown stronger and stronger with time. I’ve come to the realization that my village was blessed to have a volunteer, even for a short time. And while I was able to help them, they can’t rely on me, or any other volunteer, forever. I’m now convinced that if people want to help themselves they’ll work to make my projects carry on by their own power. And if they don’t want to help themselves then it’s time the hand-outs stop anyway. I still hope to help individuals and maybe even my PLWHAs group in the future, but I want to see how things progress first.

So that brings me almost up to present day. J The day after my party I woke up early and cleaned my house (hoping if somehow my house was ready for a new volunteer, maybe one would magically appear) and said a few final goodbyes. When I got in the SUMASESU car my eyes were finally dry. It was an incredibly hard step to take, but I knew I wasn’t going far, so I tried to keep it together in front of my new co-workers. Luckily for me, my friends who came to see me off did the same. And even luckier for me, my babies were all away at school when I left so there was no tearful goodbye to them.

SUMASESU

So…since August 3rd I’ve been at SUMASESU. “What’s SUMASESU?” you’re probably asking yourself. Good question. SUMASESU is an NGO. Its name stands for Support Makete to Self Support. The organization is about five years old, but in my humble opinion, it’s one of the most successful organizations in the district. It’s located in Tandala, about two hours from where I used to live.

SUMASESU has two main projects at this point in time: Food Security and Ujana (Youth). The food security program is sponsored by Bread for the World and works to help the poorest of the poor attain food security. Currently this project is working in 3 villages to help the handicapped, HIV positive individuals and their caretakers, the elderly, and orphans. They plan trainings about improved agricultural systems and livestock keeping.

The Ujana program, sponsored by FHI (Family Health International) is where I spend most of my time. Ujana is currently working in 30 villages and plans to be in 40 for their next fiscal year. They put on training of trainers for elementary school teachers, secondary school students, out of school youth, and religious leaders who then teach their peers or their students about Life Skills. They also have a community participatory theatre program and a radio program that teaches about gender equality and HIV/AIDS.

When I first arrived I was treated as a guest and I didn’t have much to do. But within a few weeks I was quite busy. I’ve traveled with the theatre group and gone village to village to check on the progress of our programs. I’ve also been helping with report and proposal writing which has taught me a lot. And finally I’ve helped plan and execute the various stakeholders meetings that have to occur now as it’s the end of the year. I’ve been working a bit on making a database (teaching myself Access in the process…yikes) and doing some tech support. Last week there was also a visitor from FHI who was doing some research for a new intervention for next year. I got to help her interview teachers, school leaders, and students as well as do some translating as she facilitated sessions. It was a lot of fun!

Part of the reason I wanted to extend with SUMASESU was to get some work experience and that I definitely have. I’ve started getting used to the 9-5 grind again (more accurately 8-7 grind) as well as having a boss, deadlines, etc. It’s been a strange adjustment from the work I did for the last two years, but I like it a lot. I also like that I get to have my hand in so many things. One morning I’m sitting in on a meeting about strategic planning for the fight against HIV/AIDS in Makete for the next 10 years and that afternoon I’m in a classroom checking up on the progress of some primary school students. I am disappointed to say that working with SUMASESU hasn’t helped me cross anything off my “potential jobs” list, but it has shown me that I like the facilitating and hands on just as much as the planning and organizing. Maybe when I get home I’ll be able to find another small NGO that will let me put my hand in every cookie jar.

Oh man, and speaking of eating they feed me even more here than they did in village…and I live a 1.5 minute walk away from work. Don’t be surprised if I come home a bit pudgier. J

I’ll Be Home for Christmas…

So, that’s a brief update on my life work-wise for the last few months. Sorry it was so long. Now I’ll be at SUMASESU until the end of October. After that I’ll head to Dar to “COS” (close of service). On November 3 I’ll no longer be a PCV. After that I’ll head home, but I plan on taking the long-route, so don’t get too excited. After some traveling I hope to be home in mid-December. Mungu akipenda (If God wishes) we’ll all be together for Christmas! Once I’m back I’ll share all my travel stories and pictures!

What’s Next?

I wish I had a really good answer for this topic, but I don’t really. Other than wanting to be home with friends and family for a while I don’t have much of a plan. So if anyone hears about any job openings that’ll take a girl just back from the third world, let me know! Who knows where I’ll end up…Hawaii? California? DC? NY? Minnesota? Chicago? Back to Africa? Or what I’ll be doing…teaching? Working at an NGO? Heading off to grad school? Working with the mentally handicapped? Doing some inspirational speaking? Who knows…I’m up for suggestions though!

Congrats!

Just want to say a few shout outs in this blog. First Congrats to my Aunt Nancy! I’m so sorry I won’t be at your wedding next month, but I love you lots and lots and lots. Can’t wait to look through all your (I’m sure) beautiful pictures when I get home. Don’t forget to tell your hubby to expect a visit from your favorite niece in the next few months!

Congrats also to Pete and Heather! I’m so excited you guys are getting married…and that’ll I’ll be there!!! YAY!!! I owe you for that one Pete!!!

And congratulations also to my best friend since sixth grade, Miss Rebecca Anne Gerlach. You can give congrats to Eric too if you want, but I think it’s best to hold out on him until I get a chance to give my approval. Can’t wait to start picking out dresses! You better not make any rash decisions (wardrobe wise) until I get home!!

Electricity-less Entertainment

Oh, and one last thing. I know some of you have enjoyed following what I’ve been reading. Since it’s been a while the list is quite long this time, but for those of you who care to read it…enjoy. For everyone else…thanks for working your way all the way through this blog. Mungu akubariki (God bless you).

- The Wolf at Twilight and Neither Wolf Nor Dog by Kent Nerburn

- Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

- The Magicians by Lev Grossman

- Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn

- The Witch of Portobello by Paula Coelho

- Belong to Me

- Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stove

- The Post Birthday World by Lionel Shriver

- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

- Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer

- Follow Me to Freedom by Shane Claiborne and John Perkins

- In a Sunburned Country and The Life and Times of the Thunderbold Kid by Bill Bryson

- The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

- What Uncle Sam Really Wants by Noam Chomsky

- The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon

- Mother Teresa: In My Own Words compiled by Jose Luis Gonzalez-Balado

- Dry by Augusten Burroughs

- People of the Book and March by Geraldine Brooks

- The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

- Hotel Du Lac by Anita Brookner

- Farm City by Novella Carpenter

- The Cardturner by Louis Sacchar

- Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

- The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

- Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela

- Fly Girl by Sherri L. Smith

- Close Range and The Shipping News by Annie Proulx

This is a view on my walk to school. I really can't do it justice in any way shape or form....it's just breathtakingly beautiful.I'm not sure I ever put up pictures of my Christmas decorations, but here's the little bit that I did for Easter. The "Easter basket" is actually a special basket here used for flour. Thanks to friends and family for the candy!! I died Easter eggs for the first time in a long time....pretty sure I got the proportions wrong, but they were fun!These black and white pics were taken by Bret on our way home from Matema Beach. Women carrying loads like this is quite normal here, but I thought you'd all be a bit surprised. Imagine walking an hour to work like that!Another view of the gorgeous hills of Makete.I stopped for a quick snack on our way back from Matema...This is one of the six students I brought to a Girls Empowerment Conference in Mbeya. It was her first time ever using a computer. The first day when they mentioned computer class she was so scared to go, because she was worried people would call her a "mshamba" (Tanzania's version of a hick...). She did great though!This is Bret and my counterpart Mama Elia. She was showing us how they make local "pombe" (alcohol). The locals like to translate it for us as "bamboo juice." Bret did have a little taste. :-)This is my God son! Isn't he precious?This is a hand-made boat. Tanzanians still use them to fish and to get a few extra bucks off the tourists. Bret took this picture at Matema Beach (on Lake Nyasa).I started a girls soccer team with another teacher at my primary school. (He's like a Tanzanian Coach Meigel). These girls are the most active. They're at my door daily to ask to use the ball.

“Give to him who asks of you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.”—Matthew 5:32. This one little verse of the Bible has been giving me an awful lot of trouble lately. Maybe that isn’t fair to say since this one verse from the Sermon on the Mount seems to summarize a lot of Jesus’s teachings. Remember these ones? · If a man wants your tunic give him your coat as well… · You cannot serve God and mammon. · Do not worry, saying ‘What shall we eat, what shall we drink, what shall we wear?’ · If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me. These were always very beautiful verses to me. Full of love. Full of compassion. I thought I took them to heart, but the truth is…I did no such thing. I think the problem is that we as Americans feel like we’re so good at living out these verses because we’re so rarely challenged to do so. Because really, the gospel according to our forefathers says something along the lines of “Blessed is he who helps himself. Blessed is she who suffers in silence and dignity. Blessed is he who cherishes freedom. Blessed is she who gives out of her abundance.” And so what have we created? A world of dignified suffers and aloof agents of compassion. It was never hard for me to “give my cloak as well” in America because no one ever asked me for my shirt. They were too proud. Oh sure…I’ve given away lots of clothes and money, but never so that it hurt. Never to a point has that caused me stress, pain, or worry. Now, after living in Tanzania for two years, I’m seeing the gospel for what Jesus meant it to be—hard as hell. Why is the gospel so different to me here? I’ll tell you this much…it’s not because the need is necessarily greater. Anyone who’s worked three minimum wage jobs to support their kids can tell you that. Anyone of the millions of kids in America who live without health insurance or nutritious meals can tell you that. Anyone who has a mental illness of who lives alone can tell you that. The difference in Tanzania is not the need. It’s the culture. Tanzanian culture is traditionally a more communalistic one (although that is slowly changing in the name of “progress”). This is a place where a student can ask his friends and relatives for help with school fees without shame. This is a place where you can eat dinner anywhere. This is a place where you can leave your kids at home all day while you go to work and know that they’ll be taken care of. This is a place where friends help each other farm and cut firewood. This is a place here when I have something you want it’s fair game. So…herein lies the difficulty. I make approximately $200 a month—which in the US would make me a pauper, but here it makes me on the same level as say—an investment banker at home. I’m rich. So it only makes senses that people come to me in their time of need. And usually I’m ok with that. Money for school fees, the hospital, funerals, food—all ok in my mind. I’m usually more than happy to help. (Even now when I know about 9% of people who are “borrowing” from me will ever pay me back). The part that’s still hard for me is the whole “give to him that asks of you.” If I did that I’d have significantly less clothes, jewelry, shoes, and hair, for that matter. And here is where I start to get testy. Who are they to ask me for stuff they don’t NEED?! Have they no dignity? Why should I give them one of my bracelets just because I have two? So….wanna know what I did? I stopped wearing bracelets. And it’s not just that I’m materialistic. That’s not the only problem. The problem is that I like the power. I don’t just want to give when I’m asked. I want to give when I feel like it. One of my friends was recently in the hospital awaiting the birth of her second child. I decided to go and visit her and buy her a soda. She saw me on the path though and from afar yelled to me to buy her some bananas. I was so annoyed, I said no and left without even visiting her. Other times I’ve had people who really helped me with my work badger me to buy them a soda or beer. I always say no. Recently, a friend of mine, a village leader herself asked me about this. “Didn’t you hear him, Jessica?” I explained to her that I was sick of people demanding things of me and that I’d give when I felt like it. And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? No matter how I try to rationalize things in my mind….the truth of it is that I give when I feel like it. When I deem someone as worthy. When I deem their cause as worthy. When it’s convenient for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is that the gospel isn’t so easy after all and I’m not as generous as I’ve always wanted to believe. I can’t say I have an easy moral for y’all to take away from this blog, because I’m not sure I have even really learned something tangible yet. I guess if I give anyone (including myself) a lesson on generosity, I’d take a break from the gospel and look at Aristotle. Wasn’t it he who said if you wanna be virtuous practice the virtues? Maybe I won’t really be generous until I start buying people some sodas when it actually pisses me off or giving away some of my bracelets. Maybe if I actually start taking Jesus at his word I’ll see the beauty he anticipated. Maybe the freedom that I think I’m clinging to so tightly will actually be revealed when I let go.

I think I've been on a total of 5 hikes in my entire life...so what made me think I could climb the tallest free-standing mountain in the world...I'm not really sure. Maybe it was Bret's enthusiasm, excitement, and confidence. Maybe it was my fear of regretting not trying it later. Or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

When I first arrived in Tanzania I had no intention of climbing Mountain Kilimanjaro. Too tall. Too cold. Too expensive. Too scary. Four very good reasons to stick to the beach and safaris. But when Bret suggested we climb Kili during his last vacation, I couldn't let the idea drop. I realized that the parts of me that were anti-Kili (aka the cheap and chicken parts) weren't necessarily beasts I wanted to feed. So with a little prodding from my mom--I agreed.

After a bit of research and a whole lot of discussion, Bret and I chose a route (Machame, 6-day) and a trekking company (Gladys Adventures). We only had about a month to prepare mentally and physically. We took one hike to Matema Beach and did a bit of strength training whenever we could find the time. Soon I was doing wall-sits so often I thought I was back on modified basketball (Yes, yes...I played basketball. I believe I accrued more fouls than points...). Before I knew it we were on a 16-hour bus ride from Mbeya to Moshi.

The next day we went in to see Gladys and rent some equipment. When we were there we met a nice Dutch couple who agreed to climb with us the next day. I found I was shockingly not nervous. I would either make it to the top or I'd get a damn-good story trying. So Bret and I stuffed ourselves with mzungu food (hamburgers, ice cream, and Italian food) and watched the World Cup practically forgetting what was coming next.

On Monday morning we began our climb. The first few days were pretty easy and breathtakingly beautiful. Everyday boasted a completely different ecosystem. They split the climb into short pieces to aid acclimatization so that you don't get altitude sickness. Not to say these days weren't hard. I got sick the second day (probably from all the junk food I ate) and had horrible cramps the third day, but I survived. Bret and my Dutch friends and guides were all very encouraging. Plus it didn't hurt to be puking up papaya while enjoying of the most breath-taking views in the world. Perspective, right?

On the night of day four we woke up at 11:30 pm to prepare to summit. After a nice breakfast of lemon-infused oatmeal, tea, and sugar cookies in our tent, I piled on the layers (2 thermal shirts, a wool sweater, a fleece jacket, a down coat, 2 thermal pants, a hat, fleece pajama bottoms, snow pants, 2 pairs of gloves, and 2 pairs of socks) and headed out (I, of course, am not a fan of the cold so I may have gone a bit overboard. The porters laughed hysterically as I gave them a very sweaty strip tease upon returning to camp...).

I've once heard summit Kili described as "the worst night of my life plus four hours." This turned out to be somewhat accurate. The night of the hike was a huge jump in elevation on a difficult trail done in the dark and the cold. But there was something in me that kept me going. Maybe it was the stars over Mwenyezi peak of the glow of head lamps ahead. Maybe it was the Snickers in Bret's bag that he'd been denying me for the last four days. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was all the people I was carrying with me in my The Northface backpack. As I climbed in the dark I thought of all the people who had given or lent me something for the climb.

Sam--my sunglassesHillary--my sports bra and CamelPakSarah--my fleece pantsMarie--my raincoat and sweaterMom and Dad--my packs, socks, hat, boots, sleeping bag, and nearly all my clothesMy friends at St. Paul's--my sleeping bag lines and bandannaAnita--my polesI wanted to summit with all these people. I wanted to do it for them. And I heard the voices of my friends and relatives encouraging me. Not that I really told anyone we were climbing Kili, but when you've been supported and encouraged your whole life it's not hard to summon those voices. I heard Mrs. Westervelt me to "never say can't" and my PTs and my brother and telling me "you can do it." And they were right.

I made it to the top.

At 6:22 am I had arrived at the highest point in Africa: 5,895 meters...just in time to watch on of the most amazing sunrises of my life. After Bret, my Dutch friends and I had frolicked about and taken ample pictures we headed back down.

The way back down the mountain was no where near as inspirational and exciting. Matter of fact, for me and my bad knees it was tiring and scary. But I made it down. And once I reached the bottom I realized how thankful I was that Bret had encouraged me to climb that mountain. Not only did I get to see what we could do together (and it must have been quite the feat for Bret to point up with my complaints during those cold, windy nights), but I was reminded of what I could do, not on my own, but with 25 years of friendships, relationships, and experiences under my belt. I don't think I've taken nearly enough opportunities to thank my family, friends, teachers, doctors, youth workers, etc. for all the support you've given me over the years. You might think you only played a small role at some random point in my life, but that's not true. I carry you with me. And that's baggage that doesn't weigh down my pack. You helped me climb Kili, move to Africa, graduate from college, win soccer games, walk again, sing in front of hundreds, and accomplish countless other victories throughout my life. I'm eternally grateful to you. And I beg you to stay with me on all of the other treks I have to look forward to in life--no matter how much I might whine on the way. :-)

I've

Well, once again it’s been a bit since I last wrote. I’ll try and recall the highlights of the past few months, just to give you an idea of what I’ve been up to.

Sauti Za Busara

In February I went to beautiful Zanzibar for the annual music festival called Sauti Za Busara. Sauti Za Busara means Voices of Wisdom. It’s a five day festival that boasts acts from all over Africa and the Swahili world (thus including everything from Israel to South Africa). The main type of music presented was taarib music which is uniquely Swahili. It uses percussion, guitars, keys and/or pitched percussion and some unique instruments as well. It’s very bright and cheery—great for dancing! But there was also reggae, traditional (including a bibi singing who’s in her nineties), hip-hop, and Tanzania pop. I would say my favorites were a girl from South Africa and a fellow foreigner who goes by Mzungu Kichaa.

The festival was held in a beautiful old fort. It was a smaller venue, but it made it really intimate. We sat out on the grass or danced in front of the stage. It was like being at a lawn concert at SPAC without as many crazy drunks and about one tenth or less of the people. The concert started around 4 pm and lasted into the middle of the night. We often went out to the street where they sell seafood skewers, Zanzibari pizza, Tanzanian snacks, and freshly-made sugar cane juice (with ginger and lime).

It was one of the best vacations of my life. How can you beat all day at the beach, delicious Swahili cuisine, and a lawn concert every night? It was also amazing since a bunch of my fellow PCVs went to the festival. It was like a mini reunion!

Since I couldn’t really understand most of the words sung during the concert, I’ve been trying to think about all the sounds and wisdom I hear here in village on an average day. I thought maybe relaying some of the typical sounds I hear might give you a new glimpse into my life here in Tanzania. So here goes....On any given day out my window I can hear the sound of:

Ø Firewood cracking as its being prepared for use in the kitchen.

Ø Very loud music on the radio (It’s communal...not as in respecting that others might not want to hear, but assuming that they do and thus spreading the wealth)

Ø Pikipikis (motorcycles), cars, and lorries....and yes they sound distinctly different

Ø School children running/marching up and down the road and singing (gym class)—usually around 8 am.

Ø Greetings in 3 languages

Ø Squeeking bicycle brakes

Ø Kondas screaming (Teenage boys that advertise where various cars are going to recruit customers)

Ø School bell (the inside of a wheel hit with a metal stick) between each period

Ø Church bell letting me know I’m late for church (or a steady ringing every 30 seconds or so for 10 minutes signifying someone has died or there’s another problem and we should go to church)

Ø Chickens, goats, cows, and guinea pigs (You’d be surprised how loud a cow munching on grass outside your window is)

Ø Children singing and playing

Ø People yelling “Hodi” outside me door asking to come in

Ø Heady singing without shame or shyness

Ø Lumber mills sawing away providing income for the families in my village

I can’t say any of these sounds are necessarily the voices of wisdom, but maybe the fact that I can hear this symphony of sound on any given day has a meaning in and of itself. The thing is that when I think back to home, the first sense that’s shocked with memory is site. America is about images. A constant barrage of them. Sound is white-washed. In the country we value peace and quiet and in the city we simply here the sound of anonymity. The sounds of Tanzania are sounds of belonging. I imagine when I return to America and close my eyes and think of Tanzania the first thing that’ll come back to are the sounds.

Holidays

One of my favorite parts of living in Tanzania is seeing how other countries celebrate holidays. St. Patty’s Day (and Marj’s bday) aren’t celebrated in Tanzania, for obvious reasons. But that didn’t stop Bret, Moritz, Sarah, and I from having a green beer or two to celebrate the occasion.

And since I was at Matema last year for Easter, this year was the first year I experienced a Tanzanian Easter. One interesting thing about Easter here is that Pasaka meaning Easter isn’t simply the Sunday that Christ rose from the dead, it’s the entire long weekend—Thursday to Monday.

On Thursday students are let out of school early (around lunchtime). Starting at 2 p.m. the church bell rings. Then again at 3. Then again at 4. After these 3 rings (representing Peter’s three denials of Christ) we go to church. On this evening we partake together of the Lord’s Supper as Christ and his disciples did on the night before he was crucified. On Friday morning after 3 rings on the hour we return to church again. This time to reflect on Christ’s torture and death. Saturday is a day or rest and preparation, but then we return to church once again on Sunday to celebrate Christ’s resurrection from the grave. Jesu Christo amefufuka leo! Amefufuka kweli kweli! All throughout the holiday that refrain can be heard. “Jesus Christ has risen today! Truly, truly he has risen!” Finally, on Monday we return again to church to reflect on the time Christ communed with his disciples after returning from the dead. It’s our time to “walk with Christ.”

Easter in Tanzania, unlike Easter in America, is void of pomp. There is no Easter bunny. There are no Easter baskets. There are no Easter eggs and therefore no Easter egg hunts. There’s church (and lots of it, as you can see). What does that mean? Can Americans not simply indulge in a purely religious celebration? Or do we just love lore and traditions. I’ll admit, unlike many of our Christmas traditions, I have no clue what the Easter ones mean or where in the world they came from. Although, that isn’t to say that I didn’t remember or miss our American traditions, because I did. I actually dyed eggs and made myself an Easter basket in a basket a Tanzanian would usually use to hold her ugali flour. I guess this just makes me wonder....am I sentimental? Is that bad? Is it wrong to want a card on Valentine’s day? Or to kiss someone special on the dawn of the New Year? Is it silly to crave funny colored eggs on the day Christ rose from the dead? Are my traditions beautiful because they’re full of meaning? Or beautiful because they’re full of memories? I think it’s more often the latter. And I’m not really ashamed of that, even if that makes me a machine-driven consumer monster.

Fairy Godmother?

Growing up in non-dom and Assemblies churches the idea of sprinkling babies and confirming angsty pre-teens is a bit new to me. But I’ve been observing and learning a lot as part of a very Lutheran community. This Easter I got a very hands-on lesson. I became the godmother of a Tanzania boy.

I now have a child named Innocent Jonathan (Ino, pronounced E-no, for short). The ceremony itself was pretty easy (thanks to stealing Bret’s liturgy book). I simply read a few words. I’ll be honest though. I was shaking. A lot. Standing up in front of a congregation is hard at home, imagine having to do it in another country and using another language. And add to it that my kid is no baby...he’s gonna be three this month. I thought my arm was gonna fall off when I gave him back to his mom. Good Lord, mom’s have some magic trick to carrying babies and not getting tired, I think

Anyway, a part of me is glad the hard part is over. I got through the ceremony. But now I’m worried. How in the world am I going to be a godmother to a child in Tanzania? I may never see him again. How will I be there for him when he needs me? Maybe I’ll be like his fairy godmother who just shows up at his most desperate hour to make his wildest dream come true. Who knows? I guess a part of me is wondering why his parents didn’t ask themselves this, but I think it’s better to take the compliment without question. Maybe they (as members of my PLWHAs group) are trying to show me that I’ve made a difference in their lives and they want me as a permanent part of their family history. Ino probably won’t even remember who I am in a few years. He won’t remember what I look like. But my legend will live. ;-) And I’ll never forget him. Or my connection to him. Can a foreigner living abroad ask for anything more?

Jimmy Eat World’s not the only one with Work

So, there’s nothing too new and exciting as far as work goes. The building the choos will be housed in is done. Now we’re waiting for the school to get the money to continue and for the rain to slow down so we can build the septic tank, put the sinks in each stall, and connect them. As always, I’m a bit worried. But I trust they’ll be done by the time I head out.

The chicken project I’m doing with my PLWHAs group, Upendo, is going really well. All the members have received training and we’re nearly done with building each family’s chicken coop. The roosters have already been purchased and now my counterparts and I are busy finding 90 hens to disburse among my group members! It’s a bit of a task to find ones of the right age and caliber, but I’m faithfully believing it’ll along come together in the next month (or maybe two). J

School continues to go well. This term I finished doing communication skills with my secondary school students and I’m looking forward to beginning decision making skills this coming week. My elementary school students have already done a chapter on bullying and are about to finish a chapter on disabilities.

Fun, Fun, Fun

But I continue to have fun as well. I’m still making lots of exciting foods. I think the best are:

Ø Homemade hummus and pita bread

Ø Pork Enchaladas

Ø Corn chowder

And of course reading lots of books, including:

Ø The Black Hermit by Ngugi wa Thiong’o

Ø Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling

Ø Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott

Ø My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult

Ø The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien

Ø Empire Falls by Richard Russo

Ø The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner

Ø Invictus by John Carlin

Ø Running With Scissors by Augusten Burrougs

Ø The Bonesetter’s Daughter by Amy Tan

Guess that’s about it for new and exciting in these parts. Hope this blog finds you all well and enjoy the start of warm weather and baseball season! Much love from Tanzania!

Roses are red….violets are blue. Spring always comes late to New York….and Jess’s blogs do too.

Haha. I couldn’t bear to start another blog apologizing for my blog being so late in coming. It’s a good thing I have dad to remind me every month or so when my last blog was written and Mrs. Zaccos to remind him! I personally can’t figure out why blogs are all the rage. They lack the privacy of a dairy and the response of a letter. Is my generation really so cut off from the world that we need to pour our thoughts into cyber space to feel like someone’s listening? Do we crave so much to be heard that we don’t even care if there’s a response. A relationship? I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t knock blogs. I mean, in what other way would mom’s co-workers know about my time here? In what other way would my high school teachers and extended relatives get a peak into my life here? It takes a lot of time to write letters (and then I have to worry about them surviving all the way to America). And it takes just as much effort to get on a computer and write emails (and God only knows when the electricity and the internet will be cooperating with me on the same day). Back in the old days of Peace Corps volunteers were pretty much cut off from the world. Mom and dad couldn’t call on holidays—because there were no cell phones. Friends couldn’t write emails or post on Facebook—because there was no internet. In college Dr. Stewart always reminded us to reflect on whether or not technological advancement is good. There seems to always be an assumption that it is. I wonder in this case if it’s true. I mean, if I were cut off completely from the US, I would be able to dive completely into my life here. I’d focus on the relationships here. I’d work through the issues of life with my friends here. I’d care about the news of here. I would be fully and utterly here. In all likelihood, that kind of focus and dedication would probably make me a better volunteer. A better member of this community. But is that the only goal of Peace Corps?

For those of you who don’t know much about Peace Corps. This is an organization with three main goals. They are roughly, 1) To provide education and human capital to help aid development. 2) To help promote a better understanding of the American people on the part of the peoples served. 3) To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of the American people. Part of my aim in writing this blog is to help my friends and family back home have a better understanding of the amazing culture I am experiencing here in Tanzania. I hope that I’m somehow reaching that goal and if there is anything you ever want to know more about, please…PLEASE let me know!

Beyond that, I’m personally thankful to have a blog to write in. I feel like I’m only really exposing the very tip of the iceberg of what I’m experiencing here, but it seems that if I can share that tip of the iceberg with people even while I’m still here there will be a greater common ground to stand on when I get home. A place to start the conversation. Because let’s be honest, if I get home and have to answer questions like, “So…how was it?” I’m gonna be stumped.

Ha. I’m not really sure where this rant came from. I didn’t have it in mind when I planned this blog, but I suppose it sheds some light on why my blog entries are always so late. I guess what it boils down to is this: it’s hard to hold a one-way conversation, but in this circumstance I have hope that the occasional effort I put in will help you gain a small insight into another fascinating place in this big world, but will also help me when I come home to be a place to start talking and to pick up long-unattended to relationships. So I guess I’ll move on now, but I guess I should also quickly say thank you. Thank you for taking the time to learn about someplace so far and remote from you while you’re in the midst of your busy life. And thank you for caring enough about me to take the time to read my hideously long entries. I look forward to seeing ya’ll in person again and having a good chat.

Now….on to the meat. I bet your asking yourself what in the world I’ve been up to the last few months. Here’s a bit of a rundown.

For those of you who initially thought I sounded “bored” in Tanzania (Aunt Martha, Uncle Bill!), you’ll be happy to know that work is keeping me quite busy these days! November was an incredibly busy month for me. Since the Tanzanian school year runs from January-December (unlike our September-June set up) I was very busy trying to finish the HIV/AIDS portion of the secondary school life skills curriculum with my students before they finished began their finals and headed home. I did manage to finish the entire HIV/AIDS portion of the curriculum (including facts and myths about HIV/AIDS, the immune system, HIV transmission, the relationship between STDs and HIV, women and HIV, HIV prevention methods, disease progression and positive behaviors, HIV treatment, human rights, and behavior change), so that was really exciting! Next we’ll be moving on to communication skills. Since I studied communication in college and well….since I love to talk….I’m really looking forward to starting that chapter this month! My fifth graders (the only students I taught on the primary level) have no covered chapters on bullies, handicaps, HIV/AIDS, sexual abuse, and general safety. I’m not sure yet if the school principal wants me to move on with these students to sixth grade and finish the chapters on puberty, life changes (good and bad—a very important topic here with the amount of HIV/AIDS), and human rights and responsibilities. I’m very much in love with these students so I’d love to move on with them, but I also think it would be fun to have a new class. I guess I’ll just let the principal make the call.

The choos (rhymes with toes not too) are coming along well. We’ve hit the occasional roadblocks, but I’m trying to remain positive. The rainy season has indeed started, but the teachers, the school building committee, the craftsman, and the parents, all seem eager to continue. I hope they will be done soon! I’ll keep you all updated. In the meantime here are some pictures to let you see the process. As you can see the walls are finished and the roof is on. They have begun applying cement to the inside of the walls and inserting the window frames as well. The plan is that the entire building will be done this week minus the floor because the school committee is considering buying ceramic sinks for each stall instead of making them out of cement as originally planned. Ones the floors are done we’ll just be waiting on the village to dig the hole for the tank! It’s been a pretty stressful under-taking thus far, but it’s also amazing to see something go from the abstract planning stage to physical manifestation before your eyes. I think especially here where so much of my work’s benefits are invisible, I take a lot of pride and happiness in seeing something tangible come to be thanks to the combined efforts of my family and friends at home and here in my village.

My PLWHAs group, Upendo, is continuing to progress really well. I’m really proud of all they’ve accomplished since we began just over six months ago. Our garden is looking GREAT as you can see from the pictures! It’s pretty amazing that we get fresh greens and tomatoes enough for everyone in our group every two weeks! They are also really hoping to extend the garden and add more crops. In December we started giving microloans to group members. I made them wait until the monthly contributions were in and they had all sat through educational seminars and planning meetings. It was a pretty joyous day when I finally put the money in their hands! It will be very interesting to see what they are able to do with these small loans (all under $20). Last week group members also participated in a workshop on how to properly raise chickens. There’s a lot of chicken farming here, but because people do not know how to properly care for their chickens many get sick, die, or don’t produce a lot of eggs. This workshop was the first step in a PEPFAR grant I wrote to benefit the members of Upendo. Currently we are buying the supplies and making plans to build a banda ya kuku or chicken coop for every household in the group! The members are absolutely ready to move forward, but due to the rise of prices of building supplies during the rainy season, I’m a bit hesitant to get started. My supervisor Stewart Lupembe is a livestock expert and is helping me tremendously with this project. I’m sure as soon as we work out the kinks due to the price fluctuations we’ll be good to go! I think the thing that is exciting me most about Upendo now is that the members are now really starting to take responsibility for the group. They sometimes come with ideas or lessons to share or encouragement for the group. I can honestly say that the members of Upendo help get me through the occasional frustrations that I deal with here. They are an amazing group of people.

That being said, we as a group just went through a great loss as we lost our first group member to AIDS. Somedays I am able to harden and do my work more clinically here, but as I sat in Yuvilati’s kitchen and cried with her mom and sister whom she left behind, my work suddenly became very personal again. As I sat in that funeral I had a hard time focusing on the words I was singing. I was thinking more about what I could have done differently. Could I have visited her more in the hospital? Could I have spent more time at her home? Was there something I should have taught about? Was there something I was too scared to say? To busy? It’s funny how self-centered I get at a funeral. Is that human nature in general or just me? I either find myself thinking about what I would do if I lost a loved one or what I could have done differently in my relationship with that person. Maybe that’s selfish, but maybe it’s good. Maybe that keeps life in perspective for us. Maybe it helps push us forward. Maybe it helps us keep our minds on what really matters. I’ll be honest, while I was thinking about what really mattered I started to wonder if there is really any other work that I’ll have in my life that is more important than this. I began to look around the room and see my friends, many HIV positive, many a part of Upendo. I wondered if I could ever have a job in the US that could touch lives like mine does here. I wondered if I should leave them in a few months. I wondered if I would bother to mourn for their deaths when I live across an ocean. I wondered if they would ever really know how much I care about them. But at the same time I started to think about home. About my parents, family members, friends. For the first time I felt the ache of the pull between my two homes. And since that day, the feeling hasn’t really gone away. “Should I stay or should I go now….” Are no longer cute words to a song, it’s a truly pressing question in my heart.

November was also an incredibly busy month because I was preparing my village’s World AIDS Day celebration on December 1. I really wanted to chose a powerful theme for the event and after brainstorming with students, teachers, my counterpart and friends I got the idea from an unlikely place…my mom! J While talking on the phone with my parents my mom mentioned that since Tanzanian Independence Day was the week just after World AIDS Day maybe I could do something related to freedom. I decided on “Uhuru ni Uwezo” or “Freedom is Power.” I wanted to stress to my community—especially the young people that their personal freedom is powerful. They’re free to make healthy choices. They’re free to protect themselves. They’re free to test. They’re free to speak out. They’re free to know the truth. They’re free to live openly. They’re free to live with hope. They’re free to change the world. It turned out to be a pretty powerful theme….and it also was great for decorating purposes! Ha….guess I’ll always love a theme party.

I worked really hard to especially include my students in the event. I started by preparing a poster contest for the fifth and sixth grade students at the primary school. The idea of the poster contest was to get my life skills students thinking about World AIDS Day, but also to promote the event around the ward (Tanzania’s rough equivalent to a county). I bought flip chart paper and used the markers and pens that were provided by the members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church for the kids to use. The teachers at the school were very cooperative and gave me plenty of time to prepare. First, we discussed the goals of World AIDS Day. We talked about how World AIDS Day is a day when people can learn more about HIV/AIDS and available resources in our community and villagers can have the opportunity to educate their neighbors, friends, and relatives. We talked about the need to reduce stigma. Finally we talked about the need to promote a higher sense of responsibility among the community as a whole to attack the problem of HIV/AIDS. While the students seemed to understand all the goals of World AIDS Day and the theme, they had a hard time understanding the concept of a poster contest. I’ll admit I was personally really frazzled and frustrated as I tried to explain the concept over and over again. No matter what I said or what examples I used, almost every child in the classroom would create an identical poster. My students are so used to copying EXACTLY what’s on the blackboard that an assignment that required visual creativity was incredibly difficult. At first I found myself criticizing the lack of creativity my students seemed to be displaying, but then I remembered that my students are amazingly creative writers and many have gifts in music that would be unfathomable in the US. The resources to support the visual arts, however, are not available or seen as a priority here. Eventually my students did get the idea and excelled at the project, which seems to be an illustration for how these kids will continue to overcome challenges in their lives. All in all, I was very pleased with my students. They did a great job making the posters and drawing a lot of attention to the event.

I also tried to create a special exercise for my secondary students. I decided that in lieu of a final exam I would give them something more practical. I created an HIV/AIDS Scavenger hunt. Again, this was a very new idea for my students. I asked them to find stores that sold condoms, get free condoms, visit local free clinics to test for HIV/AIDS, talk to church and government leaders about the HIV/AIDS crisis, talk to friends and family about their personal experiences with HIV and finally to give feedback on all the HIV/AIDS information they’d learned throughout the year. To be honest, the scavenger hunt was a near failure. Most students didn’t participate in the event and the few who did (less than 5%) did a very poor job. They fabricated answers and a few even downright lied (I’m tricky and gave all the places they were supposed to go special pens for the signature so I would know when they just were filling it in). I have come up a lot of answers to why this exercise was such a failure. 1) They’d never heard of a scavenger hunt before and the idea just didn’t make sense. 2) They were busy with finals and/or were already home after national exams. 3) They’re lazy. 4) The things I asked them to do were just too embarrassing. Excuse one and two are sort of understandable. Choice three just makes me down right mad. But it’s choice four that has me concerned. My students live in a community that is devastated by HIV/AIDS, but they can’t talk about it. My students know what condoms are and how to use them, but despite the fact that they can save their lives the stigma involved keeps them from obtaining them. My students can test for free at two places within walking distance, but again….I believe the stigma keeps them away. I remember when I first got here I asked if there was a lot of stigma around here. The resounding answer from everyone was, “No.” But I think they were only referring to one kind of stigma—the one directed at people living with HIV/AIDS. Sure, that’s still around, but my community generally accepts and treats people living with HIV/AIDS with respect. On the other hand though, there is great stigma related to positive health behaviors, such as using condoms or going to test. People see both of these gestures as admittance that a person has “bad behavior.” And no one (especially students) wants to risk that. Personally, some of the answers I received back to my life skills sessions were so incoherent I was afraid I had taught my students nothing. Although on the flipside there were also students who’s answers were so accurate and detailed I suspected they may have stolen my manual. Maybe that’s a good place for me to be in as an educator. The worst answers make me want to strive to do better and the best answers give me the confidence to know that I’m reaching some kids and maybe, possibly….actually making a difference in their lives.

After attending a community theater workshop in June, I was really excited to help my students prepare skits for World AIDS Day. The Fema Club from Bulongwa Secondary School prepared a play about the danger of alcohol use. Their drama showed that even well-educated, strong individuals can make poor and dangerous choices when under the influence of alcohol. Several of my life skills students from Mahulu Primary School also performed a play about the issue of fatakis. A fataki is a grown-up [man] who preys on young girls, usually students, for sexual companionship. This is a huge problem in Tanzania because these young girls often are living on the edge of poverty, so they enter into dangerous situations for basic needs and sometimes, even more upsetting, luxury items like shoes, clothes, phones, or money. The students performed a drama that empowered young girls to say no to easy money and also put responsibility into the hands of parents and community members to protect their children. The final play was performed by the women of the Miss Uhuru pageant (more on that to come). These women performed a skit that showed that educated and empowered women can and must make a stand to protect themselves against HIV/AIDS through abstinence, being faithful/testing, and/or using condoms. The skits were all really well-down, but not exactly in the “participatory” manner that we learned at the workshop. I hope that as I continue to work with my students they will be more prepared to use skits to start discussions that can cause real change in this community.

The Miss Uhuru pageant was an idea I got from a video I saw in college about Botswana’s Miss HIV Stigma Free Competition. This was a real beauty pageant in which all the contestants had to be HIV positive themselves or have a direct relative infected with the disease. I heard both criticism and praise about this event. Some people said the event was excellent. It showed that if you used ARVs you could live a positive and healthy life. It gave people courage to test and also helped reduce the stigma directed at PLWHAs. Others saw it as a bad thing. They said it glamorized HIV and made it into “no big deal.” They also feared that the lavish prizes given to the winners gave the message to people that if you need money or stuff—get AIDS. As I prepared this event, I tried to keep both sides of the coin in mind. I really believed that if I focused more on what the women SAID than on how they LOOKED it could be a really positive event. I can teach until I’m blue in the face, but these women who live the already difficult lives of women in a developing country gave first-hand accounts that not only encouraged people to test and live positively, but also to protect themselves and remain healthy. In my village I feel like the idea of HIV as no big deal, isn’t too much of a problem since people are sick and dying here daily, but I did have some serious concern about the idea of being rewarded for being HIV positive. This brings up a very difficult issue with my work. A lot of times I do provide “leg-up” type assistance for PLWHAs. Is this fair? Some of my villagers seem to think not, but I’ve seen the difficult lives these people lead. I’ve seen there children, and I have a hard to thinking that it isn’t crucial to sustaining families and in the long-term potentially the community at large. That being said, maybe the fancy gifts I gave to the participants weren’t necessary, but I felt like these women also deserved a reward for their bravery. No matter what anyone says, getting up and declaring your HIV status in front of 500 people isn’t easy. I have literally nothing but praise for the five women who were chosen for the competition and the 4 others who applied. All are amazing women who are caring well for themselves and their families. They spoke eloquently and with bravery. Not just to get a prize, but to be heard. Do fight AIDS. To help their communities, relatives, and friends. We only chose one Miss Uhuru, but they are all winners in my book. Pardon the colloquialism.

The afternoon hours on World AIDS Day were filled with soccer, free magazines and prizes, and testing! I got the help of PIUMA a local HIV/AIDS NGO and the local hospital in order to set up a testing booth in my village. In one afternoon 44 people got tested, many being referred to the hospital for treatment and PIUMA and Upendo for assistance. It has been difficult in the past few weeks talking to my friends and neighbors who tested positive on World AIDS Day. I am sad to hear that a friend is sick, but I’m encouraged that they tested and are now getting help. It was even more exciting to hear that some people who were afraid to test did so because they knew they had the support of Upendo group if they did test positive.

In the evening everyone headed to the neighboring church. The pastor and church elders agreed to help me prepare a candle light vigil. Parishioners came to remember those who lost their lives to HIV/AIDS, but also to pray for those who are infected and affected by HIV, including widows, orphans, PLWHAs, and their caretakers. It was a very emotional service, but it was incredibly powerful to hear the needs related to HIV/AIDS lifted up in prayer. It seems that since HIV has become such a huge part of life here, sometimes it’s taken for granted or ignored in a lot of ways. I really hope that by getting the church involved on World AIDS Day that they’ll continue to keep HIV/AIDS related issues in mind throughout the year.

Overall, I was really happy with the way World AIDS Day turned out. I was incredibly stressed out and sometimes not always kind, but despite myself, the event was really successful. My students learned a lot through attending but also by preparing and teaching themselves. My PLWHAs not only spoke well but proved to themselves what they’re capable of. The village and church leaderships learned what was possible when they worked together. And the HIV/AIDS organizations were brought together to really help the community.

That being said, after World AIDS Day was over, I was exhausted and went on vacation! I also used quite a bit of December relaxing and rejuvenating for the coming year! I enjoyed decorating my house with Bret and my neighbors as well as making a ridiculous amount of Christmas cookies! It was fun sharing my traditions with my friends here. In turn they took care of me on Christmas day. Christmas here isn’t a day filled with presents and Santa. Here we go to church in the morning to celebrate the real meaning of Christmas. Again this year I participated in the church Christmas play…this year as a wise man! After church Bret and I went around to our friends houses where we ate ridiculous amounts of food and danced to Tanzanian gospel music. I was so grateful for the love while away from friends and family. Bret and I tried to show our appreciation with words, but I think the gift bags filled with Christmas cookies did the trick a bit better!

The holidays did indeed give me a bit more time for “extracurriculars” while here. Bret, Marie and I made some pretty amazing food and treats! On Thanksgiving we made chicken, gravy, homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, carrots, cobbler, and pie! It was quite a feast and it was topped off by a can of cranberry sauce I got in a care package (thanks mom and dad!). Bret and I made mouth-watering Christmas cookies over the charcoal stove: red and green Amish cookies, peanut butter jam print, chocolate fudge, no bakes, oatmeal butter squares, and toffee bars. Apart from special holiday foods, I also have recently made lasagna, mom’s mac and cheese, and corndogs!

I’ve had a bit more time for reading too since school let out. If you’re interested here are the books I’ve read:

· Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs

· A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn

· Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear by Katharine Weber

· The Nine by Jeffrey Toobin

· The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

· Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder

· Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston

· Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by J.K. Rowling

· Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling

· Wicked by Gregory Maguire

· Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom

· Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver

· Green Hills of Africa by Ernest Hemmingway

That’s it for now. I don’t have too much else to say other than Happy New Year! Hope this finds you all happy and healthy! I don’t really have a New Year’s resolution other than to stop missing things from the US that can’t come in a care package….So here’s the list and I promise it’s the last time I mention them til I get home.

· Canned soup

· Dairy!

· Mom and grandma’s cooking

· Christmas shopping with dad

· Cereal

· The library

· The news (readily available)

· Prime-time tv dramas (I know…)

· My friends and family

· The freedom of having a car

· Seeing my brother’s latest hairdos

· Weddings

And no….I’m not ashamed that 1/3 of that list has to do with food. Hahaha….Happy New Year!

PS....I know I said I'd post pictures but the computer isn't exactly cooperating. I'll try and get on that ASAP!

Think this is going to be one of those blogs that needs to be divided into chapters…sorry everyone!

Chapter 1 Work:

Currently my PLWHAs group, Upendo, is doing really well. We have close to 30 members and we meet twice a month. The taarafa (kind like a county) Development Officer has been helping us preparing an official constitution as well as begin to prepare our credit group. Members have now almost all paid their “membership fee” as decided in the constitution (just less than $2) and most are putting 500 shillings (40 cents) monthly into our “bank” to use in our rotating credit scheme. We also have been lucky enough to receive contributions from some government leaders and from some short-term missionaries who came last month. Our “pot” is now over $200! The members can hardly wait to start getting loans, but I am insisting that we wait until everyone understands the process and the consequences of not paying back a loan on time.

This group also continues to care for a communal garden. We used the PC “permaculture” (short for permanent agriculture, which focuses on double digging, companion planting, and compost) technique which has gotten some positive and negative feedback. People are annoyed that I won’t use pesticides, which harm the good flora and fauna often along with the bad AND which deteriorate the soil. Although in some ways, I can now see why. Our beans were completely destroyed by bugs. L Some of our other seeds were from America and didn’t agree well with the very cold season we planted them in. Although, despite our difficulties. We had an amazing crop of spinach (which people have already begun to eat to improve their nutrition), our tomatoes (which are a bit expensive for the average Tanzanian to cook with on a regular basis) are progressing well, and our corn is higher than anyone else’s in the village! The garden does pose some problems of its own though. With such a big group it’s hard to keep track of who is doing their share of the work. I know some members are getting incredibly overworked while others get to reap the benefits. I know they are looking to me to step in, but other than a good talking to about teamwork….I’m trying to make sure they solve the problem together as a group.

While writing the group Constitution members agreed to support each other financially when one member has to go to the hospital. We also recently received the gift of a prayer shawl from the members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. The missionaries explained to the group treasurer that the shawl was made by an elderly member of the church and that while she made it she prayed for the recipient. After speaking with the group’s treasurer the missionaries also agreed to continue to pray and support the group even now after they’ve returned to Pennsylvania. I know the group appreciated the gifts (clothes, prayer shawl, money, and a water can), but I think the symbol of the shawl was almost more powerful for me. I know often as I work with PLWHAs I begin to feel anxiety for them, and the reminder that these strangers would intercede for them was such a huge comfort and blessing to me. It gave me a renewed hope I didn’t think I really noticed was missing.

I also wrote a grant for my group members to each start personally raising chickens so we are all eagerly awaiting the arrival of these funds so we can get going on building everyone’s coops, planning the training, and buying over a hundred chickens!

I continue to teach Life Skills in two secondary schools, but it is getting a bit harder. I am not a strict teacher like they are used to and my topic is not covered on national exams nor do I continue to hold the star-quality of the random mzungu who shows up to school. I am having to battle more and more with my students and constantly verbally demanding respect. While this struggle does occasionally make me just want to hide or find an excuse to stay home from school, I’m finding that their resistance is making me be honest and genuine with them in a way that wasn’t appropriate earlier. There are two more lessons revolving around HIV/AIDS before we move on to communication skills and I hope to finish these in November despite national exams and final prep (the school year ends here in December). Hopefully in the process I’ll be able to drive home my major points one more time. 1. You have the power to protect yourself from HIV. And you’re worth that effort. 2. HIV is not just a problem for those who are sick. We have a responsibility to help those who are infected and affected by HIV/AIDS live their lives to the fullest. 3. HIV/AIDS is a complicated issue and we have to be willing to take time to help neighbors, loved-ones, and family members make good choices. Sometimes I feel like I’m wasting my time teaching these young kids about HIV. The vast majority of them are healthy and strong and plan on staying that way, but the point I make is that HIV/AIDS education isn’t just for us. It’s about changing our society. It’s about showing us that we have the insight and power to make this world a better place. I hope that that message comes through as we pop condom balloons, debate, throwing popcorn seeds at each other, and play tug-o-war.

Teaching my primary school students life skills is a very different experience. The focus with them is very much on respecting oneself and others and taking basic precautions to keep safe. Through out the year we’ve covered the topics of: bullies, physical/mental disabilities, HIV/AIDS, and sexual abuse. We’re now starting the “Safety” chapter that talks about ways to protect oneself from accidents of various kinds and how to treat in the case accidents occur. I think it will be fun to put my First Aid classes to use with a very hands-on lesson! I am finally starting to know my kids names and their abilities as the year draws to an end. As of now, I don’t know if I will continue on with these students as the go to the sixth grade or if I will teach the in-coming 5th graders. We shall see!

I’m not sure if I’ve written on here yet about my bibi (grandma) group. A group of 7 elderly women caring for orphans approached me and informed me they would like to make a group. Currently we are attempting to officially start the group and make plans, but they have already begun a rotating credit group of their own!

And how could I forget? The choo building project continues to progress well. We are on an incredible time crunch due to the impending rainy season, but I have discovered if anyone can make the impossible possible…it’s Tanzanians. While the availability of a car to transport materials, the late arrival of grant money, and the fact that most villagers are now incredibly busy harvesting grain, we continue to progress well. I am faithful the kids will soon have a clean, safe place to go to the bathroom. To all of you who contributed I truly cannot thank you enough. I wish you could know the students that you are helping! I know that’s impossible, but I promise to do the next best thing and get some pictures of the students (and the progress) on here as soon as possible!

Finally, the icing on the cake work-wise are the preparations for World AIDS Day, December 1. We have a ton of activities planned and hopefully after World AIDS Day I’ll be able to give you a full run-down!

Chapter 2 When the Lights Go Out:

I once again have a list of books to share with you all. I know some people have mentioned wanting to “read books with me” so please feel free to pick a book from my list, read it, and send along your thoughts! It’ll be like cross-continental book club. The ones I’ve recently finished are:

The Importance of Being Ernest and Other Plays by Oscar Wilde

The Metamorphosis, the Penal Colony and Other Stories by Franz Kafka (that was for you, Dr. Mrs.)

Kanthapura by Raja Rao

The Princess Bride (not the original Morgenstern though, the abridged)

Summer Sisters by Judy Blume (yeah, I know…)

The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner’s Semester at America’s Holiest University by Kevin Roose

The Ghost in Love by Jonathan Carrol

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown

The Soloist by Steve Lopez

It’s so funny how different your life is when you don’t have electricity. In a lot of ways, I really love it (granted, I cheat and use Bret’s to charge my phone, iPOD, speakers, and flashlight batteries…). The thing is, I can work work work until dark, but when the lights go out…I’m done for the day. I’m free to sit next to my neighbors fire and talk and eat ugali. I’m free to close my door and be alone. I’m free to cook. I’m free to read (by headlamp or candlelight). I’m free to think. I’m sure electricity is one of the inventions that has most effected the development of the western world, but a part of me loves that I don’t have access to it here. When the “productive hours of the day” are less, that leaves time for doing the things that make me me. I always have time to invest in people and in myself. Sure, it’s inconvenient and sometimes scary, but in the dark I can’t hide from myself. And I can’t run myself ragged. I have to be still, careful. Internal. I have time to read books that I’d never make time for in America. Books that teach me more about me. Books that teach me more about my shameful history. Books that confuse me and remind me that I’m no where close to have it all figured out. Books that remind me of friends. Books that remind me of issues that are far off. Books that make me appreciate the beauty of the human experience and relish my share in it. Maybe the problem isn’t just that the lights are out. Maybe it’s also that the noise is cut-off. The images cease. There’s no tv. There are no cars. I’m alone beneath the stars. It’s cold. I’m tired. If am physically and mentally exhausted…I sleep…and wake up refreshed in the morning. I don’t sit for hours in front of a tv or computer while my body pushes itself to the limit only to wake up tired again the next day. Does this mean I’ll turn my electricity off when I go home? Probably not. I love writing emails. I love watching the news and the occasional trashy tv show, but I think maybe this experience will help me find some sort of happy medium in the future. We’ll see…

Chapter 3 Knobby Fingers:

Well, anyone who knows me really well knows that I crack my fingers like crazy and I’m gonna have gnarly, disgusting fingers when I’m old. Unfortunately, recently I feel like I’m already there. The problem is this. My clothes washing form is a bit off. I never remember to use solely the palms of my hand, in particularly the fleshy part under my thumbs. This leads to me always getting small cuts on my hands on laundry day. For some reason these little tiny cuts always turn into big nasty knobs with ugly scabs that stick out and scratch whoever I touch. It’s not really that big of a deal. But that combined with the fact that laundry takes a shit-load of time, water, and energy makes me less and less into the whole laundry thing. Plus recently, Mama Diana, my neighbor, mom, and one of my best friends here, asked me why I don’t pay her to do my laundry.

So….that leads to the question: Why don’t I just pay someone to do my laundry? Paying someone to do my laundry each week would cost less than $7 a month and would save me probably 6 hours of work (excluding fetching water). This would put money into the hands of a Tanzanian who could really use it and wouldn’t really put a dent in my wallet at all. But I still say no. Why?

Well, initially I wasn’t sure how my “living allowance,” of about $200 per month, would provide. I wanted to live frugally and simply. I also made a commitment to myself to try and live as much like a Tanzanian as I can. To live without running water, electricity, appliances, etc. To make us equals in the toils and labors of life and hopefully through shared experience to catch a glimpse of their worldview. But is that why I continually refuse to pay someone to do my laundry? I don’t run out to the farm with my neighbors every chance I get (that shit is HARD work) and I don’t cut and carry firewood like they do and I use the internet and read books from an endless supply. So who am I really kidding? Why won’t I bend on this issue?

I have to admit that there’s another factor at play. One the Tanzanians will never understand….and that’s my ingrained views, fears, and experiences with race in the United States. Now, don’t get me wrong. Race is definitely an issue in Tanzania. White people “wazungu” have long been a presence here…for good and evil. We represent effortless money without strings. Aid. We’re the barers of religion and education. There is power involved. There’s unequality involved. But it’s not like at home. I am forever scarred by my country’s history of race relations. It took a long time before I didn’t wince when I was called mzungu. Because I didn’t want to be labeled by my color or appearance. I wanted to be a person. A dada (sister) or mwalimu (teacher). I didn’t want to be categorized by my color because since I was a small child I learned that’s an unpardonable sin.

“Thou shalt not be a racist,” is not a part of the Tanzanian Ten Commandments. There’s no history here of slave ships filled with human cargo chained under the hold dying of starvation, disease, and madness. There’s no history here of people being branded with the initial of the European country claiming them as a tradable good. There’s no history here of slaves slowly beat to death as an example to keep the negros in line. There’s no history here of ripping families apart for profit, pacifying with religion, or raping without repercussion. There were never race lynchings or burning crosses. There’s no history here of poll tax or the civil rights struggle. There aren’t ghettos here divided by race. There’s no statistics here drawing ties between poor education, STDs, crime, single-parenthood and race. People aren’t referred to by their race or ethnicity—the closest you may here is that someone is really black or white (which actually means light brown).

If I’m going to be honest with you and with myself, I have to admit that a part of me won’t let Mama Diana or anyone else touch my laundry because I can’t stand the picture in my head. I can’t stand handing someone a bag full of my dirty laundry in exchange for a fist-full of dirty money and a condescending “thank you”—especially if that someone is black. Am I being over-sensitive? Am I being a bit impractical? Probably the answer is yes to both.

So now the question is this…is our country being helped by this over-sensitive, impractical mindset? Is my hyper-sensitivity to race relations helpful to anyone? Am I promoting race reconciliation? Am I reducing stereotypes, producing understanding, or bridging the gap in any way? This might be a better blog if I knew the answer to that question.

I was recently talking to a friend about where I want to live when I grow up. Where I imagine the best environment to raise a child to be, etc. I mentioned that I don’t want to raise a child in a place that lacks diversity. I don’t want any child of mine to cry hysterically when they see a person of another race (yes, that happens to me on a regular basis). I don’t want any child of mine to form their thoughts on race solely on the stereotypes they see on tv or what they read in books. But then again, I love my home-town, despite it’s incredible lack of racial diversity. Why should I run-away from such a place simply because I don’t see enough colors when I stand in line at the grocery store. And is it fair to look at someone of another race as a statistic? Is it fair to want black people or Asian people or Hispanic people around so I can raise a child with an open heart? What if my child only walks away with a sense of the necessity of inter-race relations and not the beauty of relationship. And worse yet, what if my friends of another races feel like their only filling my diversity quota? When will it be that these intersections aren’t a part of my thought process? When will it be that I’ll be able to revel in my friends and loved ones because of the diversity of their thoughts, experiences, sense of humor, talents, and philosophies?

I don’t know when that day will arrive. I don’t think a day will come when it’ll be ok to forget the injustices of the past and present, but I hope that someday guilt and fear won’t guide my thoughts and actions. I hope that my children will observe in me a spirit that seeks justice and a love that is available to all. I hope that they’ll observe a person that treats everyone with respect regardless of all the categories and labels we create. I want my children to be free to love the homeless, the handicapped, the mentally ill, just as I want them to love people of other races. Maybe I won’t be able to completely lose the fear and the guilt, but maybe the place of these emotions in the culture and heart of my children will slightly be replaced. Maybe they’ll be the ones to change the world. Maybe it’ll be their kids…or their grandkids. I guess all I can hope is that at the end of the day my screwed up emotions, thoughts, and tendencies will guide me in the direction of love and someday those stimuli won’t be necessary for love to abound.

Chapter 4 Happy Birthday, Mr. President:

This morning I had the distinct honor of seeing Tanzania’s President in the flesh. Now that I’ve seen Kikwete in the flesh I’ve now seen 25% of Tanzania’s presidents since independence. Not bad since I haven’t seen one of our many American Presidents. He happened to be passing through our town on business and so he stopped to give a short speech to an anxious crowd of singing students, bishops, drivers, farmers, foreigners, and drunkards. He appeared in an impressive parade of cars—literally more than I see in any given day (perhaps month). He stood in his car with his body sticking out of his sunroof from the belly button up and spoke into a microphone with a spongy yellow cover. His hair had the strange sheen of black with a slight coating of dust from the roads and his tinted glasses created an even greater distance between us than that of the shifting crowd.

He congratulated the recently elected Village Chairman and asked him to give a brief account of the village’s leading issues at this moment in time. As a Peace Corps volunteer I am not allowed to give my opinion about Tanzanian leaders, but I will say it was a very interesting experience. I can’t imagine being “the man” responsible for the development of an entire nation. While cries for access to running water, electricity, and fertilizer may seem reasonable to me, I can’t imagine the volume of such cries when combined with every village in vast Tanzania. Kikwete’s job isn’t easy. I’m not sure I would want to be in his place.

And with that said…maybe a word on our President. Obama is constantly on my mind here in Tanzania. Not necessarily because I have any idea what he’s actually doing (because I don’t) but because Obama-mania is still in full-swing in Tanzania. There’s Obama flashlights, umbrellas, shirts, jean jackets, khangas, bags, posters, calendars, etc. etc. Many of which, I’ll admit, I own myself. I imagined that these items would be accepted at home as valuable keepsakes, but it seems like many of the Americans I talk to see them simply as over-priced garbage. Maybe being away from home is only allowing me to see a certain piece of the American people’s perception of Obama, but the piece I’m seeing is somehow hostile.

Ok…so maybe the reasons given for his reception of the Nobel Peace Prize are weak. Maybe universal health care won’t work. Maybe we’re still in a recession. But are any of these things his fault? With all the Obama-mania that swirled around the election, was the bar set too high? Is our rock star, racial hero, and rhetorical wizard really doing that bad of a job? My goodness….I’m sure everyone would agree that Kikwete has a hard job here facilitating development. Is anyone considering the difficulty of the task facing Obama? He’s supposed to restore our “good” reputation abroad, soothe the fears and the debts of the long-time economic elite, end bipartisanship, fulfill the dream of a non-racist America, and provide a leg-up to America’s often forgotten lower class—all of course while maintaining a perfect home life and preserving the stratification of our country that made it rich, prosperous and stable since 1776. The truth is, despite what I wrote in my President’s notebook with Mrs. Collins in eighth grade, the job of the President is incredibly difficult. They often make decisions to oppress people at home and abroad for the “greater good.” With all the problems in the American economy now, is that what America as a whole is asking for? Are we asking Obama to make the tough decisions that in the end will profit “us.” Is it possible to be a loving, virtuous person in the White House? And really….is that what America wants?

Listen, this is no plea for Obama (even though I have loved him ever since I wrote my senior thesis on the issue of race in his speeches) I’m just saying maybe normal citizens all over the world should stop blaming their hardships on current leaders (or those of recent history, cough Bush cough) and take a look at our messy histories and personal responsibility and see where we can go from here. Easy for me to say from here, I know…I live on less than $7 a day, but maybe my own words will snap me back to responsibility as I bitch about the lack of jobs, health insurance, taxes, etc in a few months.

Chapter 5 Water Water Everywhere?

Well, since we’re nearing the end of the dry season, I thought I’d write a quick reflection about the water situation here. I have a tap near-by my house, but there’s never water in it. When I want water I have to go down (a mountain!) to a nearby spring! It’s kinda a pain the butt. In the beginning of the dry season I made a habit of doing a bucket everyday. As I traveled and got lazy…I got out of the habit. These days if I’m hard pressed I’ll run down, but usually I just conserve until a group of students are sent from the school to fetch me water. Thank Jesus.

So….this whole process has me thinking about conservation. Anyone remember when Kim and Reggie Harris used to come and sing to us at Radez Elementary School? I’m pretty sure they even visited our class since they were friends with Mrs. Petersen! Anyway, I remember these individuals, not just for the color of their skin, their extraordinary dress, and exuberant personality, but for the words they sang. My favorite song (complete with motions) went something like this, “Shut off the water, don’t let it run…leave a little water for everyone. Shut off the water when you are done. Shut off the water.”

Sometimes I catch myself humming this diddy as I’m at Bret’s house (he has running water) washing my hands or brushing my teeth. I even sing it (bitterly) to myself as I watch Tanzanians pour out the bottom of their drinking cup after getting enough to drink (they drink the entire cup at once and dump out the rest). I mean….REALLY! Don’t they remember how much work it was to get down to the spring for that water? But then again…they’re used to the process. Just like when I go to Dar and there’s an unlimited water supply I take a 20 minute shower. When I’m used to the process I use without thinking. Just like I did at home. Just like I do here.

I’m going to be honest with you here. I don’t think my water consumption will change when I get home. I love taking long, scalding hot showers. And when I can do that effortlessly, I’m pretty sure I will. Daily. So what have I learned here? Hard work sucks? I’m spoiled and ok with it? I don’t know. Maybe I won’t be able to give up my exorbitant water consumption, but maybe it’ll be a reminder as I consume other things. Maybe I didn’t have to work hard for my gas or clothes. But SOMEONE did.

Chapter 6 I am Woman, Hear Me Roar?

The word feminism in America is very often a devil term of sorts. We often think of feminist as militant, impractical, cold. While I’m so far away from home now, I think more than ever I’m aware of this stereotype in myself. Tanzania in general has a more “traditional” view of gender. There is an incredible split in the division of labor and people’s distinctions between women’s sexual, spiritual, and social needs and responsibilities are very definite. I often find that these conceptions are frankly, infuriating. While complaining to Bret recently he asked me, “So…why do you strive so hard to fit into the norm here.” He was referring to my outward appearances and gestures. And he’s right…in many ways, I strive to be the ideal Tanzanian woman.

I bend my knee when I greet anyone (man or woman)—men don’t do this. I wear a dress or skirt everyday. I try and prepare food for guests and fuss about the manner in which it’s presented. I sit on the women’s side at church. I eat after the men. I participate in “women’s work” and avoid hang-out areas for men. Why?

Well, first of all, because I’m a guest. I didn’t come to Tanzania just to teach about my culture and history. I came to learn about and appreciate Tanzanian culture. Yes, I piga magota when I greet, but the degree varies on age more than gender (I get right down on the floor for old ladies!) because I deeply respect the reverence Tanzanians have for the elderly. I wear dresses, even though I doubt anyone would mind in the least if I put on a pair of jeans or dress pants. Most of the wazungu here do! But if I dressed like a mzungu maybe I wouldn’t be able to garner mutual respect from the elders here. I wouldn’t be able to get clothes made like the women here. I wouldn’t be able to show them that I think they’re beautiful and stylish too. I strive to be a good hostess not just because it’s what’s expected of me as a woman, but because I want to return the hospitality that has been shown to me on countless occasions in my 17 months here in Tanzania. I sit with the women at church so I can worship without distraction and without being a distraction to others. I try and wait to eat…because, well, “the last shall be first,” right? I participate in “women’s work” to spend time with my friends and learn about their lives and I avoid hang-out areas for men, so I can keep the respect of the community at large. What would you think of the white girl from outta town that gets drunk with your husband?

So that bears the question? What am I doing to help women here? And really, do they need my help? The feminist revolution in the United States took place over an extended period of time and was led by American women. Prophets in their own land. That’s likely what will create change here in Tanzania too. In the meantime, I’m trying to do my part. I show indignation when the female teachers (who are equally educated and equally busy at school) are expected to serve chai. I get angry when men don’t take responsibility for the well-being of their families or speak condescendingly toward their wives. And furious when they are violent or abusive towards their wives or children. But my approach is to talk. To discuss. If men through Bible verses at me about wives submitting to their husbands I ask them in they love their wives like Christ loves the church (he died for it!!! He didn’t beat it). If a friend speaks down to his wife or tells her what to do, I call him on it. Not militantly, but not completely in jest. And I often try to make the female teachers wait with me until a male teacher serves us. I show my students that girls can play soccer. I let Bret show our neighbors that boys can cook and clean. Some of these strategies are direct, some are indirect. My hope is that by being an accepted part of this village (partly by fitting well into my gender roll) I’ll be able to gain a voice about this topic, and maybe inspire the Susan B. Anthony, Sojourner Truth, or the author of the African Feminine Mystic.

That all being said, I don’t completely hate the Tanzanian view of women. They treasure women as wives and mothers. Two things I hope to achieve and excel at some day. I also don’t completely praise the American definitions of gender, nor do I think we have at “gender equality.” Maybe my time here has made me more sensitive to society’s ability to define rolls. And maybe this sense will enable me to be the Sojourner Truth of my generation when I get home.

This is President Kikwete in my village!

This is how my neighbors cook. Fire wood on three stones. The pot is made out of white clay which turns black from the fire.

My village is beautiful this time of year. The grain is ready to harvest and it covers the gorgeous slopping hills with gold. The walk to work is great!

Dar es Salaam is pretty too...

This is how to finish bricks. Those fires burnt all night....I went home at like 1 a.m.

Bret and I...yeah, I'm short.

Some of the ladies in my PLWHAs group splitting up the vegetables from our garden.

My kids dancing in my living room. There's no better way to cheer up after a hard day at the office. :-)

This is the foundation of the choos. The walls are almost done now! They're about up to my chest! Maybe we will get at least the kids choos done before the rain...

The fundi hard at work.

Hi everyone! Not much time to write today, but I wanted to pass on the great news that after slightly adjusting the budget with my villagers, we have reached our goal. We began buying supplies today! I'll keep you all posted. Thank you so much for your support!

Top: Celebrating Philip "The German"'s departure by dancing to "Dar Mpaka Moro" Next: Some of my 5th graders Left: Bret (right) helps prepare the goat for our 4th of July feast Below: My living room

Left: My counterpart after the community theater workshop

Next: My bedroomBottom: Part of the Obama shrine in my office

Well, I'm hoping to get some pictures up on here, but they seem to be taking FOR-EV-ER....so I'm not sure if that will happen. Oh well, I'll give it a few more minutes than I'm gonna quit for today. I still have two meetings before I teach at the primary school at 2:40 (and it's 12:30!) Yikes....

I'm already quite busy after just getting back from a bit of a trip. I went to Morogoro for a Community Theater Workshop. It was awesome! We learned to combine drama and BCC (Behavior Change Communication) to teach people about difficult topics. I loved the way we had to break down the problem (it's causes, side effects, etc) and I especially loved getting my acting shoes back on. I got to play a bit of a harlot in our group's play. HAHA...it was fun. I'm a bit worried my counterpart thinks I was type-casted though. The whole thing is recorded, but with the way downloading seems to be happening, I'm not sure it'll be online anytime soon. Can't wait to start a drama group here in village though. Should be lots of fun!

After Moro I went up to Tanga to be a "PCV of the Week." No, it's not a cool award or anything....sorry to disappoint you. I just got to go meet the newbies that arrived in June and help with their training a bit. It was really fun. They're a great group and are gonna do good work here! I had fun answering their questions and it was crazy to see what a difference a year makes!

Now after two weeks plus a little I'm back to work. I'm having a great time teaching again. I love teaching life skills. The last lesson i taught was about the relationship between STDs and HIV/AIDS. Did you know that in Africa you're 350% more likely to contract HIV if you have an STD? The lesson was quite serious, but we had a lot of fun with it. Who knew a basketball hoop and a washbasin could be sample vaginas? Ha....

My PLWHAs group is doing well too. The garden survived the cold and things are starting to come up! It's so exciting! Hopefully this month we'll have a guest speaker come and help us set up our rotating credit group and I am starting to write a grant to get them all started in chicken farming!

There are some other new developments too. We haven't started building the choos because we're waiting on money, but I have just been approached by some elderly women who care for OVCs (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) and we're going to start a group for them! I'm really excited.

I don't have much time but just thought I'd write a few quick notes of things that have made me happy recently (in no particular order):

*The death of Michael Jackson....well, not that he died. Just the amount of sympathy I got from my neighbors. I haven't heard about any news since Obama won the presidency, but Jackson was all over the radio. Don't think I've heard "Thriller" so much in my life! :-)

*Fourth of July....no fireworks or parades....but we did kill 2 goats and 2 chickens and had a big old party!

*Calzones. Homemade. Enough said.

*The US's showing in the Confederation Cup. It was a rough final, but I was still proud and rocking it out in my Obama khanga and American flag headwrap. My host father called me to apologize after the game.

*Emails from home

*Tons of support for the choo grant....Thank you!

*Ice cream cones (I love the city....)

*The cards and pictures that are decorating my living room

*Giving myself a french manicure (and then promptly rubbing it all off doing laundry...oops)

*Running away from Bulongwa during the coldest season

*Reading lots of good books (A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemmingway, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman, The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver, Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos, The Shack by William Paul Young, The Chronicles of Narnia by CS Lewis, The Long Lonliness by Dorothy Day, Blood Memory by Greg Isles, Happy Birthday Wanda June by Kurt Vonnegut, and The Importance of Being Ernest and other plays by Oscar Wilde)

*Mastering the art of carrying water on my head. :-)

Well, I'm giving up on the pictures for today...sorry. Hope this update finds you all well!

I stand in front of a class of 49. My students sit in pew-like benches with long, skinny desks. Five, maybe six are crammed on a bench that can comfortably hold three. Two others are crowded over their shoulders trying to catch a glimpse at one of the few life skills books possessed by Mahulu Primary School. The pictures are bright and the sections colored and adorned with clipart and Wordart. As one student finishes reading a section, 15 others already have their hands waving violently in the air trying to catch my attention. They want to read next. My heart breaks and I decide we should read together for a time.

As the class trudges on reading about equal rights for the handicapped a little girl slips out of her seat and walks silently in her used sneakers up to the front. Her uniform is very worn. The red sweater is unraveling and her blue skirt has burn holes, probably from tending the fire, cooking, and cleaning at home. The collar of her white shirt is clean, but frayed from washing. Yatima or “orphan,” I think to myself. I don’t know her name. My students quickly lost the name tags I had them make for their desks (and remake, a number of times) when I first started teaching them. I make-do and try to learn a few names a week, but it’s an uphill battle. The names are often unfamiliar and those that look familiar I pronounce incorrectly.

She lowers her eyes to the ground and asks to use the bathroom. I nod my head to the door and excuse her without drawing attention. As my students near the end of a section, I barely have time to think about what I wanted to ask them about to gauge their comprehension of the passage. I try and catch up at the end of their swift Swahili, but it’s too late. I was lost in thought and now, I’m caught. I choose another student to continue reading and go on thinking about the girl who headed to the bathroom. I’m angry at myself for not knowing her name. Or where she lives. Or who her guardian is. I’m wondering what happened to her skirt and if a strict teacher may beat her for her offense. I’m wondering if she’s learning anything from my time in her classroom. But most of all, I’m thinking about where she’s headed.

The latrines initially built when this school was constructed years ago are full. Now students and teachers go out to a shallow hole surrounded by a small cubicle made of sticks and the remnants of logs that remained after some lumber was cut in a nearby wood. These latrines are hard to keep clean and contaminate the ground water that reaches the drinking cups of all my villagers young and old, healthy and strong and those with damaged immune systems. The waste spreads from the school, which is at the top of a hill and reaches the crops of countless villagers. It carries dangerous fecal-oral diseases, such as diarrhea, dysentery, intestinal worms, hepatitis, typhoid, and cholera.

The school choos (latrines) have constantly been on my mind since March when I agreed to write a Peace Corps Partnership Grant to raise the money to help the community build new choos for the school. I remember sitting in Mama Elia’s living room discussing project ideas the day we discovered the school’s choo problem. Her wooden couch has brightly covered cushions, but they’re covered with lace and embroidered doilies. Every time I sit on them I pull off her careful decorations as I fidget over conflicting ideas and strategies. I was distractedly explaining the types of Peace Corps grants to Mama Elia (my counterpart, comrade, advisor, and dear friend) as I attempted to fix the lace on her couch. As I rattled off some examples of grants I knew other Peace Corps volunteers had done her face suddenly set and I realized she had an idea. I had mentioned a friend building choos and Mama Elia quickly began to explain how badly the primary school is currently in need of proper toilet facilities. To be honest, I cringed at the idea. Building projects are hard, expensive, and require the use of a type of grant that relies on the direct contributions of the volunteer’s friends and family. I tried to continue on with our discussion, but it was too late. The idea was already set in her head.

Later that week Mama Elia arrived at my house with the village’s Mwenyekiti or chairperson. She had sold him on the school choo idea and he had already talked to people at the school and numerous parents. I agreed to write the grant and got on the ball. The next grant deadline was less than a week away. I’ll spare you the details of the entire grant-writing process. It was a great learning experience and I now have a completed and approved grant online and awaiting support from, “Wamarekani wa kawaidi, kama familia yangu na rafiki zangu,” normal Americans, my family and friends (as I explain to my villagers).

A part of me cringes as I write this blog, I’ll be honest. I had hoped my days of support letters and asking for money were over. But their came a point one day where I realized I could serve my villagers, their pressing needs and desires, or be a servant to my pride. I chose the former. I know that I made the right decision, and I hope and pray you agree. I wish I could simply write a grant to ask for this money from a corporation or even our government, but PC doesn’t have the budget to complete building projects and PEPFAR (President Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) funds are only related to activities that are directly HIV/AIDS related. This is the only avenue I have available. I know these people. I know their work, their homes, (some of their names J), their ailments, their heartbreaking histories, their jokes. I know this grant is important. In a way, I wish I could just make it happen on my own. But in some ways that is selfish and it steals an opportunity for us to do work here—together—in Tanzania. I feel some guilt in asking you to do this, but in another part of me I rejoice that my friends and family across the miles can be a part of my work here. I know some of you wish you could come and help too…maybe this is the next best thing. Thank you for helping me as I struggle to help my villagers support themselves. They’re spread thin between government development initiatives and struggling to better than own families. In a way this is my feeble attempt at saying, “I see you. I see your struggle. I want to help.”

I can’t wave a magic wand and skip over the many painful steps necessary in the development process. I can’t provide running water for everyone in the village. Or improve the roads which are nearly impassable during certain parts of the year. I can’t even provide “adequate” toilet facilities as they would be defined in the US, because the necessary infrastructure is simply not there. What I CAN do, is provide them with a few simple things. Latrines (with a septic tank away from the facilities to reduce the fumes inhaled by the students). And beyond that—education. I can teach them why of all the projects I had hoped to do, the first I chose was to build choos. I can teach them about the importance of sanitation. The role of a proper latrine. The diseases that will be prevented. And most importantly, I will give them a model to take home. A goal.

Currently, there are homes in my village without any bathroom facilities at all. The government tries to encourage their construction and use through campaigns and fines, but the poorest of the poor simply lose any savings they have to pay the fines. They never have the money to actually build the facilities. It’s a vicious cycle. This may seem like an expensive teaching tool, but what better place for it to be located than at a school. Who better to teach that progress is attainable than the youth?

If this is a project you’d like to support please see https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=621-205 and donate as soon as possible. It’s really important that construction is finished before the rainy season commences again.

I’m sorry to be asking you for money, that probably wasn’t your expectation when you started reading my blog. I’m sorry and yet I still have faith. I know the hearts of my family and friends. I know the beauty in being surprised by the generosity of a stranger. I believe this will happen. And I believe you will help. For that…I’m thankful. Mama Elia thanks you. My students thank you. My village thanks you.

Don’t be fooled by the title. I’m in no means ready to say goodbye to Tanzania. I’m actually doing quite well (despite challenges and freeeeeeezing cold weather), but I wanted to talk about a a loved one is no easy task regardless of your longitude and latitude, but it’s in the context of difference between the customs of Tanzanian culture and American culture. Saying goodbye to such a profound and grievous moment that I am overwhelmed both by the connections between people and the walls and ditches between us developed by our cultures.

During training my LCF (Language and Cross-Cultural Facilitator) encouraged us to experience as many “cultural events” as possible. While in our classroom one day, we learned from our neighbor, a leader in the near-by mosque, that there was to be a funeral. We received some quick instructions from our teacher and headed next door to “learn.” I’m a full believer in the open-air classroom, but I was a bit hesitant to enter the house that day. I was wearing my school clothes—nothing special. I didn’t know much language and I didn’t know a soul in the room. I felt like I was using the people who were mourning a loved one. It’s one thing to ask questions in a informal setting—in the market, on the street, by the cooking fire, or while doing chores, but it seemed a bit much to intrude on someone in the moment of their greatest grief to “learn.” Anyway, I tentatively entered the home, said “Pole” (not pole like in English, it rhymes with Ole! like in salsa commercials) and contributed 500 shillings (less than 50 cents). After that we had a lesson about the burial customs of Islamic Tanzanians. It was a good learning experience, I suppose. I learned about making contributions and some of the details, but now…as a villager. I’m beginning to learn how Tanzanians really say goodbye.

Death is a fact of life in all parts of the world, but I feel its looming presence here more than I ever did in the US. Maybe that’s because in the US only violent deaths or the deaths of celebrities made headline news. The rest were hidden in obituaries in the middle of the newspaper or maybe solemnly, swiftly shared among friends. In Tanzania deaths are announced. Formally (with church bells and cries) and informally, as neighbors greet each other on the street. But if there’s one thing death and grief is not in Tanzania, it’s private. Maybe the reason I feel bombarded by death is here is because I do not just mourn the death of my loved ones or even arrive to support a close friend in their moment of grief. As a villager, I am expected to grieve with everyone who is grieving.

There isn’t exactly an exact procedure in Tanzania. It’s not like family can fly home the day they receive news and plan the wake, funeral, and burial (if plans haven’t already been made) quickly. As news reaches family members they flock from their nearby homes or begin the long journey from major cities scattered through the country. Some arrive immediately and begin mourning while others may take days traversing the poor roads that reflect Tanzania’s infrastructure development. Once all the family arrives the official burial takes place. When I catch word of a funeral my first response is, “Tutamzika lini?” Or when will we burry him (or her)? I ask this for my planning pleasure (yes, I still attempt to plan and I carry around a little calendar when I’m working). But this doesn’t mean that the only day I can arrive to pay my respects is the day of the actual funeral. My next question is usually, “Utaenda msibani lini?” Or…when will you go to the funeral. The word msiba can not be directly translation to a funeral as we think of it in America. A funeral here is more an extended period of mourning at the home of the deceased. I like to go with a neighbor 1) to learn where the deceased lived and 2) so I have someone to model through the process as I’m still learning.

For at least a week after someone dies in my village mourning occurs at their home. Mats of straw are put on the floor of the jiko (kitchen) or sebule (living room), depending on whichever is bigger. Mats are borrowed from friends and neighbors and are hodgepodgedly combined to make a patchwork covering on the dung/mud floor. Sometimes they have holes. Sometimes they are brightly covered. If not enough mats can be found cement or flour sacks can be cut and unfolded. The mats provide a clean place for guests to sit on the floor. All furniture is removed from the room so the max amount of people can come in to grieve together.

When you arrive at the funeral you will step over a sea of women (only women—the men are sitting outside. I can’t tell you much about what they do, other than that upon first arrival they may come in and sit by the door to greet or perhaps pray with the women before retreating back outside) and try and find a blank patch of mat to sit in. If there is room you will sit with your legs stretched out in front of you and crossed at the ankles. No one is wearing black and high heels. Everyone is wearing a matching khanga or kitenge and their shoes are in a pile at the door. One piece of bright cloth is wrapped around the waste and the other wrapped around their shoulders like a shawl. The sea of colors and patterns is mesmerizing and the thick, dusty feet of a grandmother who has farmed her whole life demand respect. When you arrive you will be greeted by a few claps and then the singing of hymns will begin. You may understand the words and try to sing along in a soft harmony, but likely they will be using the tribal language so you will just watch and listen. Family members may be crying, but their tears are covered by the music and their stressed bodies warmed by the suffocating presence of their neighbors and a smoldering fire.

Once the singing has momentarily ceased you crawl about on your knees and greet everyone. Depending on their emotional state and age I try and grasp for a single word that seems most appropriate, most bonding. To my neighbor, konyivovu. The tribal greeting. To the daughter of the deceased (ba or ma rehema the father or mother of peace), pole. Sorry, in Kiswahili. To the mother of the deceased, sita. Sorry in the tribal language. To a teenage friend in the corner, I whisper vipi dada? What’s up, sister? I make my way about the room, careful not to forget anyone and careful not to greet anyone twice. If I have to quickly run I may put some shillings in the hand of the closest relative to the deceased and sneak out. If I have time, I stay.

At times I’ve stayed all day. The days are long and my legs and bottom ache, but the there is much to see, hear, and taste. Food is brought in on trays by friends who are caring for their friends as they mourn. Chai, ugali, greens, rice, roasted corn, potatoes, and sometimes soda are served. Friends who come to grieve don’t come empty handed. They carry firewood (kuni), ugali flour, greens, or maybe some sugar or salt. The atmosphere in the room changes throughout the day. As new people arrive the grieving is strong and the singing voices loud. Songs are highly religious, but not cliques. They express anger at God “Umeharibika mpango wetu” (you have ruined our plan) or ask for peace. As emotions and energy run dry the mood lightens. Women lounge and nap. Some talk and joke. The music changes from slow and despairing to fast and almost lively. Sometimes women and children (and a crazy mzungu) will dance around the fire as people sing and beat buckets like drums. I think the variety in emotions rocked and shocked me more than anything. Mourning is not choked or private here. Women sob, beat the ground, scream, cry, wail, even yell at God one minute and sip chai and talk about their children the next. Some people (even Tanzanians) joke about this practice. They seem to scoff at the lack of dignity in their quite noisy mourning. But I’m starting to believe that the genuine expression of emotion is the most dignified way to deal with such loss. Plus the presence of community allows you to always have someone to cry with as well as someone to relax, recover, and reenter regular life with. One thing I was moved by was that the entire grieving process was not hid from children. One of the funerals I spent the most time at was that of my counterpart’s mother-in-law. I ached for her as she grieved, but I could not contain my emotion as I watched her youngest son (a fifth grader, whom I teach life skills to) sob as his aunt arrived at the funeral from Dar wailing and calling for her mother to come back. He didn’t hide. Nor did she. She taught him (as did everyone else) that it was ok to be sad. Ok to say goodbye. And ok to move on. That night his singing and dancing was so lively and beautiful that to this day I ask him to sing for me every time I go to his house.

Once the immediate family members arrive the actual burial takes place. The pastor and the wazee wa kanisa (church elders) preside over the ceremony. The body is preserved with lime by family members of the same sex and community members work together to build a casket. Before the funeral the vijana (young people, usually men) dig the hole for the body. Everyone comes for the burial who can. They file through (women then men) and look at the body in the casket. Then the entire procession goes to church for a service (if there is time and the family so choses) or goes immediately to the cemetery behind the church. Men and women stand on opposite sides of the body but spread out over the entire field. The pastor says a few words and someone reads a brief summary about the person’s life, usually impersonal details about education and a brief mention of his/her family. If there are any government or church officials present they will speak. There are not personal accounts. Very little singing. When that is finished the vijana rush to work and take turns frantically covering the body with the removed earth. Their energy is almost disturbing or disrespectful, but customary. Once the body is covered family members are called up by category to place branches or flowers on the soft earth. Finally all the women go up and fill in the bare patches with flowers.

When the burial is over everyone files away. They may give their condolences to family members who are sitting in a line. Then everyone washes their hands with warm water and makes their way back to the house where a great feast is being served. If you are able it’s customary to make a donation to help alleviate the cost of this food. You won’t feel cheated for doing so, your stomach will be full of delicious rice, greens, cabbage, beans, and even meat. Children will crowd around a bowl and share their portion. Everyone else will try and find a dry spot of ground to eat.

As the food quickly disappears friends dart through the crowd collecting plates and washing hands (eating rice with your hands can be a messy venture) and bringing them to be quickly washed and put back into circulation. As the sun goes down some people will head back to their homes to prepare dinner for the small children, but others will find their way back to the kitchen to lounge on the mats. They will even sleep here at the funeral. Their love and support doesn’t end after the burial or even after dark. I will never forget the time I slept at a funeral. I was amazed by the number of women sleeping on the floor of the kitchen. There were two long lines of women wrapped in their shawls spooning. I stubbornly insisted on staying in the kitchen (despite a nasty runny nose), but after hours of talking I was shooed away to my counterpart’s daughter’s room where there was a bit more space and warm blankets. But before I went to bed I managed to talk with my friend and her relatives (including her husband’s second wife, and two other mothers of his children) about funeral customs in the US and eventually about health related topics and gender equality. They were very interested to learn about the idea of wills and planning for one’s death and I dispelled the popular misconception that all Americans are cremated (as well as giving some reasons for why this is practiced and how it is carried out. Although they still think the idea of keeping someone’s ashes in your house is weird).

After about a week the funeral seems to die out. Relatives from out of town return home and everyone else returns to the farm. Children go back to school. Lives continue. I have to admit that it is here where my reflections start to get muddled. I’m learning the norms of the process. I know how to dress, greet, consol. I grieve and mourn and sing. And while I am overwhelmed by the oneness of the people here (including myself) I realize that I continue to think of home and those I love. And sometimes I get angry that no matter how well I know the customs, I will never belong. As well as I can function in this highly sensitive context, as well as I can blend in, lend a hand, make a donation. I will always be an outsider. I will always thrill the bibis (grandmothers) when I say sita. I will always be confused by the little nuances. I will always attract the eye of those from outside the village. It’s hard to see how quickly I can begin to be a part of the community and yet I am still me under the surface. Still a part of my own culture. Still a part of my own community. Still longing for that context…despite the immense love and passion I have for people and my work here.

So many things in my life now are simply part of my routine, and yet as I try and step back and think to what life was like 10 months ago I realize that living in Tanzania is a lot different than people at home might imagine. So here’s a quick “hot to” guide for living in Tanzania…

HOW TO…

--BRUSH YOUR TEETH. Put a pee size amount of Whitedent (the only type of toothpaste easy to find in Tanzania) on your toothbrush. Do not wet. Brush your teeth as you walk around your courtyard and fill up a lemonade pitcher with water from a bucket that’s sitting under the ledge of the roof collecting rainwater. Spit by the hole in the corner of the courtyard where water drains out. Rinse off toothbrush and wash away white gunk before it dries. Do not rinse your mouth unless you have the energy to pour yourself a glass of drinking water.

--GO TO THE BATHROOM. When at home enter the drop choo (pit latrine). Squat down. Most prefer the “heels on the ground method.” I, personally, am unable to do this well, so I just squat and balance on the balls of my feet. Try not to spray on your shoes. Always make sure your bum is over the hole. Cleaning up poo on the edge of the choo is not fun. Wipe…wash your hands. When you’re not at home the process is complicated a bit. On long bus rides the bus may occasionally stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere. You may look around the bus confusedly to see who is getting off and then realize that the answer is everyone. This is a bathroom break. Women go to one side of the bus. Men to the other. You must push your way off the bus. There is no order. You must get back on before the driver is finished and is ready to leave. HURRY. Carry toilet paper in an easy to reach place. On long walking trips a similar method is necessary. You may look for a clearing in the woods or a large tree to pee behind. You should still greet people if they happen to walk past when you are peeing…greeting is very polite. If for some reason you forget toilet paper, you may use leaves, scraps of paper in your purse, or anything else you can find. There is also the option of using the bucket of water that Tanzanians have in all bathrooms for personal hygiene purposes.

--WASH DISHES. Dishes should be washed in the morning. There should be a special basin for dishes only. You can buy fancy sponges and soap in town or use a cut-off from the sack that holds your charcoal and a piece of the long, orange bars of soap that are also used to wash your clothes, body, and hair. If water is readily available you can use another bucket or larger pan to rinse dishes in. Dishes should be placed outside upside-down to try in the sun.

--WASH CLOTHES. (Heat water…optional). Fill one basic a little less than half full. Separate clothes into things that will bleed and things that won’t. Wash the things that won’t first. Put a bunch in the water. Rub a bar of soap all over them and then rub the article against itself until it is clean. Also wash in a vertical direction to prevent clothes from being rung-out. If you actually use deodorant, you will have to pay careful attention to your armpits, although you will likely end up with permanent pit stains from the aluminum in your deodorant (I do). Wring out clothes thoroughly. Place in a bucket of somewhat clean water. Wring out again. Hang on the line. Pray that it won’t rain. In the dry season, it may be necessary to finish the drying process inside. However, if too much drying is done inside it will take too long and your clothes will smell like mildew. This will make you need to do the whole process again. I repeat. Pray that it won’t rain. (Note, you may look at your pile and think, “Yeah, this will take me about 20 minutes.” You will be wrong. It has never, EVER, taken me less than an hour….and it’s usually closer to 2. Although the neighborhood children also usually come and marvel at my clothes line…”14 articles of clothes!” they proclaim. I am rich.

--DRINK WATER. Start the charcoal stove. (This can be a difficult process the first few times). Pile in a lot of charcoal. Find a place that looks deep. Pour kerosene into that hole. DO NOT JUST POUR IT ALL OVER THE TOP. Light the kerosene on fire. Let it sit until the coals are all hot or fan the flames with a bucket lid or plate or anything else you can find. Put a pot of water on the very hot coals. Wait…FOR-EV-ER. Allow to cool. Then pour into your water filter (Expensive water filters can be purchased that are made out of ceramic, but if you’re in the PC, you probably have a homemade water filter. It is two, 10-liter buckets placed on top of each other. In the top bucket is a “candle” that looks like a huge piece of chalk. The water goes through this candle and drips through a small opening at the base into a hole in the top of the bottom bucket. In the bottom bucket is a spicket like the kind you’d attach your garden hose to. Drinkable water comes out of this spicket. Important note…you will be very proud once you have made a functional water filter. A lot of superglue may be necessary to fill gaps that were created when you tried to melt holes in the buckets with a knife, bottle opener, or whatever other awkward metal you could find when you first arrived at site. You also may discover that having the top of the water filter way above your head is precarious to your health. You will likely spill boiling water on yourself at least once and you also will not be able to see when fungus is starting to grow in your top bucket. It is good to have tall friends or a stool nearby.

--BATHE. If you are blessed and live in a warm part of Tanzania heating your water is unnecessary. If you live where I live see how to start the charcoal stove…and heat your water. You will probably heat it too much and have to mix it with cold water. Approximatley 10 liters will be needed if you want to wash your entire body and wash your hair and/or shave. However, during the dry season you will realize most of these things are optional and really only certain body parts MUST be bathed on a regular basis. Take your water into a somewhat private room (here it’s called the bafu—it’s also the place where you can “short call” or urinate. You will learn that awkwardly when slightly tipsy at a party or when a student leaves a puddle next to your shampoo). Remember the lemonade pitcher you used to wash your toothpaste down the drain? Fill it up with water and dump it all over yourself. Quickly shampoo your hair and rinse. Now that your whole body is wet….suds up. And rinse again. You probably will have to scrub the dirt off your feet. And if you are a wuss like me, you’ll probably risk the fumes and bring your charcoal stove in the bathroom with you to keep warm between pitchers of hot water.

--BAKE. The day you discover baking in Africa will be one the best of your life. It may even eclipse the birth of your second child. (Come on….we all know the second child is no big deal….Why do you think there’s only a few pictures of me. I mean, them….most second children) ;-) Anyway, start the charcoal stove like you normally do, but add lots of extra charcoal. When it’s hot, take some coals off and put them on the lid of a large pot. Place the pot on the stove. Put 3 stones in a triangle in the center of the pot. Put another pot holding the bread, brownies, cake, bisquits, etc. on top of these stones. Then put the cover of the large pot with the hot coals, carefully on top. The space between whatever your baking and the top and bottom should be about the same distance so that the food inside cooks evenly. You’ll probably have to change out the coals on top as they burn out. Sticks and wooden spoons work, but they tend to catch on fire or smoke. You will eventually want to buy some metal tongs. If your Tanzanian you can use your fingers. But you are not Tanzanian. Do NOT use your fingers.

--MAKE FRIENDS WITH CHILDREN. See previous session. Brownies are the international language of love.

--GET MONEY FROM THE BANK. First you will need to get up around 5:45….and press snooze until 6. Fumble around your house in the dark and walk about 10 minutes as your watch the sunset on your way to the nearest “town.” Here there will be competing car lines trying to get your to board their car/van. They will pull you, take your bags, sweet talk you, etc. They work for commission. Don’t get angry. If it is the dry season many people will pile into the car. You will likely have someone (or some animal) sitting on your lap, smacking into the back of your head, and just generally encroaching, no…invading, your personal space. This will not change until you arrive. You will all share a similar smell and dusting of reddish earth by the time you arrive. It will be a fast, bumpy ride. If it is the rainy season, you will likely get stuck in the mud several times. Here is the one time you will be happy to be a woman in Tanzanian. The women have to get out and walk ahead to where the road recovers. Sometimes waiting for up to a few hours. Men on the other hand have to push. HA. You will often think you’ll never arrive, but you’ll be wrong. Tanzanians can do anything. Even traverse mud 6 feet deep. You will get there. You’ll likely be sick to your stomach, so you’ll enjoy a tasty breakfast of tea and fried dough or supu (beef broth with one huge chunk of meat). Then you’ll walk up to the bank where you’ll likely wait approximately 2 hours. The power may go out. The network may go down as soon as you reach the front of the line. You will likely spend the two hours in line thinking of ludicrous ways to express your anger. You may start maniacally laughing by yourself. You may curse the folks who come in and “save” their place in line and sit and wait, until you think there’s only one more person before you get to the magical teller window, but then one person becomes three and three seven. You will likely long for the Federal Teachers Credit Union, but you will remind yourself this is the only bank for about 100 km in every direction and so you try and keep your cool. Sometimes you will fail. You will almost always walk away with a lot of money so that you don’t have to come back again for a while.

--CHEER YOURSELF UP. Open your front door. Within 20 minutes there will likely be at least a handful of local children interested in playing with you. A smiling laughing child is hard to resist. If it’s a really bad day, turn on your radio. Now the smiling, laughing children will start dancing. You will start to feel better in no time.

--VISIT FRIENDS. No need to call ahead. No need to make plans. Tanzanian friends always want to see you. If you haven’t seen each other for a few days, they will likely tell you you’ve been lost or ask you where you traveled to. They’re not really angry, they just want you to know you were missed. When you arrive at a friend’s house. Don’t bang on the door. They would think you’re silly. Instead when you reach the courtyard or open door, say “HODI!?” “Hodi,” is like saying, “Hello? Anyone home? Can I come in?” You will ALWAYS receive the response, “Karibu!” or “Welcome!” Visits can be quick and consist of a few greetings or a brief exchange of news, but they are best when a bit extended and food is involved. (NOTE: Some PCVs have mastered “piga hoding” as a method to build relationships and to get yummy food from gracious neighbors).

This is probably the least insightful entry I’ve ever written, but hopefully you enjoyed it. If there’s anything else you’d like to know how to do in Tanzania, let me know!

I remember when I studied in Uganda our teachers made us spend a lot of time talking about our expectations before we arrived and how those expectations then matched up with our experience in country. I remember thinking….I didn’t really have a lot of expectations for that experience. It was so new and foreign. I expected abject poverty and thus students and a learning environment that somehow revealed the state of the country at large. I was shocked to find a beautiful campus, bright, ambitious students, and an environment beautiful beyond my imagination. Now since I’ve been in Tanzania for just over 9 months (I could have birthed a baby by now!) I think it’s once again time to reflect on how my expectations of this—the Peace Corps experience—instersect with the reality of my day to day life.

Before arriving in TZ when I imagined my PC experience here’s a few thoughts that came to my mind: hippies, loneliness, simplicity, “roughing it,” dangerous, hot, defined, and “eye-opening.” If this sounds about right to you…read on…you’ll likely be quite surprised.

HIPPIES. As I stood behind the bar at Locomotions struggling to explain to the patrons (aka the locals) why I was joining the PC, I got mixed responses. Some were very supportive. Impressed by my compassion. Envious of my bravery. (Those people certainly gave my ego a good stroke). Then there were others who thought I was down right stupid. Finally, there was a last group. These folks didn’t say much, but I could read their thoughts in their glassy eyes and their reluctant smiles. Some even shook their heads. “Ah…to be young and naive,” they seemed to say. Or simply, “Crazy hippy.” Yeah, I’ll admit it. Even I figured every PC volunteer was a crazy hippy before I arrived at staging in Washington, DC (except me of course, but I’m different. Ha, again with the ego). Yup, I thought I’d stumble into a small group of young, radical, tree-hugging psychedelics. I was pretty shocked to walk into a room full of 49 ridiculously diverse individuals. Ages 21-69 were represented. Single folks and a married couple. A mess of different religions (even a few I’ve never heard of) and a few different colors and sexual orientations. But on top of the diversity that I should have expected from a group of Americans our size, I was shocked by the stereotypical personalities as well. Who would have guessed I’d be joined by stillhetto-loving sorority girls, rugged mountain men, educated professionals, world travelers, crazy partiers, and class clowns. I guess I was smart enough to know not everyone would be like me, but I had the completely wrong picture of what they’d be like. And beyond that—I was an absolute failure at guessing who’d “make it” and who’d really be a great volunteer. Some of the people that I read as “class clowns” (aka goof-offs) are amazingly creative and insightful volunteers. Girls that I picked as wussy or prissy turned out to survive siafu (killer ants) attacks and cockroaches as big as my thumb. Ha, so yeah. Lesson learned. We’re a diverse bunch and truly each of us brings a different worldview and a different set of skills to the table in our very different situations. So that being said, in my attempt to describe to you a brief (well, probably not…you know me) picture of the PC Experience, bear in mind this is only a snap shot of my experience.

Ok, Chapter 2. LONELINESS. I remember lying on the bed in my dorm room listening to Switchfoot basically balling like a baby. I had just finished my PC application and I was just really being hit by the fact that I was going to spend the next 2 years of my life living by myself in a village on the other side of the world from all my family and friends. It was an excellent release, I’ll admit….although slightly embarrassing when my roommate walked in. Anyway, I was only half right that day. I am indeed ridiculously far away from my family and closest friends. Some days the separation is killer. I just “want my mommy” or want to go crazy at my friend’s bachelorette party or hold my friend in a rough time, or help my girl move into her new apartment. I long to be there for the people I love—in the good times and the bad, but sometimes I miss the little things too. I just want to talk about the good ol’ days over strawberry daiquiris with the girls or shuck sweet corn and ride in the car with mom or listen to my brother’s band in a stuffy bar in downtown Albany (long live Badgerpants). Yes, it’s hard to be away, but I do my best to let people know I care and so do all of you. The half that I was wrong about was that I’d be alone here. WRONG. First of all, as I mentioned earlier I came here with an awesome group of people (7 have now gone home and their absence is certainly felt). These people serve in various capacities of friendship, enlightenment, encouragement, guidance, and inspiration. They are my family on holidays. My girls as we get ready to go out. My spiritual counselors. And simply friends. I may see a large group at holidays or birthday celebrations, every month or two. But we are linked by, yes, technology. Most of us have cell phones and decent service at site so we can be in contact multiple times a day. This can help us through hard times, but it can occasionally jade us against Tanzanians and their culture too. Even beyond being in phone contact with other volunteers, I was placed within an hour drive of one other American volunteer and an hour walk of another. That means that when I need to “get away” there’s always a mzungu (Foreigner) nearby who will listen to my problems or simply help me escape back to another world. We Makete volunteers are all excellent cooks and thanks to family and friends at home one of us always has a ready supply of chocolate or oreos for a dire circumstance. Is this bad? No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty blessed by the relationships I’ve made with other PCVs. I not only am privy to my own insights and struggles, but theirs as well. However, my expectation of this experience was me—totally and utterly submerged in a community and culture different than mine. Some other volunteers testify that this is indeed the case at their sites, but it’s not true for me and really it’s not true for the country at large. Tanzania is crawling with foreigners—Americans, Europeans, even Latin Americans and Asians. They’re aid workers, like me, tourists, business people, and students. Did I really think I was so special as to be the lone white face here (that is how it is in the movies, after all). No, I’m not alone here. And sometimes I feel guilty for the time I spend with my friends here (a sensation new to me), but then I try to remind myself that all the people here are gifts from God and to be valued. I also try and continue to cultivate friendships with the Tanzanians in my village. Tanzanians are a loving, welcoming, generous people. Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve been adopted by at least one family. My Tanzanian mamas are always proud of me and of their highly esteemed position. They ask if I have told my “real” mom about them. I don’t really know if they want her to feel comforted or jealous. Probably both. Anyway, I’m blessed with dotting daddies, mamas who make sure I’m home at night and that I don’t go to sleep without a full belly, little brothers who provide me with endless laughter and TLC for my precious bicycle, and finally sisters who grant me entry into their lives and bless me with girl-talk and fashion tips. Tanzanians are shocked when I tell them I live alone, but really if I’m ever alone, it’s by choice. There’s always a chair by the fire for me in mama’s kitchen. That being said, I sometimes still struggle with the realization that while I have a family here, “friends” are a bit harder to come by. I think that’s partly because friendship is so based on communication. For my first couple of months here my communication abilities were slim to nil. Eventually, I became fluent in work and everyday discourse, but real friendships aren’t built on “where you from?” and “where ya headed?” It’s tortuous when you know two words for semen and two more for orgasm (comes with the territory when you’re a health teacher), but you can’t ask someone about their relationship with their husband or boyfriend. Even now as my fluency in Kiswahili grows I’m realizing that the language of “girl-talk” here is not Kiswahili, it’s Kikinga or Kimahanji, the tribal languages spoken in my area. So, once again I’m defeated. And that leads to another issue. In TZ women and men aren’t really friends. I guess it’s acceptable in certain contexts—work environments or relatives, but for the most part, the genders are separated—literally. They do different work. They sit on opposite sides of the room at church or at village meetings. They wear very different clothes. So unless I want the rumors flying about my promiscuity, it’s best to stick to girlfriends. Fine with me, mostly. I like Tanzanian women. The mamas are the warmest women you’ll ever meet. Girls my age, on the other hand…they’re a different story. They intimidate the hell out of me. We’re talking strong women. They’re bonded by hardships and experiences I don’t understand. Most women my age are mothers. Most married. Most farmers. They’re tough. They’re proud. I think though in some ways they’re as intimidated by me as I am by them. I’m white—and therefore beautiful ( a point I will fight them on until the day I leave. Seriously. These girls are stunning. They just can’t see it). Plus, I’m educated. A feat most of the women remaining in village can’t claim. So where are we? I’m scared of them and they’re scared of me. Basically, I try and smile and small talk them up—everyday. J It can be tiring and frustrating, but I can see the walls are starting to fall and friendships are starting to really blossom. So…the question remains…am I lonely? And the resounding answer…not in the least (although I’ll be happy to admit that I’m discovering more and more my introverted side).

SIMPLICITY. When I read Foster’s Celebration of Discipline in my sophomore year of college (Thanks Prof Wally), I learned that simplicity is a Christian discipline. When I returned to college my senior year after spending a semester in Africa, it was a discipline I spent a lot of time struggling with. I turned to my Ugandan Studies Program professor for advice as I drowned in guilt and frustration. He comforted me that I can’t feel guilty over the complexity of my life due to my culture. He reminded me that I have to make a ridiculous amount of decisions—many of them small and relatively insignificant, others quite large and monumental—but all of them blessing and curses stemming from my culture. Here I expected to be able to enter the “simple” lives of my Tanzanian neighbors simply because of my locative position (Note: I don’t mean simple as in ignorant, but as in uncluttered). However, I am quickly learning that simplicity doesn’t come from the outside, but from the inside. My Tanzanian friends have basically the same access to food stuffs that I do (although I can go to the city and buy soy sauce and cocoa powder), but while they have a handful of staple meals, I am constantly trying new things. It’s likely my diet is more diverse here than it was in America. Even my house is a testament to my cluttered culture. First of all, my house is probably on the nicer side of PC abodes. It’s definitely the biggest house in my village and I live alone. But beyond that, it’s newly painted and slowly filling with nice furniture, carpets, pictures, matching curtains, and various other clutter. It’s beautiful. And it makes me feel comfortable and at home. The desire for that is no different from my Tanzanian friends. They too decorate their houses. The difference is that my house looks like my idea of a nice home and I’ve spent thousands of shillings doing it. Mix-matched material; clashing colors; cell phone ads and various other newspaper clippings in unknown languages; unframed, faded pictures; large posters of Asian babies, white people eating grapes, or various rappers; mats hung on the wall; and various sayings about hospitality or religion, are not my ideas of decoration. My rooms have color themes. Kids have to take off their shoes before coming in the house (partly because I’m too lazy to clean every day and partly because I like it clean). My house is much larger than I need. It’s excessive really. But I can’t help that. What I’ve done with it on the inside, however, is under my control. And while I don’t really feel guilty for my nesting activities, I can’t say I’m now a shining example of the discipline of simplicity either. And what about money? I often get frustrated trying to explain to people that while I’m white I’m really not all that rich. I explain that I just finished college and had a lot of loans and that now I’m a volunteer. They usually get that message, but that leads to two other complications. First, what “Volunteer” makes more per month than everyone else in town? With the less than $200 I make per month for living expenses, I am still the richest person in town. And even beyond that, if I ever really needed money I could get it from my rich friends and family in America. I get frustrated with that one, but in ways I know they’re right. I try to use my frustration and guilt as a catalyst for good decision making with my finances. Do I really need to use the internet? Do I really need to go to town for shopping or to visit friends? Do I really need a beer? Do I need 4 different kinds of veggies for one week? Do I need to eat meat this week? Do I need to send all these text messages? Can I mend this skirt myself instead of going to a fundi? Do I need electricity? Should I give loans? Should I help orphans with their school fees? Coming here didn’t simplify my rich American lifestyle in the least. If anything it may have complicated it. Not that I have more decisions to make, it’s just that now they all seem a little more drastic and dramatic. The houses made of mud and dung are next door. The 6-year-old on ARVs is smiling with rotting teeth, waiting for me on my doorstep. The reality of the world doesn’t hit me when I see a Christian Children Fund Commercial or at a World Vision plug at a rock concert. No, it hits me some days as the sunrises and I squat on my toilet or start my charcoal stove. No, life is definitely not simpler for me here. Not in the easy way I hoped, at least. I recently got my hands on Foster’s book again to do as a devotion with a friend. Hopefully I’ll get something new from it this time that I couldn’t see before.

Chapter 4. Before I arrived at site, I thought PC was all about “roughing it.” I’ve had friends tell me in personal letters that they think living without running water, electricity, a toilet, a shower, and a computer is beyond their capacity (although I have a pretty sweet pocket camping shower, thanks mom! And I often use Bret’s computer). These are things I don’t even think twice about anymore (and actually while I was staying at a nice motel a few weeks ago I longed to squat to go to the bathroom)! I have nice clothes, delicious food, and a comfortable house. It’s far from “roughing it.” That being said, I don’t farm everyday (I tried it a few days—it was Fing hard, pardon my language) like my Tanzanian neighbors. Now it’s the rainy season so I don’t have to chote water. The only physical demands I have are walking all over creation and doing some house chores. My life isn’t that hard. I could even afford to pay people to do the little amount of work I do actually do. No, I’m not roughing it. Cell phones and Internet are available. During my training in January, our Country Director (the CD or head honcho) and Programming and Training Officer (PTO and #2) were giving us a bit of a lecture about our reliance on cell phones. It kinda had a “in my day we had to walk up hill to school in three feet of snow both ways” kind of ring, but afterwards I was feeling slightly jealous (those women were real PC volunteers, I thought) and also slightly guilty. The CD described lying on her living room floor, sure she was dying, hoping someone would come check on her. These days, I can call the medical officer if my sniffles last an unusually long time. I can relate in detail my most recent bowel movement to all my friends via text. Isolation is not a part of my experience. Am I jealous of these pioneering volunteers? A little, yes. Should I feel guilty thought? No, I really don’t think so. I can’t help it that TZ is progressing. I can’t help it that cell phones and internet are a part of life for a lot of people here. However, I do appreciate the thought. I have now tried to reduce my cell phone use and be more dependent on the Tanzanians close to me, God, and even myself. But am I really “roughing it?” Nope. I talk to my parents on the phone and eat brownies while listening to my ipod on battery powered speakers. I’m not roughing it, but I am learning to live with a foot in each world. A state that while ideally is frustrating and sometimes disconcerting, is part of my job and just an excepted part of my experience now. I fax reports, communicate with my boss via email, and post web blogs. I also chote water, wash my clothes by hand, and walk about an hour to work almost every day. Maybe I am roughing it. You’re free to judge.

DANGER! As I read the literature from PC, I’ll admit I was terrified by the frequency of muggings, attacks, rapes, and even murders among PCVs. I was nervous amount transportation. I was absolutely paranoid about HIV and a slew of other diseases, parasites, and poisonous creepy-crawlies. While granted, these are all real threats in TZ, most days I feel absolutely perfectly safe. My neighbors (and Salome our Safety and Security Officer) watch my back and most icky creepy crawlies don’t like the cold weather of Kitula (although I do now have a rat! Eek! And my grandma is now in the hospital from a poisonous snake bite). However, I’ll admit that I split my money when I travel, never walk alone at night, and say a prayer every time I travel. Accidents happen everywhere. Bad people are in TZ just like they’re in America. So, yeah, maybe life is a bit more dangerous here, but I don’t lose sleep over it.

HOT! Some of you are probably tired of hearing me whine about this so I’ll try and keep this part brief. Basically, I hate winter. I hate being cold. I love flip flops and swimming and strolling in the spring. One of the main selling points of PC TZ was that I thought I’d be escaping the ungodly climate of NY. However, I’ve managed to land myself in one of the coldest parts of TZ. I’ve finally kicked the nasty cold I had for most of February. I’ve started wearing a winter coat (yep, I have a sweet, yellow puff-coat I found at a used clothing market in Iringa town. Best 4,500 shillings I ever spent. More importantly, I’ve stopped being a slave to fashion and comfort. Now, almost everyday, on my feet I am wearing wool socks and rain boots (thanks mom)! Turns out covering my chest and having warm, dry feet does wonders. Whenever I start complaining about the cold my TZ friends remind me of the stories I’ve told them of snow storms, snow shoveling, and snow days. I reluctantly shut up, but I tend to find myself muttering something under my breath about central heating, pants, and cars. Soon the rainy season will be over, but then the cold kicks in (yup, in June when y’all are warming up it’ll start getting cold here) and I’ll have to chote water again. I think I’ll just try and sell myself on the notion that my rain boots are adorable and that I love that it rains everyday (even though I just want to get back in bed and read or snuggle and watch a movie). HA. Expectations. This one probably pisses me off the most… J

Chapter…oh who knows? WELL DEFINED. As I imagined PC, between shifts at my various and in sundry jobs since finishing college, I always imagined it to be a job like any other job I’ve ever had. I didn’t really ponder the idea. It was a simple assumption. I blindly assumed that this job, like every other, would have clearly defined hours, policies, guidelines, responsibilities, etc. I suppose I was right about the policies (PC is a branch of the American bureaucracy, after all), but I think I grossly over estimated my ability to hop right into my responsibilities. I’ve never really had a job that defeated me mentally or physically. I’ve always been able to play the part—or at least for a little while. But here, without a solid foundation of language, I lacked the self confidence I’ve always taken for granted. This can be quite unsettling when speeches and teaching are at the core of your job. And beyond that, I thought PC would more heavily define my role in my community, whereas in reality, it’s me upon who the burden falls to analyze my community’s needs and then work to meet them in anyway I can. WHAT?! Seriously, this aspect of my work here is much more overwhelming that I expected. I’ve never really been so aware of my lack of creativity before I tried to do this job. Honestly, it’s a bit disconcerting (and definitely humbling) to not be able to quickly master my job. But I’m learning to believe in myself once again and more importantly, I’m learning to rely on the creativity, wisdom, and resources of others in a way I never have before. It’s hard and again I’ll say it—humbling, but for all my personal trials and tribulations, I think in the end my community will benefit and so will I. But certainly my job and my performance don’t at all fit my initial expectations.

(Just for the record, I’m writing this by hand, by the light of a kerosene lantern. It’s now around 9:30 and I’ve been working on this since 6. I’ve taken a few breaks to rest my hand and/or to eat straight guacamole or dark chocolate, a bar I’ve been hoarding for months (thanks grandma)! I’m pretty much exhausted now. Don’t know if it’s because it’s so dark and quiet (the only sounds I hear are crickets and the ticking of my wind-up alarm clock in the next room) or because I walked like 6 km today and woke up at 6:15).

Ah…so…one final chapter. Has my PC experience been the “eye-opening” turning point in my life that I expected? Is it the burning bush of my life to tell me which direction to start heading in career-wise? The unfortunate answer is…nope. Unfortunately, at this point I’m just as confused as ever. Which is frustrating, but I guess I should have known. I suppose it’s still fairly early on anyway. Maybe something will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks…but until that day…I’ll just keep taking it one day at a time…one step at a time.

I don’t know how much this has cleared up the PC experience for you. Probably not much at all, but hopefully you had some fun reading it. I know it’s been helpful for me to look back to those expectations because sometimes I can identify a source of guilt, concern, worry, or frustration that lies within me, not within the Tanzanian culture or even my day to day experiences. I also have a few random stories, updates, and announcements you might be interested in, so if you have the time and stamina…feel free to read on.

For Mrs. Zacchos and Lisa and anyone else who cares what I’ve been reading, here are the few titles I can remember since the last time I wrote:

· After Dachau by Daniel Quinn

· All About Love: New Visions by Bell Hooks (Thanks Jana!)

· Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

· Wind In the Willows by Kenneth Graham ?

· The Alchemist by Pablo Coehlo ?

· Captivating by John and Staci Eldridge

· The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost

· Telling Secrets by Frederick Buechner

· Lamb by Christopher Moore

For those of you are sick of hearing about what I’m reading and where I’m traveling, here’s a summary of what actual work I’m now doing. In the past few weeks I have been verrrry busy! I am proud. J My counterpart and I have finished digging about half of my sizable garden, which will soon be planted with some seasonal vegetables that I will eat and will be able to offer to community members who have little to no food due to HIV/AIDS and other issues. I am now teaching life skills formally at two schools. I teach 5 periods at a secondary school about an hour walk away. The curriculum I am teaching is interesting, important, and a lot of fun. First I will teach about HIV/AIDS and other STDs to make sure my students have a solid factual base to stand on, but then the really important part of the program kicks in. The main body of life skills has to do with teaching communication skills, relationship skills, and decision making skills. The rationale behind the program is that a lack of knowledge is not what is causing HIV/AIDS to spread through Africa and other parts of the world like wildfire. The lack of equality between genders, the lack of ability to negotiate, and the lack foresight to plan for the future, are huge obstacles that need to be tackled to stop the spread of HIV. How do we prevent women from being infected by their husbands? Slap men on the hand when they’re getting drunk or give endless seminars about condoms? No! We teach women that they are equal in intelligence and ability and should have a right to discuss and have an equal say in sexual matters. How do we encourage condom use? Hand out a million condoms? No! We teach women and men how to negotiate condom use. How do we get people to think how their actions will affect their health, their dreams, and their families? Do we show them videos and guilt them into change? No! We teach them about goal setting and encourage responsible decision making. And as I say “them,” over and over again, I am focusing especially on young people. Young people are impressionable, powerful, and bright. They can ask questions. They can change the future.

I also teach a modified life skills program to elementary school students that has a slightly different focus. There are chapters about bullying, disabilities, HIV/AIDS, and decision making. At the primary school I only teach fifth graders, as two teachers already went to a seminar about life skills and are now teaching the curriculum to their sixth and seventh grade classrooms as well. Sometimes I wish I could teach these classes, but I am very happy that these teachers are teaching these students. Not only can they communicate better than I, but they too are getting passionate about my subject matter…so I certainly don’t complain.

I also am a “guest teacher” at another near-by secondary school. At this school I try and give a weekly presentation on a variety of topics, including life skills, HIV/AIDS, and STDs. Also at this school there are already students who have attended a seminar about life skills and are teaching their peers. Sometimes it frustrates me that I cannot teach the classes myself or that the students are confident without my help, but again I am happy that they are taking the initiative and getting a great experience. I also get frustrated because I never really know what to teach about, I don’t have a set plan for this school, but I am beginning to have fun and enjoy the freedom, and I truly enjoy seeing these bright and energetic students once a week.

Now that I have a more set schedule, I am deciding whether I want to extend my teaching to more schools (I really am loving teaching), but I think maybe I should take advantage of the gaps in my schedule (they are necessary for prep as well…it’s definitely not easy to teach in Swahili) but I also think having an opportunity to work on secondary projects is really important. Right now I have Fridays completely free so I am trying to spend some time at the hospital and the adjoining orphanage. I am not sure how my role will play out in these arenas, but I think it’s important to have my presence there as often as possible. Maybe at some point they will see a need where I can truly help them. I also want to have time to begin my PLWHAs group (People Living with HIV/AIDS) and to begin work with the out-of-school youth. My counterpart and I are currently working on long and short term plans for these projects.

Finally, another part of my work is now taking shape. My community asked me to write a grant in order to build bathroom facilities for the primary school where I teach. I was not psyched about the idea, to be honest. First of all, it came up just days before our grant deadline, and ever since junior year of college I haven’t been one for cramming. Next, I was hoping to avoid a building project at all costs, building projects are long, expensive, stressful, and in some cases, unsuccessful. Finally, I really didn’t like the idea of building pit latrines. In my typical American fashion, I was not excited about doing a project that wasn’t “new and improved” or “state of the art.” BUT, as I began writing this grant, I became really excited about the project. First, I began to see the huge health benefits building new toilets would have on the community. I also was excited to do this project because it is actually a really important step in development being pushed in the area, and so what better way for me to show my backing then to support the building of latrines at the school? Finally, I was really excited by the participation I received from my Tanzanian counterparts. This isn’t really just a project that I want to do. It’s something important. It’s something they care about. It’s something they’re taking ownership of. If you are interested in hearing more about my grant or you would like to help contribute please let me know. I should be receiving a link from the PC in the near future, and I truly cannot do this project without the support of people at home.

Ok…another silly thing. Here’s a list of new foods I’ve successfully created (often with the help of friends)

· Pirogues

· Mom’s potato salad

· Homemade baked beans (Thanks Mama Chris!)

· Chocolate Éclair Cake

· Cheeseburgers (with homemade buns and HEINZ Ketshup)!

· Peanut Noodles

· Chili and cornbread

· Spaghetti

· Pizza

· Pasta Primavera (that’s the cheesy kind, right?)

· Bagels

· Perfect Omlettes (yes, I’m bragging)

· Banana Pancakes

· Crepes with melted Hershey Kisses (maybe not a culinary masterpiece…but pretty darn delicious)

· Mango wine

Hungry? Running for some snack food (mmm…Doritos and ice cream and diet soda)? No problem. I’m about to completely change the subject.

It’s very rarely that I do something and then think…man, I should write a blog about that. Obviously, I’m not the best blogger, as you can see from the date of my last entry. But, while I was at my PEPFAR training in Iringa in January, one of the sessions really stood out to me. I immediately thought. Gotta blog about this one. The session was on the topic of Crossing Cultures and identifying different values. When I saw the topic on our schedule I was slightly disappointed. I assumed it would be another boring session complete with endless definitions and truly very little content. What I experienced was quite different. First, they split us American volunteers apart from our Tanzanian counterparts—which surprised me quite a bit to be honest. Then we were each instructed to do one of those “There has been a war. All the people in the world have died with the exception of the following 11. As a result of the war the land is not suitable to live on so the people must find a new location to live. They have managed to find an underground place where they can survive until the land is again ok to live on. There is a problem however: this underground place can only support five people. Your job is to decide which five of the following eleven get to live and which six get to die. You must be able to explain your answers.” I have done this exercise a few times—at leadership conferences or at work trainings. It usually led to some interesting discussion (and typically some guilt), but for the most part, consensus was fairly easily reached. I was always performing the exercise with people of the same culture, who have the same values base and a relatively similar education as me. This day was quite different. I’ll spare you the literal play-by-play, but I’ll give you the highlights. Basically, Americans chose their five based on their education and contribution to the gene pool—we focused on diversifying and thus breaking up families. Tanzanians, however, focused more on the social aspect. Their first choice was the Catholic priest. This made no sense to us Americans, of course. He can’t even help repopulate the earth, for pete’s sake! But the science wasn’t the focus for them. They also chose to keep families intact, thus choosing 3 people of one family—one a baby. Soooo we’re talking about a priest and a baby repopulating the earth…but that didn’t matter to them. It was about keeping the family units intact. Having spiritually healthy, productive people. One of the most interesting characters in the bunch was Miss White. Miss White was sexually abused as a child, divorced her husband due to physical abuse, and worked two jobs (including bartending at night). In the eyes of an American, Miss White is strong. She’s a fighter. She’s also young and fertile. We love her. The Tanzanians were whole-heartedly against her. She must have been a temptress when she was young. She must have been a bad wife. What could she have done to bother her husband so much? And really, only prostitutes are bartenders! Gender also played an interesting role, although a slightly more subtle role. The Americans chose three women and two men, because fewer men are biologically needed to repopulate the earth. The Tanzanians in my group chose three men and two women, one of them being an infant. While we kept arguing that the baby was a dumb choice, some Tanzanians (people who know the hard, farming life) pointed out that we chose an older, educated man. Who would do the work? This made me literally laugh out loud (I kept pretty quiet or tried to play the peacemaker during the whole session), because if you walk down the road in Tanzanian, 80% of the people that you see working in the fields are not men—they’re women. Young and old. Strong lean arms and white hair peaking out the bottom of their colorful headwraps. Backs flat and strong with a sleeping baby bound securely. Backs hunched with age and hard work. Who will do they work? Miss White. Miss White will! BAH. As I talked with my site mate Bret before his PEPFAR training in March, I told him the best session by far at my conference was the cross-cultural session, and so when that day arrived at his conference I received numerous text messages from him. I was not shocked to hear that his group had chosen very similar people to mine and they were equally as shocked by the Tanzanians seemingly crazy and illogical choices as we were. It was crazy how one hour taught me so much about a culture I’ve spent the last 9 months in and even more frighteningly a culture I’ve spent the last 24 years in. I’ve always considered myself compassionate and relational…not rationally or scientifically, driven. And yet I too chose survivors based on intelligence, education, and their contribution to the gene pool. Young man with questionable character? Yup, we need him for his sperm. Compassionate, old priest who opened an orphanage for HIV/AIDS orphans. Heck no! What can he give to the gene pool? I mean, maybe Miss White can seduce him, but then he’ll probably lose his faith and what good will a whiny, defeated, guilty old man do? Mentally handicapped child? GONE. Baby? GONE. Well educated, middle aged woman who’s got an impressive resume of gifts to society, but is potentially infertile…? GONE. Most of the PCVs I did this exercise with were shocked by the differences in the Tanzanian and American approach, but I’m not sure how many thought to look critically at who we had chosen. I know there’s no good or right answer for this kind of thing, but can we judge the values behind the choices? Can we judge or own love affair with science and rationality? Where has the compassion and commitment to family and faith and the higher things gone in our culture?

Hmm…I’d love to keep telling you stories, but it’s probably time to shut up. I’ll try and be a bit more timely with my next entry and then I won’t have to write a book again. Thanks to all who plowed through this beast of a blog. Hope you enjoyed. Take care! Happy Easter!

OH SWEET LORD....i am so sorry. it's been way too long. sometimes it just seems like to write on here i have to be insightful and deep and most of the time....i feel like i can be neither. anyway, i first of all want to say how incredibly thankful i am to all my amazing friends and family who are writing me messages, emails, letters, sending packages, and encouraging my parents and relatives who miss me. thank you thank you thank you. you guys are so awesome. really.

i'm thinking i need to write this blog entry in chapters....haha....here we go! :-)

Chapter 1: Rais Mpya!!!

well, first of all. i have to say that i did not vote for obama. nor mccain. nor anyone else, unfortunately. for the first time in my life i really wanted to vote and felt like i knew what was going on, but unfortunately, i got my absentee ballot too late and was not able to vote. BOO. although i've decided that since i'm from ny i basically voted for him anyway, but it just is frustrating to not be able to say that "i voted for the first black president..." or whatever. however, that being said. i'm incredibly proud to be an american right now. not just because we just chose the first black president, from african decent (which believe me, created quite the stir here...), but more importantly we've chosen a president who is of strong morals and admirable beliefs. not to mention that i love to constantly brag that i've studied his rhetoric through a burkean lense (haha....how are you feeling now, dr. mrs.?) and finally, when i talk to foreigners, africans and europeans alike, i am proud of the direction my government and my country is moving. ha...and on a lighter note. i have bought 5 obama poster calendars (one has sports pictures which obama, mccain, and biden's faces pasted in with ridiculous comments...it's my favorite by far) and i am currently working on a collage made from pictures from the free newsweeks i receive at site! woohoo....

Chapter 2: Thanksgiving

thanksgiving is one of the american holidays that hasn't found its way into tanzanian culture, so i celebrated thanksgiving with a bunch of my PC friends. we went to a village near mafinga and stayed with a former PC volunteer and her fiancee who are currently working at an orphange/resort. yeah, i know it sounds weird. but it's awesome. we got to play with amazing little kids....and then play cricket in the landscaped garden. i certainly missed being home with family on thanksgiving, but i had an amazing time with my tanzanian PC family here. we made everything from baked ham (no turkey...BOO) to mashed potatoes to pie to traditional Tanzanian dishes...i made rolls, mashed potato bisquits, and tortillas. i'm not trying to brag or anything...but my food didn't even make it onto the dinner table. it was eaten the day before. BAM! come visit me....i'll emeril tanzania you. anyway, thanksgiving was absolutely amazing. but in some ways it just seemed like another excuse to see my american friends and eat tons of delicious food. i think that i feel the most thankful when i eat at my tanzanian neighbor's house. when i go visit them in the evening we sit around the fire (they cook with firewood. the put the pot on three big stones above the rocks) in their mud/dung kitchen. it's so peaceful and i laugh hysterically at my brothers and sisters (they're my new family) or just sit in silence and enjoy the fire. before we eat ugali (the staple tanzanian food, a thick porridge made of cornmeal) and beans or spinach we wash our hands (because we eat with them....and we don't use toilet paper. well, i do...but most people don't) and then mama prays. and when mama prays....i swear, God comes into the kitchen. when she says "we are grateful for the food"....she means it. and when she says, "Father God, you alone are enough"...she really knows what she's saying. so i guess, in a lot of ways....i'm learning to celebrate thanksgiving in a less conventional way (w/o cranberry sauce and a relish tray) and sadly enough, i'm realizing how grateful i am for my family and friends when i have to celebrate it without them. hopefully that will make thanksgiving '10 that much better....

Chapter 3: 24...Am I Now In My Mid 20s?

well, lots of people have been asking what i did to celebrate my birthday, so i thought i'd give a quick rundown. unfortunately, birthdays aren't a huge deal to tanzanians (most of my friends in the village don't even know what month they were born in...). fortunately though, i just happened to be traveling for thanksgiving, so i ended up in iringa town on my birthday eve. i went out for dinner and then went to a bar with a ton of friends. at the stroke of midnight they hoisted me up on a chair jewish wedding style and sung "happy birthday." between my PC friends and the random strangers i met that night, the heineken beer (imported beer....WHAT?!) was flowing all night. then of course....i had to dance so we headed to a disco! at around 3 i was starting to crave tahou's, but i had to settle for chipsi mayai (which is basically french fries fried with eggs. and of course i cover it with chili sauce and salt...yummy. but no plate) i'm pretty sure we returned to our hotel room around 4 a.m. and then i left around 5 to catch my bus back to my village. i slept most of the trip home and returned about 6 p.m. i was late to all my villager's confirmation parties, so i got dressed quick and made a few appearances then realized i had no charge in my phone....and that won't do on my birthday! mom and dad will call! so i ran to town in the dark (scary!) and got some charge. by the time i got home (around 8) i pretty much collapsed, but i (luckily) was sleeping lightly enough to hear when mom and dad called. it was overall a great day. although it's always sad on the big days to be away from you all. (no one makes a bday party like reeba jane)!

Chapter 4: What the Heck am I Doing Here?

people often ask me what exactly my job in Tanzania is. and honestly, sometimes i just have no clue what to say. well, no, if i'm really going to be honest....i never know what to say. because even i am still discovering what my job is. i am technically a "health educator." traditionally, people in my position teach about HIV/AIDS and life skills (such as communication, self esteem, etc...the goal is to aid in behavior change, because now the problem of HIV/AIDS can't really be blamed on ignorance....it just ties into social and cultural norms that can't always be overcome do to economic or gender issues...but more on that later) in schools. they also often teach about permaculture (a method of gardening that is designed to get a huge output in a small space with minimal effort. we aim our programs for people living with hiv/aids (PLWHAs), but the method is awesome and useful for everyone-especially those in difficult climates/terrains). then we can work with vulnerable groups with income generation projects or just general support. lots of volunteers work with NGOs, health centers, or hospitals....i, however, am still just working to figure out what projects are really most needed in my community. i'm on vacation now (as are the students) and i'm going to a training in january, so i plan to really start working in february. does that sound bad? i often feel a bit guilty about not doing much formally, but PC actually encourages this approach. and when i think about it, i really am learning a lot (about my community and in my language skills) and building relationships, so it's ok....but i'd be lying if i told you that my american, go-get 'em, type A part of me is going absolutely crazy!

Chapter 5: Ode to My Meatgrinder!

so, tanzanian meat isn't exactly as tender and delicious as meat at home....we don't lock animals up in cages and pump 'em full of steroids. which is good....and a part of me is really happy about that. but my gluttonous side (which is bigger than my animal activist side) is often quite frustrated. anyway, i discovered a way to rise above this adversity. it cost 18,000 shillings (of the 200,000 i get in a month)....but it has already been worth it. i have made chili, hamburgers, meatloaf, and tacos. yeah....delicious. and while i'm reflecting on my culinary prowess, i should probably also mention that i've mastered the art of refried beans, bread, and french toast as well. :-)

Chapter 6: Site Mates (or Ode to Jon)

i'm not sure i've mentioned this yet, but i am one of the few volunteers who has a "site mate." what does that mean, jess? well, i'll tell you. a site mate is another volunteer who is in close proximity (usually defined as travelable in a day). in my case, i have one volunteer who is less than an hour walk away and one who is less than an hour drive away! what?! how does that happen? i don't know. the funny thing is....it takes us FOREVER to get to anyone cities, but we're close together. guess it's sorta a trade off. anyway, i just have to quickly note that i won the PC lottery. my first site mate, jonathan (who went home just after thanksgiving) was well-loved and integrated into his community. he spoke swahili like a tanzanian (their words, not mine) and loved his job. he helped me figure out what the heck i was doing ("which bus do i take, jon?" "how do i cook this, jon?" "where can i buy that, jon?" and typically, i didn't ask these questions once). jonathan was actually the one who picked up my meat grinder (see chapter 5) for me and carried it all the way back from njo "with the blade stabbing him in the back." he was always up for cooking fajitas and often came bearing gifts of the best kind-chocolate. jon would give a new perspective in the midst of frustrations and charged my iPOD whenever i needed. he also was hysterically funny, a wicked good dancer, and the best back massager i've ever met. i miss him. boo. BUTTTTTT.....now i have a new site mate, bret. he's only been here a month but i already like him a lot. we have a lot in common and are on a more similar page as new volunteers. we also have had some great adventures already (see the upcoming xmas chapter)! marie is a bit further away, but i love having another american girl around. we get giddy about musicals, dresses, and chocolate. it's crazy....and fun. i love tanzanians and i am here for them, but i never expected how important my relationships with other americans would be to my time here. at the end of the day (or, thanks to text messaging, all throughout it) it's nice to have someone to talk to in my language....who understands my worldview....who can encourage me, laugh with me, empathize with me in everyway....and enjoy amaretto milano cookies and hershey kisses as much as i do!

Chapter 7: My House

well, this episode of trading spaces continues. the main part of my house is now done (kitchen, living room, bedroom), but the painting/furniture making/decorating continues. i'll try and post some pictures eventually....or you can come take a look! :-)

Chapter 8: Weather (or BRRR....it's cold in here)

so....does anyone recall me saying, "i am so glad this is my last winter in ny for a while for the last 2 years?" that sentiment has still not changed. i hate the cold. full stop (tanzanian for period). however, it's stinking cold where i am. i'm kinda used to it now. i wake up in the morning under three heavy blankets, wearing socks, pants, and a long sleeve shirt. i run to the potty in the cold to wake up and then come back and put on a khanga or kitenge (a big piece of fabric that can be sewn into clothes or wrapped around your waist) and then wrap a blanket over that and put on my fleece....yeah....it's cold. but like i said, i'm used to it....and it certainly is MUCH better than being in ny now, so i'm thankful. however, i am currently vacationing in morogoro/dar es salaam....and it is HOT HOT HOT here....getting a taste or "real" africa is making me a bit sad now. although, i will admit that i do enjoy the perks of the cold...aka. no mosquitos, snakes, or frogs (yeah, i think i showered with a black and yelow, perhaps poisonous frog two days ago). so i'll try and not complain!

Chapter 9: Books

for the first month at site i would come home absolutely mentally and emotionally exhausted. so i fell back in love with reading. it's been pretty amazing. i snuggle up in bed and rock out the head lamp or a crap load of candles and just read for a few hours before i go to bed. in some ways i feel pretty guilty about it, because when i'm reading i don't journal or write letters or do more "introspective" things, but the more i'm reading the more i realize i'm thinking about things that never would pop into my head. as the goo goo dolls song says, "i wandered through fiction to look for the truth..." sometimes when the world you live in seems strange and almost fictional there's a weird comfort in connecting with a character in a book or struggling with a theme that transgresses setting or genre. anyway, because i know mrs. zachos (shoot, did i spell that wrong? 10th grade was a long time ago!) will want to know, here's the run down of some of the books i've read (i'm sure i'll forget some)

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson (the last two were for you, andy!)

Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (made me think of you, sammy!)

The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas by John Boyne

A Room With a View by E. M. Forester

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (that was for you, prof stew!)

All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes by Maya Angelou (who knew there were still books by her i haven't read?)

Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forester

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemmingway

Chapter 10: Weird Things/Daily Life

well, for those of you who know how lazy i am and were worried about whether or not the regularity of my bathing has been hindered by my laziness and lack of desire to chote water on my head....i have good news! well, and bad news. the good news is the rainy season has begun and i can now catch rain water off my roof! i have more water than i know what to do with! the bad news is that now it rains....everyday. and it's kinda depressing. but i now have received my purple raincoat in a care package so i am rocking the rains in style! :-)

for lisa beth and all my friends at locos....i will say a few words about the alcohol situation. african beer is delicious and strong (think i might have mentioned before that 2.5 beers here equals a 6-pack at home). there are also a few other options. there is konyagi, also known as the "spirit of tanzania" which is like a nasty gin-type substance and zed, a pineapple flavored vodka-type substance. these are cheap alternatives to beer. but what's the cheap alternative to liquor? that would be local pombe (made from corn in my region). local pombe can be bought by the bucket. BAM. that should be enough said, but i'll go on. groups of old men or women alike sit together and drink together out of a communal bucket (about the size of a flower pot). it's drank in morning, afternoon, and night...it's drank after important meetings and when there's nothing else to do. really, it's drank all the time. i did indeed try it, but i will admit, i had a rough time. it takes worse than what i imagine urine will taste like. somehow though i managed to choke down about a coffee cup worth. and then walk about an hour home with no problem. yup. i'm a champ. in some ways i really appreciate the tradition, but in some ways it's really frustrating. people who beg me for food somehow find money for alcohol. and on days when i'm feeling particularly judgy this really bothers me, but honestly....i try and keep that in check. i don't know if i could walk in their shoes for a day (if they had them)....i'd likely want to get drunk and forget about life too....

"sadaka" is the word for church offering. at the luthern church i go to offerings can be monetary or in the form of crops (very similar to biblical times, i suppose). the crops are then auctioned off after church in front of the whole congregation. this is a difficult process/tradition for me. in some ways i think it's really great. two eggs in the market would go for about 500 shillings, but after church people will buy them for as much as 3,000. is this good or bad? i mean, the church gets more money-good. people get to show off how much money their giving to the church-bad. is this the sort of thing Jesus was pissed about when he said the sellers had turned his father's house into a den of robbers? is this not letting your right hand know what your left hand is doing? i'm not so sure. PC encourages us not to judge, but try and learn from the culture. maybe there's more to this practice that i don't see. maybe it has a communal aspect i can't understand as a western. i certainly enjoy standing together in a circle and rhythmically clapping as the auctioneer tries to get people to give more. i don't know...

any of my homies from upstate ny remember old stone fort days? sometimes i can't help but be curious in the difference in development in africa and the us when i see the toys the kids her play with. and in this use of the word "toys" i don't mean informal objects that become play things in this part of the world-plastic bottles, empty lotion containers, knives, mud puddles, soccer balls made of string and plastic bags, razor blades, etc. here i'm talking about more formal toys like the hoop and stick or dreadles that are kept in motion with a whip made out of a stick and a piece of string. sometimes seeing kids play with these toys makes me appreciate how much kids enjoy simple pleasures and games here and how there is not the materialism and obcession with the latest toy/gadget (think iPODs, fancy phones, tickle me elmo, xbox, or what-have-you). but the more time here i spend, the more i realize the same human corruption is present here, just in forms that aren't as recognizable to me. people still want the best phone, the best braids (oh yeah, btw...i recently got extensions! haha.....i felt like barbie), the best sandals, the best xmas clothes, etc. and i don't say this to bash tanzanians, i say this because at times i find myself praising the simplistic lifestyle and hating myself for my american materialism....so i guess i just find comfort in knowing that materialism and selfishness aren't solely western evils, their part of the corrupt human....and as beautiful as other traditions are....i can't idolize them or demonize the culture i belong to. we all have our faults....they're just manifested in different ways. wow, not sure if that makes any sense...sorry.

Chapter 11: Materialism Rant Continued, Sorta (or CHRISTMAS!)

like i said i'm in this entries title (if you can remember back to when you read the title when you started ready this entry like a week and a half ago...if you're tired of reading imagine how i feel!) i certainly did not miss snow the christmas, but i will admit, "there's no place like home for the holidays." luckily for me, i am constantly receiving letters and packages and emails from home, so i certainly felt the cross-continental love this xmas! i knew the holiday season in africa would be different for me...no snow, no shopping for endless gifts, no lights on the streets, no christmas music in the stores, or 24-hour all christmas music radio stations...and like with most things here, i was eager to learn about the tanzanian traditions, but this time, i had to mix in traditions that i love and are important to me. i had to have the idea of a "holiday season" even if no one else around me did. sooo....i'll try and give a brief run down of what that consisted of. first, i am lucky enough that people (some who i asked and some who just know me and my love for xmas...thanks krissy!) sent me decorations! my living room was pretty much decked out! i had red tinsel around the windows and greens, candles, and a stuffed santa from grandma arranged beautifully on my mantle just above the stocking i inherited from jonathan! a quick note about santa! "hayupo" tanzania...he's not here! they have no clue who he is. i tried to explain the story, but i don't know if i just didn't know the words or if the concept is just too far-fetched, but in my efforts to describe a fat man that flies, has a list of the world's children, and comes through the chimney to deliver presents, i pretty much made a fool of myself. after a few half-assed efforts (i didn't really want to spoil the true meaning of xmas for africans) i gave up and ran with the thoughts of a 2-year-old who thought santa was baby Jesus. i suppose a fat man with a beard kinda looks like Christ incarnate? ha...then my neighbors cut me down a christmas tree! i decorated it with ornaments from home and a popcorn garland (made with my neighbors....don't worry, i let them eat lots too!) in the american tradition, hydraingeas in the tanzanian tradition, and playing cards in the PC tradition (well, not sure you can call it a tradition. bret and i cut down a tree from his neighborhood at night mission impossible style and got creative with our decorating....light bulbs, playing cards, and tubing. ha!) and of course, the tree was topped with a star i fashioned out of duct tape and a plastic bottle. and don't worry, dad. i had to climb on top a chair and i was still on my tippy toes putting it on. matter of fact, i almost killed myself putting it on and almost knocked the tree over and fell on my face. the tree and i both survived, but it ended up about a foot shorter! haha...my tanzanian friends explained to me that christmas presents aren't really a big part of their tradition here, but i decided that i would give some gifts and enjoy another american tradition....COOKIES! i made a ton of baked goods for my friends and co-workers. after 3 full days of baking on my tiny charcoal stove i successfully made 1 banana bread, 1 mango bread, 1 loaf of whole wheat bread, 2 batches of sugar cookies, 3 batches of oatmeal cookies, 3 batches of fudge, and 2 vanilla cakes, and a chocolate cake! for the most part i had a great time. i sang american xmas carols or talked with friends or set the occasional treat aside for the neighbor kids.....i will admit though, once the rain started to pour and i closed myself into my kitchen to stay dry and i almost gave myself carbon monoxide poisoning....that was rough. HA. i wrapped up the presents in the plastic my mattress came in back in august (i'm definitely learning to reuse creatively here...) and handed them out with some hand made christmas cards. the cards were pretty and i wrote bible verses or notes in swahili, but the pictures i drew of stars, ornaments, trees, garland, doves, etc. might have been a bit mysterious to my tanzanian friends. haha....oh well. i was happy to learn that one american tradition is also practiced here in tanzania that i love at home-christmas pagents! although the tradition is a bit different here. at my church here the same christmas play is done every year. there are no scripts....everyone knows every part (although there were some heated arguments of lines or the order of scenes). there is no director....there's a panel of bibis who makes comments/criticisms at the end of rehearsal. there are no auditions or volunteering for a part...the group assigns them. anywhoo....i had the very important part of the secretary (who knew there was a secretary in the xmas story?!). in this play they pretend that the story is taking place in africa, so caesar's decree for the census is announced at a town meeting. i had one line. HAHA. but i opened the play....it was an important line. i also played mzee namba 1. meaning i hobbled into the cenus as an old lady to riotous laughter. the play overall was very similar to one in america. i mean, we use the same bible, right? (or not, eh, dr. mrs.?) but there were some notable differences. first of all, we opened and closed the play by dancing and singing around the church. yes, i danced....in front of everyone. another really interesting point was the main character of the play. in the u.s. little girls fight over who will be mary. and certainly, if there is a lead, most people would point to mary, especially those from a more catholic tradition, i'm sure. but here, the main character was joseph. he had the most lines by far. mary barely spoke. i'm not sure if that's just because the woman (everyone in the play was a woman) playing joseph was more outgoing or confident with adlibing, or because the patriarchial african society dictated such a play. i don't know for sure....we performed the play christmas day. which, i will admit was a strange day. i woke up and for the first time didn't have a stocking carefully packed full of goodies by my mom. i couldn't go sit under the tree and guess which was in each box (although i'll admit that i walked into my living room hoping for some miraculous surprise). i didn't have a family to watch open presents from me (that was probably the biggest disappointment). it was a strange feeling. so i got ready, just like any other day, but i doned my new christmas dress (one sewn in the tanzanian style) and headed to my neighbors to help cook. then we went to a verrrry long service. after church we headed back to eat tons of yummy food (chicken, pilau, and new clothes are pretty much what tanzanian kids have to look forward to on xmas) and have a dance party! yes! i went to two houses and was stuffed full to the brim! at my second friends house i had to unzip my dress a little be able to dance! haha. i closed my day by talking to my family and packing for this vacation. it was a great day, and yet really hard. a lot of my PC friends got together to do more american traditions. in some ways i wish i had been with them for the day, but there was such a comfort in being with my family here. and while xmas has a bit of hype here (there's inflation in food and clothing prices and even an extra market day on xmas eve) it was one of the most Christ-centered christmases i've ever experienced in my life, and so for that i was humbled and grateful.

EPILOGUE

well, to be honest....i'm exhausted from writing. i hope this book of a blog entry made up for my extended absense. thank you all for your support and your interest in my time here! i hope you all had a merry christmas and a happy new year. i'll try and get on again soon and tell you the fun/exciting stories from my vacation and whatever else might come up in the next few weeks! much love!

Hi everyone! I keep putting off writing a blog entry so I can make it really intricate. I promise I will write a good one soon enough, but I promise it's coming!

For now, I just wanted to give you a quick update of what I'm doing. I haven't started teaching yet, because my first priority is to get to know my community and everyone's needs. For now I've been going to seminars and conferences for community leaders and health workers. I also work at the hospital whenever I have free time. Soon I will start doing my community interviews. I'm really looking forward to that and doing an analysis of what's next.

I'm trying to settle into my house as well. I'm getting better at choting water and cooking, etc. I also have started decorating a bit...that's a long, dramatic story. Basically, I thought my dad's painting skill and knowledge would somehow magically be passed on to me. I figured a little experience mixed with my analness would make it all work out, but since I didn't know you can't paint ceiling boards with oil paint, I spent a few days locked up in my house, muttering angrily to myself and getting high on paint fumes. I have since figured out to switch to water based (although i already wasted considerable time and money on it). I'll be in "Trading Spaces" mode again in no time. (Thanks for that obsession, mom.) Try explaining to people in a third world country why clean walls and curtains that match your bed spread matter...I guess I've questioned it myself to a certain extent, but I think I've concluded that an appreciation for asthetics is a good thing. So I'll enjoy the beauty of my home and attempt to do it on as much of a budget as possible.

Ok...out of internet time! I'm heading to a nearby expat's house for a going away party for some of the outgoing volunteers! Should be fun...Hope all is well at home! Keep in touch!

Just in case you were wondering....when I'm homesick I blast Sandstorm on my iPOD and dance around my courtyard like a banshee! haha...it never fails! plus...it brings back memories of DDR freshman year in miner and tooling around coby in greg's jeep....good times!

Hello all! Sorry for taking so long to get back online. I have already been pretty busy, but I just want to give you a brief overview of life in Kitula.

I live in the southern highlands, which has gorgeous rolling hills much like the Schoharie Valley, but the pine trees are mixed with palm trees and gorgeous bright flowers. The roads are a brownish red dust (literally, like a sandbox in places).

My house is on a hill next to a primary school and a few kilometers away from a hospital and a secondary school. It has four bedrooms (yup, bigger than my house in NY) and a living room in the main part of the house, an enclosed courtyard, and then a choo (pit litrine, room for bathing, and a small kitchen). I do not have running water or electricity, but I am loving it thusfar.

I cannot chote water yet. I am a pathetic weakling, and I have to ask small children to do it for me (they make it look EASY). haha...

I do, however, keep my house somewhat neat, wash my clothes by hand, and cook. I cook on a charcoal stove. I am enjoying experiementing with the fresh foods that are available here. I have managed to fairly successfully make: rice, guacamole, split pea soup, crepes, syrup, cheese, omlettes, and homefries....along with a few Tanzanian dishes. Cooking is fun, and I hope to start baking after I can get to a city and buy some more ingredients.

Every morning I wake up around 7 and clean, start the fire, make breakfast, and take a bath. Then I hang out with my VEO (kinda like my village's mayor). She is very supportive and she introduces me to the important people in my village and the surrounding areas. I am visiting schools, hospitals, families, churches, etc. Peace Corps encourages us to just survey our community for the first 3 months or so to get really good at the language and observe before we start solving problems.

I know they have it right and yet at times I just want to get right to work. This past Sunday I spoke with a women's group at a nearby church that began innumerating the things they needed. My region has a huge water problem and they are also desperately in need of a nearby health center. I also went to a funeral yesterday of a man who died of HIV related viruses. It was heartbreaking, especially when I watched his two small children put flowers on his grave. Then I wanted to get right to work teaching about HIV, but all in good time, I know....

Alright. I can't write much more now. I'll try and get back again soon. Hope all is well.

Please take tons of pictures for me at Cassie's wedding. Cass, I love you....You're going to be a beautiful bride and I'm so sad I won't be there for you!

OK...I finally have a permanent address. I am going to use my village's PO box, so here it is:

Jessica Meigel

Peace Corps Volunteer

PO Box 63 Bulongwa

Makete, Iringa Tanzania

Letters should get through to me with no problem. If you want to send a package (I surely won't complain), but I'm told padded envelopes work the best and writing in red ink works best (don't ask me why). I've also been encouraged by my boss (a Tanzanian) that you should scribble religious statements on the outside of the package as it's less likely to be opened. Strange...but true. :-)

Sorry about this, but i lost my phone a few weeks ago and had to buy a new one (everyone made fun of me for buying the cheapest possible phone available, but now they understand....haha) my new number is:

+255-787-348-491

Hey all! I finalllllly got a cell phone. I believe you can call me at +255 787-597-504. Let me know if that doesn't work! Also, let me know if you need help finding international phone cards....I hear you can get ones for like 10 bucks for an hour or even better!

Anyway....on to the more exciting news. I got my site assignment today!!! HOORAY!!!! I am going to the beautiful Iringa Region. My village is called Kipagalo. I'm near Makete town and near Matema Beach and Kitulo National Park! I am going to be a bit isolated in the mountains and I will be the first volunteer in this area! I am soooo excited. The only drawback is that the opening sentence of my site description says, "Kipagalo is one of the few places in Tanzania that gets COLD." hahahahaha! Just my luck. I try and escape the cold and end up in the coldest part of Tanzania. Oh well! I saw a snapshot of my house. It looks nice and it even has a chimney! Yup, cold! Hahahaha. I have to run....we're having dinner at the acting Country Director's house, but I'll write more soon. Much love!

I suppose I should start yet another blog entry by apologizing for not writing more often, but the last few weeks have been crazy. Last week we had our midtests in technical training, as well as oral and written language, so at night I’ve been doing a lot of studying when I’m not socializing with my family and neighbors. (I’ve since gotten my tests back and I did pretty well! Hooray! But it’s somewhat frustrating. I’m used to feeling great after I do well on a test, but here I don’t get a huge boost off my good grades because I still can’t fully carry on a conversation…oh well. It takes time, I’m fully aware). Anyway, I thought I’d share a few quick notes on fun/interesting things I’ve done or learned the past few weeks.

First of all, I attended a wedding! Well, actually I attended both the bride and groom’s pre-wedding parties the night before (which are basically just sweet dance parties, old-school block party style) and the reception after the wedding…haha, just like me to skip the wedding and go to the parties, but truly I was in school for the wedding ceremony itself. I have figured out how to dance Tanzanian style pretty well, even though I am wowowo-less, so I blended in pretty well despite the fact that I glowed in the moonlight. J However, when Shakira came on I had to bust out some of my own moves, so I had lots of Tanzanian mamas asking me to teach them how to dance (I can shimmy in a way they don’t know how….haha). The reception was very formal. There were a lot of speeches made and gifts formally presented by both sides. The bride and groom barely touch or smile, so that’s definitely different to me. There were some cute points. When they fed each other the cake the bride put the cake in her mouth and the groom bit it out of her mouth Lady and the Tramp style.

I also just wanted to briefly mention that despite the fact that my focus as a health educator here in Tanzania (thank you PEPFAR) is on HIV/AIDS, malaria is the number one killer in Africa. Malaria preys on pregnant women and children. In reality, a child dies of malaria every 30 seconds.

I also was quite surprised when I learned that in Tanzania and many other third world countries pregnant women who are HIV positive are encouraged to breastfeed their children for the first six months of their lives (breast milk is one of the four methods of transmission, along with blood, semen, and vaginal fluids). I was shocked when I first heard that and I honestly assumed that I misunderstood, but I later found out that it is indeed the case. In reality, all babies born to HIV positive mothers test positive for the first 18 months of their lives (because of the antibodies passed on while they’re in the womb) and so while researchers know that HIV can be passed on through a mother’s milk they are not sure exactly how high the risk is (it is believed that most babies transmit HIV through pregnancy, not through milk). And there is another important factor to consider. Unlike in the developed world where clean water and good formula is available, the alternative to breastfeeding in Tanzania is accompanied by great risks of water borne disease and malnutrition. Therefore, mothers are instructed to breastfeed until the babies are six months old, because this is when they begin cutting teeth and so are more likely to come into contact with blood. Their immune systems are also a bit higher and so they can handle other foods and drinks easier. Also babies stomaches tend to get irritated from real food, so these sores can be a door for HIV to enter if breastmilk is mixed with real food.

On a lighter note, this past weekend we went on a little, one-night getaway to Mikumi National Park. We went on a game drive and saw giraffes, zebras, elephants, hippos, and baboons. I was very disappointed that I didn’t get to see a lion, but I don’t want to complain about that too much, because knowing my luck one will show up at my site in a few months! We also enjoyed some delicious food and drink (we all drank Safari beer after the Safari….and PS 2.5 beers here equal a six-pack at home, and cost about a dollar each). We also had a rocking dance party where I got to bust out some killer Tanzanian dance moves I’ve learned as well as some American favorites (like the shopping cart and sprinkler) that my Tanzanian sisters just don’t appreciate! It was a great break after a very stressful week.

I want to finish this blog post with a quick note about something I love about Tanzanian culture. In Tanzania, if you don’t know someone’s name you can call them by a group they belong to. Sometimes it’s a bit annoying (especially if you’re white and you hear “Mzungu” 16 times a day), but usually I love it. Not only am I called “dada” (sister) by my technical siblings, but also by my neighbors and other beautiful, smiling children that greet me on the street. I also have endless mamas and bibis (grandmas), but most importantly I have babus (grandpas) again! I was very blessed to have had two granddad’s in the US who were wonderful dads to my parents and equally wonderful to me and Andy as grandpas. They were two people who always made me feel loved, affirmed, and special. My grandpas could always make me laugh or smile. Grandpa Meigel always had a funny story to tell and I think that part of him lives on in my dad and maybe me too. And I still think of Granddad McCann every time a stubbly face rubs against my cheek during a hug. It is wonderful to be reminded of them in those little ways, but every time I visit with a babu here I am reminded of the wisdom that comes from the years and life experiences that only grandpa’s have. And so every chance I get I ask babu (my neighbor) about his day, the news, his favorite soccer team, politics, and anything else I can think of. I have always known that the ancestors and family are important in African culture, but I think I am really beginning to appreciate the beauty and depth of my own family and my interactions with them both in the past and the present. I hope both my grandpas knew how much I adored them and how much they would affect my life even after they are no longer physically with me.

I guess I should probably stop for now. I’m sorry for being “lost.” My computer is experiencing technical difficulties (it won’t turn on) so I can’t write as much or often as I’d like, but I’ll try and write again soon. Peace and love!

Hey everyone! I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I have been very busy! I’ll try and give you a an idea of what a typical day is like for me as a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee).

Every morning (except Sunday) my mama knocks on my door around seven o’clock to wake me up. “Abee!” I call, to let her know I’m conscious (I’m still not a morning person in Africa…) After I get my wits about me and my bath stuff together I get out of my nice warm bed (yes, it is quite cold in the morning and at night…thank you Hillary for the fleece, I wear it every day!) and go out to bathe. First, I have to greet my mama and anyone else who happens to be in our courtyard. Not greeting someone, especially an elder, is incredibly disrespectful in Tanzania. So I put on a happy morning face and say, “Shikamoo, mama!” which is how everyone greets an elder (EVERY DAY…sometimes more than once a day). It’s a little annoying to have to “shikamoo” every single elder I see throughout the day (and yes, I shikamoo everyone that appears older than me), but it really is a beautiful tradition. I am a lot more aware of how disrespectful I am and our culture in general is. Kids in the US are always served by their parents, here the children serve their parents. Thanks for taking such good care of me mom and dad! Hopefully I’ll come home and be more respectful and grateful than I have been in the past….

Soooo anyway….after I shikamoo my mama and ask her how she slept and how she woke up and how her morning is going, I shuffle sleepily in my crocs (Yay! So glad I brought them…) and a khanga (a beautiful piece of Tanzanian cloth with a proverb written on it) into the bathroom. My house is very nice and we have electricity and running water (usually)! I start by using the squatty potty and then I take a warm bucket bath (my family spoils me rotten)!

After I bathe I get dressed (I wear a skirt or dress almost every day) and then I go out and have breakfast with my seven-year-old sister, Shemsa (if she’s awake). I have some combination of a chapati, a hard boiled egg, bread, a doughnut (like a fried ball of dough, not Crispy Cream), and milk tea (chai) or hot milk—which are both yummy and sweet and nice on the chilly mornings. After breakfast I quickly brush my teeth and head out to school.

I probably only live 5 minutes from the school, but it takes me about twice that time because I have to greet everyone I run into on the way!

Once I get to school I greet my teacher, Vivian, aka “Big Boy.” Yes, he is one of the few larger Tanzanians I’ve met. He’s also incredibly funny and a great teacher. I am very lucky! Big Boy utilizes a lot of different teaching strategies which helps me a lot. Luckily Swahili is fairly straightforward language, grammar wise (more on that later) so he makes us a lot of charts (love that!) and we do practice sentences, sing songs, interview community members, go on experiential walks, and visit community officials, religious leaders, and business people. It is really fun!

My class (which is made up of the most random five individuals...think inter-generational and inter-faith and iner-ethnic Breakfast Club) has a lot of fun and our language is coming along well. We study for about 2 hours, then break for chai. Then we study for a few more hours before lunch and “recess.” Big Boy keeps the day moving so we don’t get too overwhelmed.

After class I walk home and I'm met along the path by my sister Shemsa, my cousin Abdule

i (3, my boyfriend!) and a ton of adorable neighbors. Usually we hang around at the neighbors' for a while. They ask me about my day and what I learned and usually they try and teach me a few things too. After a while I play with the kids or go in and “help” make dinner. Soon I’ll have to start doing more, but for now I just do little things.

Then I take another bath, eat dinner (some combo of rice, pilau, coconut rice-YUM, beans, kuku, beef, spinach, and cabbage) and then head to my room. At this time, it's about 10:30 and i'm literally exhausted (trying to think in another language all day is straight up tiring)....Before I go to bed I try and write in my journal and study my many flashcards.

So that’s what 5 of my 7 days a week are like. One day I go to MATI with all the PCTs (there are 50ish of us). On those days we do generic trainings, but we have a lot of fun getting all together. On Sundays we “pumzika” or rest, although I usually do laundry, sweep and mop my room, rearrange, study, shop with my family, and help cook, so it’s still pretty busy.

Alright….this is probably long enough for today. Hope all is well back home.

I miss you lots…and I would loooove to get some snail mail, so here’s my temporary address:

Jessica Meigel

Peace Corps Tanzania

PO Box 9123

Dar es Salaam Tanzania

East Africa

PS....I thought of y'all on friday. We had a little 4th of July celebration after class....actually it was a traditional field day, complete with an American flag and the singing of the national anthem. I played ultimate frisbee, volleyball, and yes....SOCCER!!! it made my life. i'm in a little pain now (especially in the choo position!) but it was worth it to burn off some calories and hear the hoot of the spectators when i pulled some sweet moves around a Tanzanian MAN! haha....

Yay! I am finally at my homestay in a village outside of Kilosa. I live with a family with four children. I'm not sure which ones are my siblings yet as there are many neighbors around, but I'll let you know when I have it all figured out. They are very nice and are dealing with my horrendous Swahili quite graciously.

My three year old brother can always make me smile and my sisters love it when I (attempt) to dance. Hopefully I'll aquire some Africa hips while I'm here. I am also rocking at the ball games the kids play (although they were too nice to try and get me out). :-)

Swahili lessons are going pretty well. It's hard, but between classes during the day and my siblings lessons at night....it's coming along. :-)

I don't have any exciting stories yet, but now I know where the nearest Internet cafe is, so I promise to write again when I do! Much love!

Well, after a good 24 hours on the plane, I stepped out into beautiful Tanzania, and realized...yes...it is much cooler in Africa than in New York right now! I don't want to take up a lot of computer time now, but I just wanted to check in. For the next 10 weeks or so I won't have much internet access because I'll be training in a smaller city. All the current Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) assure us that training is the worst, most horrible, most tiring, most stressful part of service. It's all verrrry encouraging. ...haha. But I'm ready...nothing can be as bad as back-to-back Dr. Mrs. classes, right? (Just kidding, I miss you, Dr. Mrs.) I am happy to be in Tanzania, but I am already getting anxious to learn the language and get to my placement. I'll drop another line when I have more to report.

Oh...and Happy Father's Day, daddy!!! Sorry I'm a bad daughter. Your card is likely to be 2-3 weeks late. I love you!

Well, it's pushing midnight and my roommate and I set our alarm clock for 4:20, so this will be a brief post. I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the love and support you've given me in this tumultuous last year and a half. I don't know how I would have made it without my family and friends. I'm leaving tomorrow and I can honestly say that I am not most anxious about creepy crawlies, electricity, squatty potties, theft, violence, or political unrest...I'm truly not worried about going, I'm worried about leaving. It's an awful feeling to feel like you've abandoned the people who care about you most (and who you cherish the most) to follow your dreams. I am so blessed to have friends and family that encourage me to follow my heart, even when it means away from them. I want you all to know that you are dear to my heart, and I will be thinking of you often. Feel free to contact me on the internet, or if you prefer the long-lost art of letter writing I can give you my address if you write me an email.

Tomorrow I leave for Tanzania....it's really happening.