Single mom makes real money working at home online

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Fri, 6 Apr 2012 8:44:12

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" You stick an ordinary knife in a guy-makes a slit." (c) patrizia albertyna

Good morning, I signed a contract to teach physics and chemistry at a private school in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, a landlocked country in the middle of South America. The past three weeks have been spent trying to find and set up a house, getting ready for school, and now teaching and learning Spanish. Bolivia, or at least the city of Santa Cruz, are very different from what I saw in Mwanza, Tanzania. There's a lot of money here in the city and in the east of the country generally. Much less in the high, mountainous west and that is reflected in politics and society. It is winter now in the southern hemisphere and when the winds come out of the south they bring cold air out of Antarctica so that on several occasions I was sleeping with a sweater, light jacket, hat, wool socks and pants. Like camping in my own bedroom. When the winds come from the north they bring hot and humid air from the Amazon and temperatures soar into the 90's and beyond. It's generally windy and this time of year very dusty. It rains occasionally but when it starts in earnest in is apparently torrential.There's a movie theater two blocks away so I've already seen more movies here than in the past four years. Most are in Spanish but a few of the more popular ones (The Simpsons, Harry Potter) are in English with Spanish subtitles. Everybody goes out late. 9 or 10pm on a Sunday, 11 on Friday. I asked one of the Bolivian teachers when he finally went home and he replied "oh, it was about 7am".I hope you are all well.

Ryan

When replying please copy the following email address rfkadow@gmail.com and paste it into the send box.

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I was in the computer room watching Hotel Rwanda with a couple of students on one of their laptops when a girl came up to me and said "Sir you know why I don't like to watch this movie?" I said no, I didn't know and then she leaned over and whispered something in my ear. I didn't catch any of it so I asked her to repeat it. Same thing. She had to say it four times before I finally got her; she is 'Nyarwanda' or in English, Rwandan. I asked her if her family was still there and she said yes, her grandparents were there but now they are dead, and she has or had some aunts and uncles. I didn't really know what to say so I said "I'm very sorry" and then some of her friends started talking about something in the movie. Although the movie plays up the guilt and spinlessness of the West I suspect that had everything somehow been opposite (for example, Belgians massacering each other with machetes while Nigerians and Kenyans and Namibians were leaving the country) it would all have come out the same. People are people.

There's a new bar just up the hill; thatched roof, plastic chairs and tables, pool table surrounded by a crowd of young guys who for a few minutes talk about the white guy that just sat down, more young guys walking around selling shoes and baby toys and clothes and newspapers and two waitresses talking at the bar without a care in the world for my eventually empty bottle. It's right by the road so I sit with a paper and watch the cars go by and the university students walking back from their classes and the chickens scratching in the flowerbeds and across the road two lean cattle mowing down the mostly dry grass and down the hill is a large tree is exploding with brilliant red blossoms and underneath one branch are three little stalls where women are selling cabbages and tomatoes and something very much like spinach and occassionally some onions or even a pepper and tiny dried silver fish that we might call sardines. "How far are you willing to go" - or something like that - is the slogan for the organization I'm with in my case the answer is "to the top of the hill".

Hi!I'm the Teacher on Duty this week which means that,

along with another teacher, we're responsible for

everything that happens at the school. Which sounds

like a lot more work than it really is. For example,

this morning I was just sitting in the staff room

reading when a secretary came in and started talking

to me. The thing about understanding another language

is partly getting the words right but it's also about

anticipating the trajectory of the conversation and

I'm not very good at that. It took us about a minute

to sort it out. At first I thought she said I had to write a letter

and then send a student to town with the letter. Then

it turns out I was to write the letter and send the

student to her house. Then I wasn't to write the

letter, the letter had been written. So I assumed the

student was being expelled from school but she said

no. Then I got a long explanation of how graduation is

on saturday which was confusing because everybody

knows that graduation is coming and what does this

have to do with anything. Well, it all came untangled

but it seems to me the whole thing, from the letter

(the man already knows he's to represent the parents)

to sending the student (the post or an email wouldn't

suffice) to telling me about it, was not really

necessary.Interestingly, they always have graduation before the

national exams so that the students can't riot after

the graduation. And by the time they finish their

exams they are mostly tired and simply glad to be free

so they go quickly and quietly.Last night I was surprised to see the volleyball team

because they were supposed to have left in the

afternoon for the capital. It turns out "the plane

was broken" but I pretty sure I overheard people

saying that there just wasn't any money to support

them. It's not that money isn't there, it's that the

planning happened either the day before they were to

leave or possibly the morning they were to leave. A similar thing happened to me once. A student had

written an essay and she wanted me to proof read it.

The deadline came and I hadn't seen her so I assumed

she had found somebody else or just sent it off as is.

In fact about 10am on the deadline day she came into

the office just as I was about to go to teach and

asked me if I could read it over just then and there

and then she would try to get someone to mail it that

day. I told her I'd have more time tomorrow and when

she looked crest-fallen I said maybe later in the

afternoon and she said it had to be mailed that

morning and I told her I had to go teach. As I walked

to the classroom I thought about the time in 9th grade

when I started my leaf project at about 6pm the day

before it was due. And the millions of people who

stay up all night doing their taxes the day before

they are due. That's why the world should be run by

machines.RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!The thing that really makes me homesick is country and

western music from about 20 years ago. A couple of

weeks back we were in the library marking exams and

one guy had his radio and I think he wasn't very happy

about marking exams according to a schedule, he

prefered to do it on his own time. The problem is

that when teachers mark the exams just any old time we

end up posting the results for the May monthly exams

around the first week in August. So he had his radio

tuned to some station and first we listened to the

Bellamy Brothers sing "If I said you had a beautiful

body would you hold it against me" and then Kenny

Rogers sang "Ruby, don't take your love to town" and

then others that I recognized the tune but I couldn't

tell you who was singing. I was glad I was the only

one at the table (we already finished marking I was

just handwriting the results on the report forms which

takes about as long as actually marking) because my

eyes were full of water.I came into town today because it's vacation, there

are very few of my students left at school and there

just isn't much going on. I could help the other

teacher mark his papers but they get paid about twenty

cents a script and he could make about $10 so I don't

want to cut into his profit. I walked into the

library this morning and poked around for a few

minutes. I figured if he wanted help he could ask for

it, if not he could just sit quiet. We really don't

have electricity these days except at night and

occassionally on the weekends. We used to have a

schedule: every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday

we had electricity but these days it seems random.

For example, this morning we had it until about 9am

and then again from 10:30-11:30 and then it seemed to

go out for good.So I came into town with a book and then bought a

magazine so I've got Huckleberry Finn in one hand and

this weeks Economist in the other hand which has a

picture of Manhatten just after the towers collapsed.

I can't decide if I prefer 19th century America or

21st century America but I guess it's not my choice

anyway.Last night I learned that a modern egg (meaning the

chicken which laid it was vaccinated and maybe given

some chemicals in the water ) costs about ten cents

and a regular chemical free egg which is a bit smaller

costs fifteen cents but tastes better but is only

available in town and a rotten egg costs about twenty

cents because these are used in witchcraft and the

seller knows the buyer is going to make some profit

from the egg. I'm pretty smart though, what I've

found is that if I buy a chemical laden egg for 10

cents and just wait for about a month it becomes a

rotten egg for free. The problem is nobody believes a

white guy can do magic. They'd find it hard to

believe how much money Ms. Rowling has made proving

them wrong.RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!Whenever one weather pattern phases into another the

wind gusts fiercely and randomly all night and since

plenty of things aren't bolted down (aluminum roofing

on the chicken coops, for example, is held down with

large, or not so large, rocks...hell, for all I know

my roof might be held down by rocks) it makes a hell

of a racket. Or wracket. I went into the library this morning where teachers

were marking the terminal exams. I don't know why I

went actually, I've finished marking but I guess there

were people there and now that we're on break I wanted

to grab a couple of books. The school library has a

lot of books. But, like many personal libraries, it's

more for the look. Tanzania by it's own admission

does not have a reading culture. Though, like so many

other aspects of culture, that is starting to change.

So I grabbed Steinbeck's The Pearl. This is a pefect example of a book I might have been

assigned in high school and would have thought awfully

dull. Read it too soon and it goes right by you, read

it too late and it's just a rehashing of things you've

already figured out, but get it at the right time, and

I think this afternoon was a very good time, and it's

an excellent book. So that's one day of vacation

down, 30 to go.The school has a volleyball team and they are

evidently very good because won a regional competition

and in about two weeks are going to board an army

airplane (I didn't realize Tanzania had an airforce)

and go to Kilimanjaro for a national competition.

They even got a cup. Like a trophy. They are

remaining at school during break and practicing

several times a day. It's just like volleyball

practice when I was in high school except they don't

have uniforms (actually that's not true, you're tax

dollars - funnelled through USAID - purchased uniforms

that said on the back something like "sex is trouble"

and on the front "choose life". The front is probably

an easier sell. At least to the

"I'm-older-than-12-but-younger-than-85" crowd.) Right.

And we don't have a gym but the volleyball field is

outside down by the rice fields in the valley and in

the mornings and evenings when they practice (it's

cooler then) it is breezy and beautiful. I, on the other hand, am getting fat. I am routinely

told by students that I am getting a belly and just

yesterday one tall pretty girl told me I had fat

cheeks. I assume she was talking about my face.Pudgily,

RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!In the past few months I've started easing my way into

a job search and interestingly enough the thing I'm

most qualified for is intelligence gathering for the

department of defense (background in hard science and

international experience). I have to admit that

Mission Impossible 3 looked a lot more exciting than

Volunteers. There's that part where he's sliding off

the glass roof of the building where he wants to steal

the Rabbit's Foot and my Korean neighbor turns to me

and asks me "Is that possible?" I told her it's only

happened to me twice but that some people do it a

couple of times a year and that America is a very

exciting place and she ought to come to visit

sometime. She still let me use her bathroom (twice)

and we ate something that resembled dried fish skin.

It was really good with mayonaisse. But then what

isn't.Yesterday students started their exams so I went to

the place where I was supposed to supervise with

another teacher. I handed out all the exams and all

the papers and about 15 minutes after we started the

other teacher showed up. When we were finished she

told me she had to go into town and wouldn't be around

in the afternoon but she was sure I could handle it by

myself. So this morning I decided to blow of the

invigilation time-table and come into town myself. The

thing is money. Imagine how American schools would be

if teachers were payed $10,000/year. Or in my case

$2,031/year.But listen, the point of this is that I'm coming back

in four months and I want a job. So if any of you hear

about a teaching position for physics or math at a

pretty good school let me know. The problem is that

the students here are extremely diligent. Teaching in

the US may well be climb up in pay and a climb down in

job satisfaction. Alternatively if you have wealthy

daughtors you're looking to have off I'm in the

market.Ryan Nothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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I was in the computer room last night when a teacher

called me to say we had a meeting in about half an

hour, 7:30pm. I'm a Classmaster which means whenever

students in that particular class have a problem they

come to me. In practice it means I have to sit

through a class meeting about once a year. Of course at 7:30 there were exactly five students out

of 5 dozen in the class. But about 45 minutes later

we probably had collected 60% of them and during the

interval I'd managed to sort out that two students had

had immediate family members die recently. So the

whole class had decided to collect some money and buy

them gifts of condolence. Rambirambi is swahili,

though I couldn't figure out if that means the actual

gifts, or the meeting itself. It's not a bad word

either way. There are two of us who are Classmasters so we sat in

the front of the class with the two Class Monitresses.

The desks were battered and the chairs we were

sitting on were uncomfortable and one looked about to

fall over. Only half of the lights worked (all of

them on one side of the room) which created a lot of

shadows. The other teacher spent ten minutes offering

a standard list of bromides. What I have noticed

(slowly and belatedly) is that language is much more

than the sum of words and grammar. I understood 95%

of the words he said and took almost as much of his

meaning but he said everything in a way that would

never have occurred to me. In some cases he was

simply translating directly from English sayings. He opened the floor up to students who did much the

same ('Everything is a part of Gods plan', 'Everything

happens for a reason', 'it is not for us to choose but

to accept' etc) and the two students, who by that time

had been called to sit in front also, had the grace to

accept thier condolences politely. Then he asked me

to say something. I didn't really have anything to

say and told him as much. He asked if I understood

what we were doing. At the time it wasn't as clear to

me as it is now (after it was all over we talked for a

bit) and I told him this as well. This brought quite

a bit of laughter. He asked if we don't do this in

America. I explained briefly about the wake and the

church and the food afterward. He asked again if

people don't contribute and I said I don't think we

did. If there are expenses they are covered by

family.So he told one of the Class Monitresses to distribute

the gifts. She did an odd things, before giving them

out she said exactly how much money was collected for

each person (a little awkward because one person

collected over 50% more than the other) and exactly

how much was spent on each gift. Every shilling was

accounted for. The contradictions of life here are the interesting

part. In circumstances where accounting would, in my

opinion, be useful, like in public spending, it is

often not done, or done badly or wrongly or done and

promptly hidden from public scrutiny. Several months

ago one paper reported that millions of government

dollars go unaccounted for (and even more are

mis-accounted for) every year. That's a lot of

dollars in a country where half the population spends

$1/day. The front headline in todays paper is about a

'top secret' audit of the multi-national gold mining

companies. According to the Minister of Energy and

Mines these companies didn't want to be audited by the

government and they were obliged. In fact they were

wildly overstating their losses and the reducing their

tax burden accordingly.But there was no such nonsense last night, the figures

were given exactly. Another things that I don't

understand is that people are occassionaly very strong

(emotionally) while on other occassion just the

opposite. Last month I was talking to a student and

she mentioned that her mother, whom she appeared to be

very close to, was dead. I asked her when she died

and she thought for a moment and then said 'about two

weeks ago'. If you just saw her in class or walking

around school you would never have known. Her father

is in Central Africa working for the UN. Having

families spread out in this way is very common. One

parent working in one city, the other in a second

city, and the children in yet other cities at boarding

school.And yet yesterday I was sitting on the bus with a

student who had been admitted with malaria. She's had

a hell of a time lately. Just last month she was

admitted for a week with cerebral malaria which made

her mostly incoherent. I asked her if she'd told her

parents that she was in the hospital again and she

replied no because she didn't want to give her mother

'pressure'. It may refer to blood pressure but I

think it's more a reference to the emotional pressure

that accumulates from, I don't know, life. In any

event, she seemed to think of her mother's state as

somehow fragile, and, especially among women, this

seems to be the norm.Hey, I came here to look for job listings, not to

write. Hope you're all well.RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!So I still don't know why he asked me along. Maybe he

wanted to impress her with his foreign friend or maybe

he's getting tired of her and wanted to hand off the

baton to the next guy(I didn't help him much in that

case, fumbled it pretty thoroughly). But he certainly

is - as Hank Williams might have put it - her Daddy.But it works well for both of them. His wife died a

few years ago and she's in a tight spot. After we got

to the beach we started talking while he paid up the

room and it turns out that she studied at the school

where I teach (it's a pretty good school) and just

graduated from a nearby teacher's college. This puts

her in probably the top 1 or 2 % of educated women in

Tanzania. For comparison you might consider how many

of our grandmothers studied at University. A few, but

probably not more than few.He must have paid her through all that education

because her parents don't work (evidently her father

was in business until he got robbed in Nairobi and

lost everything...which left me wondering how he got

back to TZ..I'm sure I'll never know) and she's the

third of 9 children. Teaching physics and maths no

less. So intelligent, educated, and in fact very

charming. And through no fault of her own destined

for a choppy ride through life. It's hardly fair.

I'm dull, educated and socially awkward and for me

it's downhill all the way.She could certainly pull herself up if it were only

her, but she has 10 other people who will expect her

to help them to the extent that she's able. Probaby

more. I thought it was just cultural - the way people

expect assistance from their relatives - until someone

explained that there's no insurance for anything here.

I mean you can buy a policy but they never pay out.

So I started thinking about how it would be in America

if I couldn't insure a house, couldn't insure a car,

couldn't insure my life or any of my property. Then

how it would be if most people didn't have title to

the land they live on and unemployment ran - I don't

now, maybe 60 or 70% - and I decided I'd probably be

much more reliant on my web of relatives as well.Damn happy to be white, male, middle-class American.

Although, here's the thing that turns the tables. She

- and a lot of other Tanzanians as well - seem quite

happy. When I got back I saw the cover of a Newsweek

about how women (American) can't sleep as a result of

all the stress and anxiety in their lives. (Though,

oddly, the cover woman's husband seemed to be sound

asleep...and somehow she's still going to live longer)

I'm not sure how any of that works. I think people

talk more to one another here and listen more to one

another. It's like being in therapy all day long

while washing the clothes by hand, cooking food,

poking around for firewood, cleaning the house etc. In other news, I was an absolute hero this morning.

Last night I opened a door which had locked with some

students inside (somehow the handle mechanism became

unconnected from the bolt so that it turned but the

bolt doesn't move..that's what you get for buying a

Chinese door-handle). I suggested that they not close

the door again, but this morning I was in class when a

student came in and said that a class full of students

and (more importantly apparently) their teacher were

locked inside. Five minutes later I was standing in

front of the door, leatherman supertool in hand (there

were ah's and oh's when I pulled it out and opened one

of the blades) surrounded by a crowd of students in

blue sweaters (it's winter here). When it opened

there was lots of cheering and shouting and I thought

that must be the way Jesus feels when he opens a

locked door. The teacher inside immediately noted to

me that there was some sort of problem with the door.

I later noticed that it was propped open with a flower

pot.Hope you're all enjoying the summer.

RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!I walked into the staff room Friday morning and

another teacher says to me

'Ryan, I'm tired. I need to relax. Let's go to

Ukerewe (a big island just north of here)'

He actually spoke inside brackets, it as the most

tripped out thing I've ever experienced.

'Ok. When should we go?'

'The ferry leaves at 2 so we should get to town by

noon'So I blew off my last two periods, packed a really

small bag after having a bite to eat found him outside

a classroom telling some students to go clean

something or other. He saw me and looked as if he'd

just remembered about his plan. So we went off and

about half way to my house I realized that he was

going to travel without taking anything at all. I

brought my stuff anyway and while we were waiting for

a dala dala another teacher asked what was in the box

(I'd stuffed everything into the box peace corps gave

us to keep medical supplies in, it's a bright blue

hard-case about the right size to hold a large

laptop). I told him it was full of money and as I

said it I realized it did look like it was full of

money. So I walked back to my house and left it.We got to town about 1:30 which was probably 15

minutes too early, but eventually we did get on the

boat and on our way. These things are usually

dilapidated. In fact I remembered about an hour later

that we're forbidden to get on any ferry that plies

Lake Victoria. But we got there just fine. We sort

of careened into the dock and for a moment I thought

the whole thing might come down (it was built when the

water was about two meters higher so the automobile

tires that would usually cussion the blow at the

height of the captains quarters...we got a direct hit

on one of the corner beams). After a lot of jostling

and shouting a ramp of sorts was sort of tossed onto

the deck (we're all standing about two meters beneath

the guys working on the deck) and then it was an

absolute melee as people scrambled up this ramp as if

the devil had them by the coattails.So anyway, we got off the ship (I was really glad I

wasn't carrying a bright blue box that looked like it

was full of money) and got a taxi and suddenly the

rather voluptuous woman got in the back seat next to

the other teacher and they start talking. She tells

the driver to roll the windows up a bit and I could

have sworn she said that her dad was out and about.

They started into a conversation as if they were old

friends. Which it turned out later they sort of were.

I was somewhat taken aback by this. I certainly

understand leaving town to go about one's business a

bit more anonymously but why on Earth had he invited

me?More later.

RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Hi!I am really starting to come apart. Last night on the

bus I lost my newspaper and cell phone. This morning

I realized I'd left my pants outside to dry last night

and never brought them in. They weren't outside any

longer. So spent the morning grappling with the

reality of facing the day phoneless, paperless and

pantsless. But things aren't often as bad as they initially seem

here. I had at least two other papers lying around

the house and it turned out that my neighbor had taken

my pants in from outside and hung them in the hallway.

They've done that for me half a dozen times now. I

had to buy a new phone but got to keep the same number

and it even still had money on it. The phone system is a bit different here. Calling is

very expensive while texting is relatively cheap.

Almost no individuals have monthly calling plans, most

people by vouchers for $.50 or $1 or even $5 and then

use their phones until that money runs out at which

point we go buy another voucher. I didn't realize how

nice it is until I was home over Christmas and several

people explained to me how using Sprint is like

signing a contract with the devil. Friday night is usually movie night and I was staning

under a brilliantly clear evening sky talking with

several science students about why my younger brother

is married with kids and I don't even have a

girlfriend ("but sir, you must have one in America"

"you know, if I had a woman in America I sure as hell

wouldn't be teaching in Tanzania" etc.). The table

for the tv was set up but then there was a long lull.

About 45 minutes later it was reported that the tv and

several other things had been stolen from the

Geography room. It was generally agreed that this was

improbably and if true could only have been done by

bribing the school guards. Which wouldn't be hard as

they make about $60/month. The few times I've seen

them in the morning they looked more well-rested than

I do.I became a millionaire sometime last week so I

celebrated by buying a box of Snickers bars. This was

probably ill-advised, but I'm sure it's not the first

time someone with more money than they really need has

been led astray. I had gone into town to get money,

but after standing in the bank line for about 5

minutes I realized it wasn't moving at all, and it

took about 30 seconds to realize that the computers

weren't working. As the line was short I assumed this

had just happened and they would probably come on line

shortly. Half an hour later I realized such optimism

was silly and I left with about $2 to my name. After

walking around sullenly for awhile I tried a different

branch about an hour later and it was the easiest

thing I've ever done. I took my money, looked in

shock at all the decimal places in the balance, and

went on my way.The president of Tanzania was recently in America for

a week. There was a big front-page picture of him

smilling and shaking hands with George Bush - who

seemed not sure of which camera he should be looking

at. Hope all is well in America.

RyanNothing is sometimes a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say.__________________________________________________

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Before coming here I'd read several stories about people who'd had children named after them while they were living abroad. So every time a baby is born, or even if someone is just talking about having a baby, I suggest my name. They always seem to think this is terribly funny. But when the name is actually given (newborns here don't have names...and they think it is barking mad to name a baby before it's even born) it always ends up being something like Godlove or Sweetbert or Grace.

The students put on a bit of a strike a few weeks ago. A combination of panic inspired by poor test results and being forced to do cleanliness around the school when they should have been given time to study. So one day they were outside their classrooms cleaning and they refused to go back in when they had finished. The thing that impressed me was that they also called the press and the Ministry of Education.

Anyway I thought we might get some real excitement but instead of releasing the dogs and bringing out some water cannon the administration's reaction might have been summarised as 'give meetings a chance'. First with only the teachers for about half an hour. Then with the students body for about two hours. Then with only teachers again for literally six (6) (VI) hours. The next day for about another three hours. In the end nobody really got what they wanted, so it was a valuable lesson in democracy.

The mice or rats or mutant rodents living in the ceiling boards of my house seem to be up to something. In the last two weeks they've chewed two holes in the ceiling and are constantly scurrying around, scratching here, sniffing there. And yesterday I found some sort of massive centipede exploring the concrete expanse of my sitting room. It was like a big cigar floating around on a million undulating legs. Not a million. Then it would be a megapede. Which sounds a lot cooler than centipede.

Gun crime, which used to be unheard of, is now become a daily staple of the national press. People say it's because of all the refugees from Sudan Rwanda Burundi Congo but they've been around for 20 years or more. Other people say it's globalisation, although nobody seems to have a very clear picture of what that is. Only that it's pure evil. Others say the result of the younger generation being influenced by western (American) culture. That's very possibly true. The only American films which seem to exist in Tanzania are low budget action movies filmed in the late 80's. My neighbor, for example, is often called Osama (on account of his beard) or even Jesus (white guy with a beard) but every now and then gets Chuck Norris. An odd trinity, but without question three names that people associate with America.

I think the sauna/internet cafe is an unexploited market niche. Except in Mwanza. We must be a mile from the Sun.

Some things just don't seem fair. Yesterday I was talking with a driver for an international organization and this driver had only finished what in America we call high school. He takes home about $700/month. Sitting nearby were several teachers who are all university degree holders taking home, after deductions, about $130/month. A safari driver once explained that although he had only graduated from about the 8th grade he, on average, takes about $500/month. I suspect he was underestimating.

One of the things I absolutely love about living here are the flowering trees. Yesterday I was standing in the school garden looking out over a small valley of rice fields and appreciating the purple, red and yellow flowers bursting out of the canopy. There were a dozen people digging in the rice fields, young children, all girls (except for one young boy who was carrying both a bucket of water and a baby - both unusual...all his friends were playing soccer about 10 yards away) pumping water at the well, shepherds driving their cattle and goats home from pasture, cars tearing down the highway and dozens of people walking along the roads. This is a very peaceful place, except when there is a wedding or a party or a holiday or a revival and then the speakers are pounding out music or the gospel or the gospel put to music until early morning.

I think the reason soccer is so popular outside America is that it takes almost no equipment. The young boys playing across the road every night have wrapped some cloth into what is approximately a ball and that's it. No nets or goals, they have to kick the ball between two stones or sticks that demarcate the goal. No shoes no uniforms no parents no coaches no referees no clocks no penalties. It's pure play.

Yesterday I was to fill out a character assessment for the students in a particular class. I am their class teacher which means if they have any sort of issue they can come to me. I have been assuming that if they do have something they want to talk to me about they can take the initiative. It's not so hard to find the one white guy at school. There can be no confusion about who I am or where I live. But they don't come to me and I don't go to them and so I found myself sitting in front of a pile of report forms with the task of giving these people whose names and faces I do not know a grade for things such as 'obedience' and 'cleanliness' and 'class spirit'. When I picked up the forms the Academic Master said 'I'm sure you know these people'. I said, 'not a single one'. He didn't say anything so I sat down and was giving them all C's - average - until another teacher told me they were pretty good students so I started giving some of them B's too. Anyway, presumably their parents, for whom the report forms are intended, are familiar with the habits of their children.

The weather has finally fallen into a recognizable pattern. The mornings are cloudy, then the afternoon is clear and hot, and in the evening I can stand under brilliant starlight and watch the lightning slowly move in from the northeast. Around midnight or a bit after it rains torrentially for about half an hour and then occassionally for the rest of the night. Watching the storms come in is interesting because first we see them, the lightning illuminates the clouds, from very far away. An hour or so later we can start hearing them. Another hour after that the wind and rain arrive and we feel and even smell them.

Graduation was held two days ago. The school has a central parade grounds and tents and tarps were brought in and many chairs. The official entourage sits on a small covered stage in the front. People seem to be perfectly willing to sit through formality for about an hour, but then they become board. It did not help that the guest speaker had the tone of a priest reciting the eucharistic prayers. After the leaving certificates were distributed it was mostly a free for all as people starting arranging tables and chairs on the grounds for the small feasts they had brought.

For several weeks now we have been on what in Americans call 'rolling blackouts'. First the power cuts out in the morning and about an hour later the water pressure disappears (takes electricity to run a pump). About 7 in the evening I hear a cheer which means the electricity has returned and about an hour later the water pressure returns. This is about half the week, the other half life goes on as normal.

You may be hearing about severe drought in East Africa. This is more true in some places than in others, but certainly there are many people who are suffering. It is also true that many of these governments, not all, have substantial financial resources at their disposal. I have been told repeatedly by Tanzanians that Africans (they almost always refer to themselves as Africans rather than Tanzanians) need to be 'pushed' is the way a fellow teacher put it to me the other day. I took his meaning to be that they will shout quite loudly for assistance before using their own resources. In fact they are far more clever than that, they have people such as Bono doing their shouting for them. Hopefully these new rains will keep us out of the melee.

Yesterday a student asked me if I had the flu. I said no and asked her why she thought I was ill. "Your nose is red sir," was her reply. I explained that white skin, when exposed overmuch to the sun, becomes red. She thought this was very odd and suggested I wear a hat. I told her that I did wear a hat but my nose is long. They have a joke that when a white person drinks tea (the tea cups are always filled to the brim) their noses are so long that they can't drink the tea without getting their noses in it. This they find very funny. But it points out that in general, for reasons I don't understand, white people have longer noses, while Africans have flatter noses. She suggested that I go back to America where the Sun is not so fierce, but later said that I ought to stay as they will not have enough physics teachers when I leave. And, she added "you are very charming."

In Tanzania if you want someones attention there are different ways of going about getting it. None of them standing up and walking over to that person. Some people simply shout. For example, one day I was looking for a student so I asked a fellow student if she was in the dorm. That student said she didn't know but would find out for me. Assuming that she would walk over to the dorm to look, I told her that it was not so important and I didn't want to bother her . She said it was no trouble and then shouted in the general direction of the dorm at the top of her voice half a dozen times. It worked.

In a restaurant there are several methods, one is hissing, another is clapping or snapping, or rapping ones knuckles, or when all else fails, shouting. If someone is selling something you should shout the word for whatever they are selling. So you might say 'Hey newspaper' or 'you, chashew' or for a service you might say 'oya wheelbarrow'. Wheelbarrows are everywhere here.

The important thing is not to give up. If you are calling someone and they are not responding the important thing is to continue calling them. This can go on for as long as a minute. After 20 seconds or so a certain rhythm is achieved so that the sound might become a sort of mantra. This also applies to knocking on the front door. No response doesn't mean noone is home, it means they didn't hear you or are busy or are ignoring you or maybe other things that I can't imagine, but certainly don't stop knocking.

Or course people often do ignore each other because very often noone has anything to say that anyone else wants to listen to. At first I thought this was only the case for me because I stand out and am assumed to be very wealthy, but eventually I realized that I was only being very arrogant in my assumption and that this behavior applies more or less equally to everyone. It made me feel much more relaxed to know I was only a small fish in a very large sea. I ought to understand this by now, but I am in the habit of exagerating my own importance.

Tanzanian people are often very surprised to learn that it is possible to get paid for doing nothing in America. We call it welfare. There is no such thing in Tanzania, at least not in the same form as we have. But there are a number of methods for distributing money, mostly based on the trickle-down theory. One of them is that members of parliament give out a lot of cash. If you are a poor person (and relative to mp's almost everyone in Tanzania is poor) and you need money for school fees or tea or an illness or anything else at all that you can dream up then you can go to your mp's house and ask for some money. In Kenya the parliament recently raised their salaries arguing that they needed more cash to meet the needs of the people in their constituencies. More or less the same happens in Tanzania. It must feel something like being God, with people at the door all day asking for this and that.

But the real money isn't in begging (although I read in the paper yesterday that a beggar in Dar es Salaam can make between $90 - $150 a month, which is what a teacher makes. And the beggars are presumably not paying taxes or taking miscellaneous deductions), nor even in taking a salary, which tend to be very low. The way to make money in a hurry it to attend seminars and workshops. For example, a teacher who is paid $100 a month might make $30-$40 in one day attending a workshop. There have been letters to the editor by taxpayers lambasting this scheme, saying it is a waste of their tax dollars and they want roads and honest cops and good schools for their children. But since many different kinds of people benefit (there can be workshops on anything at all) I doubt that anyone is really interested in slowing the gravy train. It's sort of funny in retrospect because when Americans, like myself, first get to a place like Tanzania we assume that people are excited about seminars because they want to improve their skills or are taken with some other 'noble' intention. That is possible, but I have also talked to a variety of Peace Corps volunteers who have attempted to arrange such things only to have people back out when they realized there was very little cash involved.

Finally, several students came to me the other day and wanted to know if it was true that on Valentines day in America there was a kissing contest in which couples attempted to kiss each other for the whole day (24 hours) to get a substantial cash reward. I suspect that what may feel like heaven (getting paid to kiss?!) for the first hour probably turns into purgatory and eventually devolves into hell. In fact I wonder if any of them ever kiss each other again after its all over. Hopefully I will never know. I told them it was probably true.

Sometimes language can offer insight into the way people think about the world. For example, in Swahili there are the following three words:

baba father

ubaba fatherhood

ubabaifu stupidity, anxiety

Then again, it's probably just a random coincidence.

As opposed to a thoroughly ordered coincidence.

Although I don't see it there are evidently a lot of hungry people in Tanzania these days. It hasn't rained and while this affects some regions more than others most people spend most of their money on food so as prices rise they eat less.

Wednesday I had very little to do (I had been asked to type two exams but when I walked in to the staffroom and saw both teachers for whom I was to do the typing simply relaxing and watching tv I decided I could let the exams slide) so I got on the bike. This was not well though out. The days are hot, many people say they have never seen weather like this, and although post-midlife-crisis-age people are prone to saying such things there may be a bit of truth in it. The Sun is brutal and not a cloud in the sky day after day. I often enjoy biking through the countryside but after about 25km this trip turned into a hot dusty, mostly miserable affair. There's nothing out there these days except dust and bushes. I was a thoroughly beaten man by the time I got back to the school. Although I'd worn a hat my face was still red, and the backs of my hands were bright pink. I must find another way to excercise, maybe situps at 3am - about the only time its cool - until the rains come or I go back home, whichever comes first.

A teacher invited me to her house for supper so I went over the next day and we had cooked bananas and potatoes and meat. I complimented her and mentioned that I didn't know how to cook bananas so two days later we went to the market - in the middle of the a brutally hot day - and after wandering around town in search of Good Luck on Your Exam cards and some popcorn we got to the market and bought some bananas. The ancient woman selling the bananas also gave us something to try called 'senene'. It was evidently fried grasshoppers which would have gone really well with a cold beer. Just like munching on popcorn or cornnuts. In fact I could probably do it all myself as grasshoppers seem to be the only thing thriving these days. In the next stall was a man and we bought some potatoes, but the man never talked to me. He asked the teacher who was with me where I was from and what I was doing and which school we were from and seemed surprised that an American would come to Tanzania to teach.

When we got home I boiled the meat for about two hours and then she came over to show me how to cook the bananas. Peeling them is a bit of a trick because the rind is very rigid and there is a viscous fluid inside that is a bit like glue. When it wouldn't wash off the knives she suggested using kerosene to remove it. I'd never washed dishes with kerosene but it worked quite well. The smell was a bit of a trip but the wind soon cleared it out. After it was finished she left and I let it cool for a few minutes. Looking at it was a grim experience. I took the meat out and put it in another pot. It looked like something I might have given to a dog. When we bought it the man had hacked it off from the main slab of meat with a small hand-axe. Bone and grissle with little bits of meat here and there. I threw it into the trash hole and within five minutes one of the school dogs was happily chewing on it. The potatoes and bananas were rather good.

The Tanzanian school system is modelled on the English system, or the English system as it was in the 1960's, and has a very different organization from what we are used to in America. After finishing what we would call high school they take national exams, quite difficult, and those who pass study for an additional two years. This is called the advanced or A level, it's more or less what we do in the first two years of undergrad. I am teaching physics to these students and yesterday they started taking their A level national exams. These are terribly difficult, I certainly would not have passed them. In fact I probably couldn't have answered half the questions until I started teaching. Partly that is due to the nature of the questions. As there are very few university positions available it doesn't do to have a lot of students passing and going to university so these tests are designed to weed out the vast majority of students and the questions are appropriately difficult, particular, and often tricky. The students with the best scores generally come from a handful of special schools. I am told that the test questions are often written by teachers from these same schools.

In two weeks their exams finish and three days later we have graduation. The next day they leave the school, and many say they hope never to return. They are put off by the beatings and punishments they receive which they find random and usually disproportionate to the (in their opinions perceived) crime. And the food is not so good. They eat beans with a food called ugali, like very very stiff mashed potatoes - corn flour, water and maybe a bit of salt - every day. It does not seem nutritious nor appetizing, but they really don't have any choice. Since it's an all girls school they are not allowed to leave campus without running a gauntlet to get permission, and any relatives who might come and harangued endlessly by the staff. This makes a bit of sense, I don't believe American schools allow people to wander on and off campus either. But in the end they feel like they are leaving prison or pergatory and they are happy to be on their way. If their scores are good they will study at university. If their scores are bad they will study at a private university if they have money or get a job if they have a connection. Lacking both of these they go to the teacher colleges until they can get one or the other.

Before coming to Tanzania I was told that teachers are respected very much. The first president of Tanzania (sort of the Founding Fathers and the first five or so American Presidents all rolled into one person) is still called 'Mwalimu' which is the word for teacher. But nobody with the qualifications wants to be a teacher. The work is relatively hard compared to what other educated people do, the pay is absolutely miserable and the odds working at a school with electricity and water are not so good. But the core problem is money. That's true in other professions too. Doctors recently went on strike, and I understand quite a few patients died, including one memeber of Parliament (the governing body of Tanzania, not the band), but they did get a pay raise. Police also have low salaries and as a result they are often in league with criminals. In fact they often are the criminals. Someone did a bit of research in Dar es Salaam, the capital city - it might have been Transparency International - and found that in 96% of dealings with police they were asked for a bribe. In a paper from this monday a lawyer noted that many people no longer cooperate with the police because they are afraid of retribution if they rat on criminals the cops are in league with. But if there is money on the fringes of the law I suppose that's where the cops go. I mean, what would you do if you got paid $6000/year and your kids had to pay school fees and the price of food was going up because there's no rain and everybody else you worked with was doing it and making several times their salary in the process?

Tanzanians are often surprised that I don't go to church, they all do. It isn't quite clear why white people brought this religion which they themselves don't often practice. It's hard to explain the nature of religion in America, partly because I don't really understand it (does anybody). But worshiping here is different. Reverence for the Almighty is measured not in words or works but in decibels. On a Sunday morning I can stand in my kitchen and listen to the preachers who come to school (only the Catholics have a nearby church, everyone else worships in a classroom). It was very moving when I first got here, but now I'm used to it and actually suspect that it's as much theater as ecstasy. The idea of praying quietly by oneself does not recommend itself here.

We were without water and electricity for a couple days. I was told various things: a transformer blew up, someone drove into some power lines and knocked the poles down, we were going through rolling blackouts because the river which generates the hydroelectricity is so low. Last night I had just finished my bucket bath in soothing blue glow of and led lamp when I heard a cheer and knew intinctively that the power was back. I was happy for the rest of the night. I occassionaly ask myself what I was thinking when I decided to extend my contract with the Peace Corps. It was for moments like that.

I realized last week that I hadn't seen a particular student for many days. I asked where she was and the reply was that she had gone home. Evidently she had been overtaken by what I believe we might call demons. It is unfortunate because this is the second time she has had to leave school.

Although I'm embarrassed to admit it I have to admit that I care what strangers think of me. I realized this explicity the other day while I was on the road walking up to the nearby university campus. At the top of a small hill an elderly drunk was walking with a uniformed private security guard. Evidently the old guy had walked out on his bill and when he saw me he lit up and demanded that I pay for his beer. I learned long ago that it's best not to get involved with these guys (grey hair, stumbling drunk at 9:30am), they will talk about nothing at all as long as you let them (in fairness it has been suggested to me that this is true of men in general) so I just walked past them in silence though I kept looking to see how it would turn out. The old man had probably never seen me before because he started telling me that I was in Tanzania. That is the standard conversation, they seem to think we are lost, probably because when we first arrive we are. Emotionally, culturally, linguistically lost. So in an effort to be helpful, they tell us where we are. He kept talking to me and as I went passed the conversation was diverted from the half empty bottle in his hand to me. I overheard him say 'anaogopa' which means 'he is afraid'.

And I felt very irritated by the whole thing. I think it's because he made assumptions about me which were not true. Which isn't much of a crime. Probably most of the things we think about most people are not true, or at least mostly not true. Here everyone assumes I am:

1. fantasticaly rich (and itching for a chance to give it away)

2. completely ignorant of Swahili

3. a bit dim

And all of these things are true, from a certain point of view. Nonetheless, I am starting to appreciate how black men in America must feel when everyone assumes they are criminals, great at basketball, hung like a horse etc. I know that in a few months I get to leave whereas they have to live with it throughout their lives.

When I got back to my house the electricity had been cut. For a moment I asked myself why in the hell I had thought it would be worthwhile to extend for a third year. Then I remembered. It occurred to me in Dar es Salaam when I had just returned. In America everything was so simple, for the most part, that life was even. There were a few bumps, but not many. Whereas here it's basically bouncing from one thing to the next. Sometimes very high, sometimes very low. I had just gotten used to it, but being home was a good contrast that made me appreciate how much more emotional everything is here.

Money fixed the electricity problem. In fact it will fix just about anything here. But before it got hooked up I was sitting on the front step with two teachers talking about what we should do to get electricity (the whole apartment building I live in was cut off) when taxi pulled up and a student got out. It was very late for her to be coming back from town leave so they called her over and started questioning her. After a few minutes she said 'you know you are irritating me with your questions' which is forward for a Tanzanian girl but probably about right. It can take people quite a long time to come to their point. One of the teacher took exception to this cheek and stood up. She scampered off and at first he bent down as if to pick up a rock to throw at her but then decided to chase after her. She went around a building and he must have caught her because a heard a couple of whacks and a couple of screams as students poured out of classrooms to see what was happening. Later one student said to me "you know I thought he was beating a dog. I was going to ask him 'Sir, why are you beating that dog' but then I saw shoes and socks". Dark humor, but I do find that kind of funny. They thought it was remarkable that he would have lost his job and probably gone to jail in America.

So that business about women not wearing pants wasn't so far off. I was told that two days ago police in Mwanza went around town arresting women in short skirts. There is no law regarding this so they probably weren't put in jail (no room in the jails anyway) but most people feel that the police have the authority to uphold the moral values of the society. That's a bit vague but they were given a warning and possibly a fine. It's hardly worth coming into town at all these days.

Every so often - it's random as nearly as I can tell though I'm sure if you asked one of the Tanzanian teachers they would see a pattern - the school has a meeting on the dusty parade grounds. Teachers and staff sit on metal chairs under a large 'christmas tree' (so called because around Christmas they explode with brilliant red blossoms) and the students sit on chairs or grass wherever they can find shade. Of course the meeting always lasts so long that the shadows shift and after an hour or two they are in direct sunlight so there's a migration to the new shady spots which gives everyone a chance to stretch a bit.

One of the things we did was to announce the top three and bottom three students from each class. They were called to come and stand in front of the whole school and oddly enough the top three often looked as scared as the bottom three. Maybe there is some system where both ends get black-listed. Praise was awarded the good students and scorn heaped on the bad ones. A few actually refused to come forward and will probably receive a suspension for their obstinance. It was tedious.

We all introduced ourselves and one thing I have yet to understand is that the teachers who give students the most trouble often receive the most applause. Or maybe it just appears to be trouble to me. They may see it differently. One part that is always entertaining is when the school driver introduces himself. There was a broken truck when I arrived two years ago but these days the school has nothing in the way of a vehicle. Still they employ a driver. Or maybe he just hangs around because he has nowhere else to go.

It was announced that there would be no more beating of students with sticks. This drew mostly smirks as everyone knows quite well that within a day - two at the most - somebody is gonna catch a lickin'. If fact I happened two walk into a teacher meeting one day (these things are announced about 15 minutes before they happen...this works with email but the announcement is written on a chalk board in the staff room) where we were passionately admonished not to beat students. It was noted yesterday that by adhering to our new, non-violent, policy we would now be operating 'in accordance with the law of Tanzania'. Somehow.

Last week I heard a knock at the door and there was a guy in a three wheeled wheelchair on my front step. He had started talking to me in town one day while I was watching the sky turn pink over the water at sunset and had decided to wheel himself the 8km from town to the school. He wanted to start a business. The government office told him he needed to get five people to sign to get a loan and the other lame people he knew prefered to depend on handouts so that fell through. Then he went to the church and they gave him a new tricycle (the original one was destroyed when he was struck by a car...this would be a windfall in America as the driver's insurance would probably put up a couple million dollars but here the driver just ran away...I think he got several operations free at the government hospital but he said he's still in a lot of pain). But his application for a loan is evidently still being processed in Denmark. The discussion soon became tedious. He assured me he was honest and had a business plan (they always do) but eventually he just started saying 'I'm lame, help me'. This would have gone on all day. He literally told me his story at least five times. The problem is that many Americans use argue with reasons and Tanzanians argue with emotion. We just don't communicate with each other. I did give him a push up the shallow incline to the main road which seemed to amuse some of the young guys who are always sitting at the corner.

Later that day I was talking with two students about an business project that a previous Peace Corps volunteer had set up. They seemed to think it was valuable and felt it was unfortunate that other students wouldn't get to take this class. I suggested that everything was in place, there was no reason the project couldn't go on without the American volunteer. They looked at me like the naive white man I am and one said 'you know sir, these Africans work hard when there's white people around, but when you're gone they don't do anything.'

Also, I absolutely weep every time I cut onions. I thought I would get used to it, but the tears just flow. I don't know, I've read that crying is emotionally healthy so maybe I'm getting some benefit out of it.

Every so often - it's random as nearly as I can tell though I'm sure if you asked one of the Tanzanian teachers they would see a pattern - the school has a meeting on the dusty parade grounds. Teachers and staff sit on metal chairs under a large 'christmas tree' (so called because around Christmas they explode with brilliant red blossoms) and the students sit on chairs or grass wherever they can find shade. Of course the meeting always lasts so long that the shadows shift and after an hour or two they are in direct sunlight so there's a migration to the new shady spots which gives everyone a chance to stretch a bit.

One of the things we did was to announce the top three and bottom three students from each class. They were called to come and stand in front of the whole school and oddly enough the top three often looked as scared as the bottom three. Maybe there is some system where both ends get black-listed. Praise was awarded the good students and scorn heaped on the bad ones. A few actually refused to come forward and will probably receive a suspension for their obstinance. It was tedious.

We all introduced ourselves and one thing I have yet to understand is that the teachers who give students the most trouble often receive the most applause. Or maybe it just appears to be trouble to me. They may see it differently. One part that is always entertaining is when the school driver introduces himself. There was a broken truck when I arrived two years ago but these days the school has nothing in the way of a vehicle. Still they employ a driver. Or maybe he just hangs around because he has nowhere else to go.

It was announced that there would be no more beating of students with sticks. This drew mostly smirks as everyone knows quite well that within a day - two at the most - somebody is gonna catch a lickin'. If fact I happened two walk into a teacher meeting one day (these things are announced about 15 minutes before they happen...this works with email but the announcement is written on a chalk board in the staff room) where we were passionately admonished not to beat students. It was noted yesterday that by adhering to our new, non-violent, policy we would now be operating 'in accordance with the law of Tanzania'. Somehow.

Last week I heard a knock at the door and there was a guy in a three wheeled wheelchair on my front step. He had started talking to me in town one day while I was watching the sky turn pink over the water at sunset and had decided to wheel himself the 8km from town to the school. He wanted to start a business. The government office told him he needed to get five people to sign to get a loan and the other lame people he knew prefered to depend on handouts so that fell through. Then he went to the church and they gave him a new tricycle (the original one was destroyed when he was struck by a car...this would be a windfall in America as the driver's insurance would probably put up a couple million dollars but here the driver just ran away...I think he got several operations free at the government hospital but he said he's still in a lot of pain). But his application for a loan is evidently still being processed in Denmark. The discussion soon became tedious. He assured me he was honest and had a business plan (they always do) but eventually he just started saying 'I'm lame, help me'. This would have gone on all day. He literally told me his story at least five times. The problem is that many Americans use argue with reasons and Tanzanians argue with emotion. We just don't communicate with each other. I did give him a push up the shallow incline to the main road which seemed to amuse some of the young guys who are always sitting at the corner.

Later that day I was talking with two students about an business project that a previous Peace Corps volunteer had set up. They seemed to think it was valuable and felt it was unfortunate that other students wouldn't get to take this class. I suggested that everything was in place, there was no reason the project couldn't go on without the American volunteer. They looked at me like the naive white man I am and one said 'you know sir, these Africans work hard when there's white people around, but when you're gone they don't do anything.'

Also, I absolutely weep every time I cut onions. I thought I would get used to it, but the tears just flow. I don't know, I've read that crying is emotionally healthy so maybe I'm getting some benefit out of it.

This is a bit of a grab-bag of thoughts:

I was at the school shop the other day to buy some suger - it's brown and very granular here, not the refined white crystalline sort most Americans are accustomed to - and in the course of conversation one of my students (who strictly speaking might be a princess because her grandfather was a chief in a regional capital with the wonderful name 'Sumbawanga') and she mentioned that over Christmas her boyfriend bought a bottle of Santiago and they mixed it with coke and it was so delicious. She asked if I'd tried it but I just couldn't think of what Santiago was. We were talkinga about other things but after a couple minutes I suddently understood what she meant. I had been thinking of things that I would mix with coke and Santiago sounded like some sort of rum. In fact she was saying 'St. Anne' which is a red wine from South Africa. Although I will never admit to it one day I'm going to buy a bottle and try mixing it with coke. Never would have occured to me to mix wine and coke.

My Peace Corps neighbor and I were in the market a few days ago and although I've become accustomed to hearing lots of comments and calling the thing that was new was the number of people talking about 'Osama'. Andrew has a beard and in Tanzania anyone with a beard is labelled Osama. Fortunately he thinks it's kind of funny. I was in a dala dala one day when a woman said to her friend in a whisper 'Look, there's Osama'. This guy sort of did look like him, he was probably Somali, except that he was very short. He got off at the same stop as I did and we walked to the school together and it turns out that he was coming to teach religion to the Muslim students (every Tuesday the school has two periods of religion).

A few days after that I was sitting on the dala dala minding my own business when an older man reeking of drink stumbled in. Of course he took one look at me and his eyes lit up and he climbed into a seat next to me and shook my hand and started talking to me in pretty good English. All these drunk old guys have better English than everyone else because they studied before independence so their schooling was all in English. I suppose they're drunk because they know what it is like to live in luxury and they know they don't have it and never will. So this guy was actually pretty polite and swore up and down that he had spent several years teaching astrophysics at the University of Chicago. I was skeptical but it's entirely possible, life can take unexpected turns I suppose. It wasn't too long before a pretty girl got on and drew his attention away from me. He was less polite to her.

I met a guy in Dar es Salaam one day whose life had gone downhill. He was a Somali and had work with what might have been called the Somali merchant marine. He had travelled all over the world and even knew quite a bit about Houston and Galveston and several of the southern states. Then the civil structure of the country came undone and he fled with his family to Tanzania. These days he tries to get work fishing in the harbour, but if it's too windy - which must be about every day, it's always windy in Dar - he sits on a curb on the road by the water where all the boats to Zanzibar leave and tries to get a little money from passers-by. His English was also excellent, in fact he didn't know much Swahili, though he was evidently fluent in Italian, and he spent quite a bit of time just telling me about this and that. He's in a tough spot: not enough money to go home, but he sure as hell doesn't want to stay in Dar. He indirectly communicated more clearly to me than almost anyone ever has the difficulty of being poor. Especially since he hasn't always lived that way. I gave him about a $1 and as I walked away silently asked God not to give me as bad a turn as that guy.

I learned the other day that the president (of Tanzania) has submitted legislation banning women from wearing trousers (pants). I doubt it will go anywhere and most people I talk to think it's sort of silly. Personally I think it would be a shame, one of my favorite passtimes is sitting at a table with a beer and watching the tight jeans go by. But I'd probably get more of the paper read if there were only loose skirts to look at.

There is a magazine here called Si Mchezo! (It's not a Game!) that is a health and lifestyle magazine directed at people who are probably not very educated and who probably are very poor. It makes an interesting lens into Tanzanian life for a person like myself who spends almost no time in the villages.

For example, there is evidently a custom in which a man can go to a girls house and tell her parents that he would like to marry her. But before marrying her he wants an oppurtunity to get to know her habits and personality. So she goes to live with him for a period of time and if he feels they are a good match they get married. If not he returns her to her parents house. Well hell, we test drive cars and certainly a wife is far more important than a car right? Predictably most guys use this as a way to 'taste the whole village' as one character put it. I may have to start spending more time in the villages.

Here are a few other stories that most Americans might find amusing:

"When the time comes for harvesting parents generally go to live at the farm until the harvest is finished and the kids stay at home without any supervision. This creates opportunities for young people to engage in dangerous habits."

You will note the Tanzanians skill at talking subtley around the edges of a potentially embarassing subject. In fact I was recently having a conversation at school with two teachers and I knew something was coming because they were laughing more than seemed reasonable and going on at some length about the difficulties of bus travel. Which is certainly a legitimate topic but not necessarily under the circumstances. I was curious to see what they were getting at and when they finally did broach the subject it was seemless.

I should say that they can also be quite direct. I was on a bus once, musing on the difficulties of bus travel, while a conductor spent the better part of six kilometers explaining to a passenger that he (the passenger) was nothing but a hick and a rube. In the end I think I came to believe that the conductor had the stronger point. But most people living in the villages are hicks and rubes. Here are exhibits two through ... whatever:

"During the harvest people make a lot of home-brew causing excessive drunkenness and bad use of food and money. Also, there's ample opportunity for people to be involved in activities which put them at risk for contracting HIV."

"Around here when a child has first communion its a big party! A newcomer would think it was a wedding! Several barrels of moonshine are prepared and a lot of money is used! But awhile later the family is suffering from hunger."

"Here in our village many people are of a certain tribe that values light skinned wives and pays a high bride price for them. When a light skinned visitor comes around the men often send one of their wives to sleep with the stranger so she will get good seed!"

"In this village there are people who have a dangerous system for finding a wife. A group of young men will chase a girl and force her to choose one of them and from that minute on he is her husband and they go to have sex."

It is worth pointing out that all Tanzanian people do not have these attitudes. For example, I am a teacher at a school where the students and teachers are among the most highly educated people in their country and they would probably tell you that these people are behaving like animals. In fact I was travelling with a busload of students once and we were on the dusty plain that lies to the east of the great rift, contemplating the difficulties of bus travel (it was the first breakdown of four in as many days). We were sitting and watching dustdevils criss-cross the landscape and occassionally relieving ourselves behind a termite mound and watching the Maasai women passing with their donkey's to get water when someone said to me "sir, they live just like animals! You know they sleep on animal skins and all they eat is milk and meat from their livestock!" The highlight was when a young girl passed who was not dressed traditionally. She seemed as curious about us as we were about her and someone struck up a conversation. It turns out she was studying at the A-level (about the first year of college in America), just like most of the students I was travelling with. Soon she was surrounded by my students who seemed to think she was a bit of a novelty. They wanted to know which books she was reading - they probably didn't believe she was really in school at first - and were impressed by how well she spoke Swahili.

Well, that's how I saw it, if you talk to one of them you'll probably get a much different story. But I guess it would be a very dull life if everybody saw things the same way.

Last night I watched a rivetting movie called The Incredibles. Best movie I've seen in 10 years. And two things came to mind:

I think a lot of former Peace Corps volunteers feel like the two super-guys after they've stopped being super. Life feels like it's lost a lot of the excitement and sense of accomplishment that it held before. For a time - or maybe forever - I think many former volunteers would jump at a chance to go back. And I suspect that quite a few sit around talking and watching the news like the two super-guys sat in the car talking and listening to the police scanner.

It's true what the bad guy said about nobody being super when everybody is super. Several months ago a friend sent me a cd and I remember holding it and marvelling at how perfectly it was wrapped in clear plastic and how the case had been perfectly taped shut with a label and how it opened so smoothly and the cd was perfect and it was painted and everything was in vivid colors. It wasn't dirty or scratched or blemished. And when the sound came out it was pure and perfect. I felt like I had just received a jewel. But when I walk through Best Buy I walk past thousands of cds just like that one and hardly even look at them. Several years ago I gave away or sold dozens of cds simply because I had so many of them.

Another example: when I saw the box for a 48" plasma tv outside a store in Mwanza I marvelled at it for a minute and then walked into the stored and oggled it and all the other tvs and microwaves and washer/dryers and appliances. Now I walk past dozens of such tv sets in America and give them hardly a second look. And I certainly don't waste time examining refrigerators.

I think that's part of the reason culture shock has been so soft. These two places - Tanzania and America - overlap so little that neither contains substantial reference to the other. And it's in the comparing of two things so ununderstandably different that our minds get stuck.

I am a physics teacher with the Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa. It is my view that barnyard diplomacy is the most meaningful service the Peace Corps has to offer the taxpayers funding it. These pages will be updated weekly with my own stories and opinions in the hope that anyone reading them will take a moment to consider what they have in common, and what they hold different, from people living in other parts of the world.