Crocodile Hunting on the Ravuma river

The boy to the right of me is my "Son" Mustafa.

Ok, this is the last picture, its me, Mozambique in the back ground, and the Ravuma river. We found no crocodiles, which is the reason we were here "croc hunting'. None the less, we had a great (though life threatening) boat ride in a hollowed out log. I even told Musty to swim so as to bring them closer....didn't work, which is good, because I don't want to clean the cats litter box myself.

Net Ball Girls

One Long Week

Entry via Letter

Returning from Dodoma and getting back on schedule with the school / life in the village was not easy. After the first week back though, I got into the swing of things, starting a netball team with the girls, and beginning my drama program with the peer educators. I had one crazy week…

Monday I taught at school all day, and gave a test to my form 4 students. Half of them failed, which was not encouraging, but a fourth of them came into the office to redo their work, which was very encouraging. I was also happy when half of them checked books out from my office and returned them on time, not only retuning them, but bringing me a list of the words they wanted to learn.

Monday night as I lay reading in bed, I all of a sudden heard a gunshot. Sure that my imagination was playing tricks on me, I continued reading, only to hear 2 more gunshots, this time closer to the house. I turned off the flashlight I was using and started to get out of bed to see what was going on (Sounds like a GREAT idea, eh?) and immediately fell back down on the mattress when two gunshots went off right outside my window. Now nervous and heart rate increasing, I laid flat on the bed with no light, hoping that my student had locked the door before he stepped out. An hour passed, and I heard my door slam, and then heard my student whistling. I jumped out of bed to ask him what was going on, and as I stumbled into the dinning room he had locked all of the doors and was pulling the thin sheets we pass off as curtains over the windows.

He explained that a group of people from Namyomo the village next door, had beaten their village representative 2 days ago, and today the police had shown up to arrest them. Running away, the police had followed them into Makong’onda but had not found them (it was dark, and there are no lights here) so they decided to shoot their guns through the village, probably to scare the people from their hiding places, but most likely because they were irritated they came all the way to the village and didn’t get to beat anyone.

Tuesday was the first day of netball, a game similar to basketball except that there is no basket, no dribbling, and no shoes, which given that we play on sand, I did not consider a problem. Wrong. Oh so wrong. By the end of playing, the soles of my feet were 2 different shades, black from soot and white from where blisters had formed. It was worth it though, to see these shy, quiet, girls from my classes who barely speak in class and never have the courage to make eye contact, fight, push, shout, and laugh, all in the name of winning a basket. Even the slightest mistake or fumble was met with loud scolding and shouts from girls on all teams, as well as the crowd that formed, which mostly included boys from the school – Their attendance undoubtedly made the girls rowdier - eager for the attention always taken from them by the boys at school.

Wednesday I went from my regular class to class at the local dispensary, a small type of hospital in my village. I went to teach about the ways to prevent HIV/AIDs and about how fluids can carry HIV/AIDS. This teaching began as a supplement to the health clinic held every Wednesday at our clinic. Women come, we test them, and we check their other general health. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of need for testing because HIV is so stigmatized here, many people are scared to test – but more scared to have their friends find out and ex-communicate them from their family and friends. We teach and test them, but mostly they remain quiet and ask no questions. Today was a good day, because we had a lot of questions.

Thursday, the people from Solar-Aid, a non-profit organization that puts solar on rural schools and hospitals, came to inspect our school. Because our head master was absent, we only had one teacher other than me scheduled to do the meetings. I did the entire 10 page application the day before (he came by to sign it), then answered the majority of questions the next day, showing my extremely skinny Canadian guest around the school. As she was leaving she looked me square in the eye and said she had a “surprise” for me. I followed her to her car where she pulled out a huge box and said, “This is for you from an old PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who left it in our care “I’m supposed to give it to the first PCV I see”. The box was heavy, and so I took it, waved goodbye and tried to hurry to the house before break…no such luck. Our bell rang and 2 of my favorite students sprinted from their classroom to where I was on the path, insisting that the “box the mzungu (foreigner) gave you is too heavy” and each taking a corner, walked with me to the house, shouting at others to go away when they approached.

We entered the house and they set the box on the table and then sheepishly stared down at their feet. Shazimu spoke up first, “So teacher, what is in the box that is making it more difficult to carry?” Rashidi then pointed out (ever the helpful one), “teacher, your scissors are on the table, let us open the box for you”. We opened the box together, only to find the holy grail of America inside.

On the top was a HUGE bag of candy bars, below that, trail mix, gummiworms, hot cocoa, granola + luna bars, TUNA, gum, Kool-Aid, popcorn, and mashed-potato mix. I had never seen anything so random and beautiful, and the boy’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars.

Throwing each of them 2 Hershey bars, they bolted from the house, leaving me to bask in the taste of chocolate with my tea for the first time in weeks.

Fridays are relatively calm for me; I don’t teach. I mostly run re-po for library books that are overdue. On my way back to school from grabbing books, I ran into a small group of students dragging a student dry-heaving, screaming, and crying from the classrooms. Immediately I ran over to where they were and insisted that she go to my house to lie down. Once she was lying dawn and calm, I returned to the library.

Five minutes later a student ran into the library and told me I needed to come right now, and I raced back with her toward my home where there was now a good deal of shouting and screaming, but it didn’t sound like the student…I entered to find Madame Wambora, standing over the student, hands pressing her head firmly to the pillow, screaming out an exorcism in Kiswahili. I’m not sure if I believe in demons, but if I had been possessing my student, I would have done as Madame requested and returned to hell where I belonged. Standing at 4 ft 10 with a 2-month ld baby strapped to her back, Madame was furious, and she passionately performed this ritual until the student again stood still.

Later Friday, we took the student to Newala hospital, where the admitting nurse took one 10 minute look and said my student was schizophrenic, then placed here in a ward with extremely sick women, to wait for 2 days for a doctor who would never get around to seeing her. ( I arrived to pick up this student and argued with the nurse over the un-likelihood the student had Schitz. She merely smiled and told me that she showed all the symptoms, and said her diagnosis was the same as the doctors would be (would he have been dedicated enough to show up for work).

Tanzania health care – this is why I hope I never get sick.

Saturday my peer educators held their first program at our school, a warm-up for other primary schools we hope to visit. The program went very, very, well. The students had a lot of fun, and the teachers who came to offer their critique enjoyed it a lot, and were able to give some very constructive feedback. We will start going on tours of other schools next week.

Sunday I took a group of 6 boys to a volley ball camp held at Newala Day School, where volunteers Gigi and Jenrusha were teaching first about HIV/AIDS and then about volleyball. The camp was sponsored by a PEPFAR grant similar to the one I wrote. The boys had a great time, writing all of what they learned into their new notebooks and playing volleyball as well as the rest of the kids. Gigi has a theory that sports programs are the single greatest thing Tanzanians could invest in, giving their youth something else to do / look forward to than just sex. Every time I saw the kid’s faces light up when the ball made its way over the net, I realized she was right.

So this is a not-so-typical and then all together totally typical Tanzanian week. Without a few disasters thrown in, a few challenges, or one or two major problems, it just wouldn’t make an African week.

As always, you are all most welcome to visit our madness herein the village. Experiencing your own “typical” week is far better than reading about mine!

Dodoma & Bug-O-Mainia

Entry Via Letter

Dodoma:

Sorry this set of blogs is so late. I’ve currently been tied up in a million different projects and seminars, including going to Dodoma, the capital, for a Peace Crops seminar/training. Dodoma is very small and not very interesting, considering it’s the nation’s capital. It’s surrounded by dessert on both sides, and though it contains the parliament building and the President’s home, it wasn’t that much bigger or that much more interesting than Dar es Salaam, which is huge in comparison.



Among Dodoma’s assets are stores that sell M&M’s and Snickers bars, and 2 soft-serve ice cream shops. Needless to say, those of us who attended the seminar probably gained a bit of weight. (After eating only rice and beans for 3 months, don’t judge!) The schedule for the day was never complete without a trip to the ole ice cream shops.

We went though many workshops on AIDs/HIV trainings, and administrative sessions. One of the more fun sessions was a lesson on how to make Peanut Butter, and I’m giving serious thought to purchasing a peanut/meat grinder… we’ll see.


Returning from Dodoma proved to be just as busy, if not more busy that usual. Now that my grant has passed, I’m able to start my peer educators on their tour of the ward, which includes solidifying a program for HIV/AIDs prevention and setting up a time table among all of the schools for when we will arrive. I’ve also been preparing and teaching 4 lesson plans for the 4 classes that I teach at the school. I have been trying to finish setting up our library, which consisted of moving all of the books (and there aren’t many) from the rat infested storage room to my office, where kids can come and check them out, just like a library. (The teacher at my school was against this idea for two reasons: A – It took effort (mine not his) to get all of the books in one place, B: “The students steal the books,” thus it’s better to leave them in storage closets where the rats can chew the covers off and nobody can use them – and who needs to read the book when there are so many (2) teachers at the school to teach every subject?) Needless to say, same old struggles keep coming up, and a few new ones as well, it’s been busy.

Bug-o-Mania:

When I left for Dodoma, I was aware that my suitcase had some type of gross bug living in it – every time I dug to the bottom I could find 20-30 good sized ants on every piece of my clothing. It wasn’t until I began finding the bugs everywhere – a swarm hiding in the bookcase, 50 crawling down my wall in an orderly fashion at 9 at night, thousands in the unused suitcase under the bed – that I splurged and bought a can of bug spray. My student and I went though every room in the house, looking for places where they may hide and spraying – then removing their little corpses and eggs. Normal infestations of bugs aren’t so bad, but these bugs congregate in the dozens and always set their eggs and nests where they gather.

After a successful day at school and a large supper, my student retired to the room where he studies at night and I went to bed. Around midnight I woke up with a single bug on my forehead, and annoyed, I batted him off. Before I could get back to sleep, I had a strange itching all over my head – like my pillow was moving. Thinking that my hair was the problem (I had left it down because I had just washed it) I reached back with a scrunchie to tie it back with my hair tie, and instantly recoiled when I hit 7-8 of the bugs that had decided to swarm in my hair that evening. Snapping on my flashlight I saw my pillow covered with ants, and when I sat up, ants began falling from my hair to my shoulders. Screaming, I untangled myself from the mosquito net (which had proved to be useless) and turned my head upside down, trying to shake them off. My student burst into the room (having heard the screams) and having taken a look at the situation ran for the bug spray. This then turned into a battle against the bugs and the student.
“Mwalimu, close your eyes”
“Don’t spray that stuff in my hair”
“It’ll kill the bugs”
“It’ll kill my hair too! Do not spray it”
“Why you so stubborn”
“You want to pick dead bugs outta my hair?”
It went on like that until all of the bugs (and their eggs) had fallen from my hair to the floor, and were then sprayed. Needless to say, I did not sleep well that night!

The next morning I realized as I was getting dressed that the majority of the bugs had relocated their base to my clean clothes on my desk. Annoyed and without clean clothes to wear to school, I sprayed the nest, killing nearly a hundred and allowing the gassed corpses to remain strewn about the room. When I returned from school at tea time to plug in phones, I walked over to the book case where my solar battery and outlets were and watched a solidarity ant crawl out. Cursing under my breath I picked up the power strip and gave it a good hard shake and millions of ants began spilling out of the outlets, which now weren’t working at all. After spraying these ants and taking the time to clean them up, I walked the two phones to the teacher with a solar charge next door. His laugh and look of surprise was too much for me, and I began to cry. Immediately (crying is a big deal in Tanzania, most people never cry) both teachers and a random guest of theirs followed me home to see the problem. Though I had cleaned up the bugs from the outlet, I was able to show them the ones all over the bedroom, and their eggs, and immediately both teachers said I had a “big problem”, as contrary to my belief, these bugs were not in everyone’s home as a result of the rainy season.

Amos immediately called over 3 students, brought a ladder, and told me to send them up into my flimsy roof, so that they could look for bugs, and possibly the source. They arrived without knowing what was going on, but once the heard that they would be climbing the roof the excitedly ripped off their shoes and grabbed the flashlights. One student, Rashidi, wore my headlamp, which made him look just like a miner as he entered the ceiling first.

The three of them were in the ceiling for about 5 minutes before Rashidi called, “Mwalimu, I don’t understand what we are…… Ay Jamahi!” (Kiswahili for Oh my god)

Grinning, I replied, did you find em? I was answered by the sound of shoes slamming into the ceiling tiles, and the words for “kill them” being shouted in panicked Kiswahili. Shazimu (another student) poked his head through the ceiling tiles.

“Mwalimu, they’re everywhere! Millions!” The three of them sprayed and swatted for 10 minutes, with the writing bodies of gassed ants falling from the ceiling tiles, and me and the 4th student (Bakari) dodging out of the way.

Finally, an exhausted but triumphant trio of students jumped down from the roof, all slightly dizzy from the spray fumes and all grinning ear to ear.

Rashidi flipped his school uniform shirt back on, popped the collar, and strutted to the door and said, “If you have any more problems, just let me know, I’ll spray again”.

Shazimu popped up behind him and began arguing that since he (Rashidi) got to spray this time, it would be his turn next time.

Bakari then stepped in to remind them both that he hadn’t even gotten to go in the ceiling – it should be his turn next time.

I halted the conversation and told all of the boys there would not be a next time, all the bugs were dead and I did not want them coming back.

The boys looked from one to another, and then all turned to me, giving me that “She’s white. She just doesn’t get it” look, and continued to argue about who got to kill which bugs the whole way back to school.

One Long Day

Entry via Letter

Days in Africa only seem long because they can begin so early. However this day was longer than most due to the sheer amount of craziness that manages to occur in one Mako-day, and all in my own home! School looming only days away, I decided to lock myself into my stone home, emerging only to chote (carry) water or greet returning Students. My student (Musty) who moved in with me to help guard my solar panels and do the daily chores (choting maji and sweeping the sand, as well as helping take phones in our now booming cell phone business) has discovered a taste for homemade chips and salsa, and thus on this near perfect morning we decided to get cooking. I was slicing up the salsa, making tiny perfect tomatoes and chilis, when we suddenly heard my name screamed with more panicked yells for Musty and for us to hurry. I dropped the chopping knife and raced past 2 waiting cell phone customers who had barely lifted their hands to knock at my door, rushing under the Korosho tree where my panicked neighbors were all but jumping up and down in excitement (this automatically indicated to me some thing was wrong, then usually plant themselves so firmly on the ground you would think they were dead). Subconsciously I knew this somehow involved my cat Pepsi, as she has become big enough to start playing with chickens, I all but expected my neighbor to be chasing her with a meat cleaver, as she had threatened to kill her the week before. My neighbors was speaking rapid-fire Swahili, throwing my cat’s name in liberally and pointing to a near by Korosho tree. Slightly annoyed, I turned around to witness not a guilty Pepsi with a bloody chicken dangling from her mouth, but a playful Pepsi lying under a low branch and taunting with her paws the biggest Green Mamba (second-deadliest) snake I have seen in Tanzania. Immediately I yelled for Pepsi, who flipped over and bounced towards me in a “wow, you came outside to play” perky way. Picking up the now purring lump of fur and handing her off to the house girl, I then yelled for Musty to bring my machete, while I looked for a stick. The snake, possibly sensing its impending thrashing, slithered up into the tall branches of the tree, just out of beating range, and by the time the machete arrived had disappeared altogether. Ticked at being aroused from our cooking without a proper killing under our belts, we stalked back to the kitchen, leaving our now growing cell-phone clientele with a mix of bewilderment and fear on their faces. Perhaps it was the look in my eyes or the machete held firmly in my hand that made these people scatter from my porch, either way we knew they’d be back.

Musty and I entered a smoke-filled kitchen and immediately found the cause of the stench, our chips oil had been forgotten on the fire. Lifting the pan with a dirty dish towel, I slowly made my way out of the kitchen with the boiling oil and was doing well, until I hit our kitchen step, causing the oil to bubble up on to the fingers of my left hand. Immediately I threw the whole pan down and backed away, screaming and jumping and teaching wide-eyed Mustafa a whole new “American” vocabulary. After several minutes of blowing, water pouring, and colorful metaphors, the twin sized second-degree burns stared at me from my left hand just as a smaller second degree burn I sustained 4 days before from a pot of boiling water peeked up at me from my left wrist.

After we had settled down to eat our now soggy chips and salsa, and between jumping up and down to the door to take phones from the villagers who had the courage to climb back on my porch, my student, collapsed in his chair from the excitement, looked up at me with nothing but the most endearing sincerity, and stated, “Mwalimu, perhaps it best if you give up cooking in Tanzania”.

Package Pandemonium

Entry via Letter

There must be a shout-out to all those who are fighting for my sanity and sugar withdrawal on the home front. First, thank-you-vivid reader of my blog, for procrastinating whatever activity you were productively performing (studying, putting pointless car parts on to a car feeding the cat) to stop and read my blog. By reading about my experience with African culture you are helping me teach and bring the culture home to you. This is one of Peace Corps goals, and your avid viewership helps me fulfill it.

Second, a monumental thanks to all you who send me letters. I love to read them. I love to write quirky responses. Giving me news and pictures from home helps me stay informed and keeps the home sickness at bay, thank-you!

Finally, to all you dedicated senders of packages, I must publically declare for both you and the contents of your gifts my undying love, and also the delight of the students who have also benefitted from the contents.

Lillian Swenka, Jeanna Bryant and crew sent me a surprise package that arrived just before Thanksgiving, containing pictures (!) and Halloween candy and treats. When my student and I opened this package we immediately ate the entire package of double stuffed Oreos and bag of candy corn, and thus learned an important lesson “when one eats America food, one becomes very sick”. I personally felt that it was WORTH IT. A large hit in the package were the pictures that I hung on my wall. My friends Jeanna and John became instant celebrities because of their dogs – full bread Great Danes Wyatt and Evey, who appear in many photos. Students now ask if these dogs are used in farming, if all dogs in America are that big, and if Jeanna can bring her dogs to visit. Students also got a taste of American culture through the Halloween-theme package when they saw pictures of Pumpkin carvings and flipped through the Halloween book – amazed and slightly appalled that American children dressed like “hooligans” and then had the audacity to ask people for candy. They were even more surprised when I told them most people gave them candy. The package was a delicious learning experience for us all, and I’m personally thankful for my crew at home for thinking about me! ☺

My beautiful niece Alexa and her extremely intelligent caregivers sent me package number 2 – which arrived on a “Christmas-like” day when I received 3 packages. Pictures of my brother’s family already hang throughout my house- my students and mama’s alike are always shocked that my “poor brother” only has one daughter (instead of 6) – yet the wizened nurses at the dispensary applaud the great example of “American family planning”. This package was anther learning experience as I was able to explain the tradition of stockings, ornaments, and snowmen – which Alexa had drawn on a Christmas card with a thought bubble stating – “I would rather be in Tanzania!” All of the candy was swiftly hidden by one student when another cam knocking on my door (“teacher you must hide the candy or we will have to share”) and even the Hy-Vee sacks that were used as packing materials became prized (you have to pay for plastic bags here!). One of the most thoughtful gifts was a ball of yarn and collar for my cat Pepsi. The minute I lifted if from the box she must have known it was hers, because she grabbed it in her mouth and leaped off the table-running to a corner of the room where she proceeded to rip it apart – and growl ominously at anyone with the nerve to walk within 3 feet of her and her gift. Thought the package made me miss not spending Charismas at my brother’s house with his family, the prized contents of the package will hang in my room until next X-mas!

My grandparents sent package number 4, the contents of which I feared had suffered damage since the box was badly battered. I soon was at ease though as when I opened the thread of tape holding it shut and saw my grandma’s card and Christmas picture smiling back at me. In a country where towels are expensive and extremely hard to find, she had sent me enough to last me the next two years. Though my students didn’t understand why I got so excited over towels when there was a stack of pipi marekani (American candy) left in the box – I knew Grandma was thoughtful as always when she packed the box. Probably the most prized part of the gift was the small oatmeal container – the vessel of choice when Grandma delivers cookies – a rare glance is usually sited right after the delivery of such cookies, before they disappear to a location only known by my father. Miraculously, each of the sugar – cookies had survived the trip to Tanzania and they were delicious! After putting away our gigs and sitting down to tea with these cookies, my student banged his glass down on the table and stated “God bless Bibi Manekani (American grandmother) for sending biscoti Marekani (cookies)”. He followed this up by asking when my Grandma was coming to Tanzania to visit. The cookies, candies, towels, and other treats were all hidden in a secure location, and my Grandparents picture hangs on my wall for all to see, all impressed and shocked when I tell them my Grandparents are both 85 and 86.

The final package was mostly celebrated by me – as it contained products essential to my personal hygiene. One student claimed that my parents “didn’t like me as much” as my brother’s family and grandparents because everything they sent was an indication that my parents “do not approve of your overall cleanliness”. Oh if they only knew. My parents also sent my sharpie collection, which even now is at work making time-tables and posters for the up-coming school year. My parents are constantly keeping up my sanity behind-the-scenes, posting my blogs and updating me on American politics once a week – I wouldn’t be the same here without their love and support.

To become a part of package pandemonium, the membership is simple – cram items into small box, take to post office – mail. For those already dedicated members you again have my deepest heartfelt thanks, your letters and packages give me that little taste of home that I miss every now and then when I’m defending my candy from rats or scratching mosquito bites. Thank-you!

No Pain No Gain

Entry via Letter

I decided it was time to weed and finish planting my garden around the time I got home form Dar. The beds had been previously double dug by volunteers among my students, but the needed sprucing and weeding now that the rain had arrived with a vengeance and turned all the dust bowl area around my home into a tropical paradise. My students all absent, I proudly wielded my hoe, weeded and sowed seeds into the garden alone, causing huge blood blisters to well up on my hands and kinks in my arms and back that not even Ibuprofen could cure. These blisters ended up being my celebratory flag however, as I went to the village later in the day to visit my mamas. They nodded politely when I told them I planted a garden, but the minute I showed them my hands they broke into grins and ran their fingers constantly over the angry bumps. One mama held my hand in hers then showed me the calluses on her own hands, saying that now I was truly a mama of Tanzania.

My master plan for the garden is to harvest the different vegetables and fruits, showing all of the mamas and taking them as gifts, before teaching a permaculture seminar later in the year where we can start to make small family gardens with these new seeds close to their homes. It may be difficult to convince a generation of mamas to plant new crops, but I’ hoping that my generation of mamas (between ages 16 – 24) will be convinced by the yummy fruits and vegetables and be willing to try the double-digging gardening process…time will tell.

My own garden now contains pumpkins, two types of cabbage water melon, papaya trees, green peppers, beans, chickpeas, cucumbers, carrots, onions, basil, chives, and corn. The garden isn’t huge; I sued a technique called companion planting to place plants that would grow together, together. The result is a garden that deters bugs, prevents erosion of soil (by using compost) and grows large, healthy vegetables. Of course after months of only rice and beans I’m increasingly becoming more exited about eating these veggies as well.