One thing I've noticed about Africa is how useless it is to plan too far ahead. Buy a plane ticket a month early and it's likely to be cancelled. Plan some work for the very next day, and in the morning the odds that you'll be doing something else are very high. Then there's Africa Time to consider- everything takes longer than you expect.
I forgot to mention in my last entry that a new orphanage is opening in the Arusha area. Last weekend, I joined some of the other girls to see the building and clean up the grounds. The woman who will be running it was there, along with two girls who will live there (one of them was named Irene- very common name here, though they pronounce it Irini.). We pulled unwanted plants, trimmed thorns, moved rubbish, and turned up some earth in preparation for a vegetable garden. It's cool knowing that disadvantaged kids will find some advantages there.
This being my last week, I took a day to visit Faraja, one of the other projects Ujamaa residents helpout with. Faraja houses around 40 young women who have been victimized by the sex trafficking industry or found in other rough circumstances. At Faraja, they are taught english, mathematics, cooking, tailoring, computer skills, and other useful assets so that when they leave, they canfind jobs to support themselves and, in some cases, their children. The first thing that struck me when I arrived was that the many of the girls carry their school supplies on their heads, just as Tanzanian women around town carry all manner of whatnot. Cute. And way outside of my skill set. I helped out in the english class, which was surprisingly fun. The girls are smiley and giggly, real charmers, and appealing to their competitive sides can yield great results!
Even so, I'm going to spend the rest of my time here working at Tumaini, to see the kids and get as much done as I can before I leave. Politics is causing some turmoil there- unfortunately, a difference exists between what Beatrice wants, what the visiting founder and his donors want, and what the volunteers want. Everyone agrees that the happiness and welfare of the children arethe more important things... and everyone has a different plan for achieving them. Myself, having kept my mouth shut and listened to all perspectives, I tend to side with Beatrice, because she lives there and clearly cares about the children. Also, her perspective is Tanzanian rather than Western, which I think is important, given that as adults the children will be living in a Tanzanian society.
It's lucky that the kids are oblivious to our squabbling. Eriki and Moosa are still climbing trees, Naomi still questing for food, and Mesiaki, when he isn't sleeping like the living dead, is still finding any excuse to run and shout. Zimbrani loves to be a human wheelbarrow. Junior, the baby, loves to be sung to. He'll stare at you, fish-eyed, for as long as you're willing to keep crooning (just watch out for the leaky diaper). While you've got Junior, you'll inevitably be visited by Herman, the oldest child of Mama Sara's household, who is, after Mama, Junior's most assiduous attendant. Herman has his own little brother, Julius, whose expression at rest reminds me of a sad St. Bernard puppy. Then there's Elia, our little HIV positive toddler, for whom everyone has a soft spot- in fact, Beatrice complains that if volunteers don't stop holding Elia every time he cries, he's going to be incredibly spoiled.
That's just a little bit about some of the kids, to give you a taste of what people here work so hard for.
Yesterday started on a low note. I'd recently learned that the amount I saved for this trip was woefully short (I blame inter-Africa plane ticket prices and doctor's bills). I also found out that a classmate of mine from middle and high school died of cancer. With these and a few other distrss factors on my mind, I arrived at Tumaini, where Beatrice could tell something was wrong. I assured her I was fine but, a mother and grandmother to the hilt, she kept asking until, mid-reassurance, I started to cry. At this point, she sat me down, fed me coffee and millet porridge, and proceeded to talk me out of my funk. She and her husband were going to town for errands, but she wouldn't hear of my starting work- "I will not leave you alone right now"- so I went with them. We talked about the Tumaini children, and about family, and she told me that I should marry one of her sons. Marriage is not currently on my radar, but I appreciated the thought. As I have said, I already liked Beatrice, but yseterday I gained a new appreciation for her. How many people would take that kind of time to comfort a random volunteer?
To end on a positive note, I must add that Africa is good for the figure. The adjustable waistband of my ugly-but-magical work pants tells me that I've been slowly but steadily slimming down since leaving Massachusetts. No mystery why that would be: plenty of moving around outdoors, and simpler, healthier food. The hostel almost never serves meat, and the vegetables most likely contain far fewer chemicals and preservatives. Then there's my heat-diminished sweet tooth. I thought nothing could vanquish my taste for chocolate, and yet here we are. I'm appreciative.
Parents, if your tempted to worry about my breakdown, STOP RIGHT THERE. I'm feel better now, but that will go away if you start parenting.
Love to all!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
My Immortal Feet
My feet have been immortalized... on the hallway floor of two orphan households, leading from the bathroom to the sink. The purpose is to remind the children to wash their hands. Just think- MY feet, which I have always considered one of my better features, may well protect children from illness. My dreams are that much more complete.
In addition to blessing the next generation with a permanent vision of my perfect arches, we've had a variety of activities since I last wrote- a new house for 8-9 new kids is about to be furnished, so we scrubbed it from top to bottom and routed the spiders and mysterious stains. There are new chicks who need their daily vitamins and antibiotics, and we're also on a crusade to improve the existing henhouse- our girls have just started laying! Jayde, who's been here longer than me, was like a proud Mama when she saw the first egg! Since then, our pioneering hen has laid approximately 1.5 eggs a day, and we believe another lady has taken up the hobby as well.
Today we bought a mess of building materials to construct a shed that will keep the cow's grass dry. We returned to the center atop a truck piled with rough boards- it's common for Tanzanian workmen to ride in the backs of trucks, but I'm not sure the townsfolk had ever seen Mzungu doing it- we spent the entite long ride surrounded by cries of "Mzungu, Mzungu!" Some of the kids even chased the truck.
The rainy season seems to have started a bit early this year- the last few mornings have been cloudy, with rain in the afternoons, and today it's actually already rained twice. Although it makes a pleasant respite from the heat, today was inconvenient. Katarina, Kelvini and Elia were scheduled to go into the doctor's for check-ups, and the taxi we called to get them got stuck in the mud on the way up the mountain. The only solution was to walk to meet it. Mud cakes quickly on the bottom of your sandals, until soon it's as thick or thicker than the sandal itself. To keep the older kids from getting too messy, Jayde and I each piggy-backed one until we found the car. Elia, only 18 months, was on his house-mama's back.
I defy anyone to come here without getting attached to the kids. I can't understand most of what they say, but it's amazing how many games you can play without a common language. And how distinct their personalities can become. Since this is the beginning of my last week, I'm a little worried about saying goodbye.
In a different vein, I think the term "beautiful black man" was invented in Tanzania, and that "beautiful black woman" should be much more common. The typical cast of features in this country causes me to double-take multiple times with every trip into town. And the clothing doesn't hurt- I always see Maasai men wandering about, wrapped in their blankets. The women wear long skirts and shirts that compliment a curvy figure impressively. Western clothing does nothing for healthy curves, and I find myself coveting the Tanzanian women's clothes. Also, I've seen a variety of braid creations that make me wish I had woolly-textured hair so I could try them out without looking ridiculous.
In a funny vein, Beatrice told me the other day that I'm like a Maasai. Why? Because I always have a knife with me, and I use it for everything. In this case, it's actually my leatherman, Scooby Bob (Karin, if you're reading this, you should tell Bob, who gave the leatherman to me, that it's been invaluable). Sometimes I feel like the other volunteers just view me as a walking multi-tool (Yes, I see the nasty jokes that could come from this- shut up and sit down).
There aren't many other solo travelers at my hostel. Mostly, it's couples or groups of female friends. Nor are there many chronic travelers. So sometimes I feel a bit lonely, despite being surrounded by people. There are definite advantages to traveling on your own, and then there are the lonely times. Today is one of them.
Missing everyone.
In addition to blessing the next generation with a permanent vision of my perfect arches, we've had a variety of activities since I last wrote- a new house for 8-9 new kids is about to be furnished, so we scrubbed it from top to bottom and routed the spiders and mysterious stains. There are new chicks who need their daily vitamins and antibiotics, and we're also on a crusade to improve the existing henhouse- our girls have just started laying! Jayde, who's been here longer than me, was like a proud Mama when she saw the first egg! Since then, our pioneering hen has laid approximately 1.5 eggs a day, and we believe another lady has taken up the hobby as well.
Today we bought a mess of building materials to construct a shed that will keep the cow's grass dry. We returned to the center atop a truck piled with rough boards- it's common for Tanzanian workmen to ride in the backs of trucks, but I'm not sure the townsfolk had ever seen Mzungu doing it- we spent the entite long ride surrounded by cries of "Mzungu, Mzungu!" Some of the kids even chased the truck.
The rainy season seems to have started a bit early this year- the last few mornings have been cloudy, with rain in the afternoons, and today it's actually already rained twice. Although it makes a pleasant respite from the heat, today was inconvenient. Katarina, Kelvini and Elia were scheduled to go into the doctor's for check-ups, and the taxi we called to get them got stuck in the mud on the way up the mountain. The only solution was to walk to meet it. Mud cakes quickly on the bottom of your sandals, until soon it's as thick or thicker than the sandal itself. To keep the older kids from getting too messy, Jayde and I each piggy-backed one until we found the car. Elia, only 18 months, was on his house-mama's back.
I defy anyone to come here without getting attached to the kids. I can't understand most of what they say, but it's amazing how many games you can play without a common language. And how distinct their personalities can become. Since this is the beginning of my last week, I'm a little worried about saying goodbye.
In a different vein, I think the term "beautiful black man" was invented in Tanzania, and that "beautiful black woman" should be much more common. The typical cast of features in this country causes me to double-take multiple times with every trip into town. And the clothing doesn't hurt- I always see Maasai men wandering about, wrapped in their blankets. The women wear long skirts and shirts that compliment a curvy figure impressively. Western clothing does nothing for healthy curves, and I find myself coveting the Tanzanian women's clothes. Also, I've seen a variety of braid creations that make me wish I had woolly-textured hair so I could try them out without looking ridiculous.
In a funny vein, Beatrice told me the other day that I'm like a Maasai. Why? Because I always have a knife with me, and I use it for everything. In this case, it's actually my leatherman, Scooby Bob (Karin, if you're reading this, you should tell Bob, who gave the leatherman to me, that it's been invaluable). Sometimes I feel like the other volunteers just view me as a walking multi-tool (Yes, I see the nasty jokes that could come from this- shut up and sit down).
There aren't many other solo travelers at my hostel. Mostly, it's couples or groups of female friends. Nor are there many chronic travelers. So sometimes I feel a bit lonely, despite being surrounded by people. There are definite advantages to traveling on your own, and then there are the lonely times. Today is one of them.
Missing everyone.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
In Appreciation of Mosquito Nets and Vervet Vibes
Mosquito nets are marvelous. I grew up around mosquitoes, and learned to feel them land on me or try to bite, so before coming here, I hadn't had a mosquito bite in years. Tanzanian mosquitoes are different- you won't see them, and you won't feel them, but their bites are infernally large, internally itchy, and to add insult to injury, they will turn vividly purple when they're done itching. Give me mosquitos from Carlisle any day. I've found that they're especially fond of the arches of my feet- maybe that's just an area I neglect with the bug spray. Perhaps if I marinaded my feet in chemicals overnight, they wouldn't bother me? Aside from keeping the bugs away, however, mosquito nets remind me of my canopy bed fixation as a child. Finally, the dream comes true.
Slowly and painfully, I am trying to learn Swahili. After learning karibu (welcome) and (thank you), the next word we inevitably all learn is mzungu, which means "white person". It's interesting to be in the racial and cultural minority, to know that you are constantly amusing
people with your cultural mistakes. As long as you smile and try, they don't seem to mind.
Today our mission was to give the children de-worming pills, which turns out to be nothing like de-worming sled dogs. For one thing, the dogs mostly don't have worms, whereas the children almost certainly do. But, much like the sled dogs, they are cooperative in almost anything you want them to do, regardless of whether they like it. Those pills couldn't have tasted good, but they chewed them down like champions, and we suggested some orange to cover the flavor.
After replenishing the antibiotic-enhanced water for the new chicks, I stayed to have lunch with Beatrice's family. She let me help her in the kitchen- the meal consisted of rice, beans, and cooked spinach, all enhanced with carrot and spices. Also bananas. Delicious and filling. Beatrice refilled my plate after my first helping, and even afterwards assured me that I had eaten very little. I was stuffed! I practically waddled out of there!
Before I left, Beatrice called me to the window and pointed out a family of monkeys who were loitering on the edge of the forest, raiding the compost. They had found some bananas, and some of them ate while the babies leaped and chased each other through the branches. Google tells me that they were vervet monkeys. Grey, black faces, very long tails. Adorable.
To return to Swahili lessons, mzungu women are much appreciated by Tanzanian men, and Beatrice's youngest son, Nicky, has told us that he should marry one. While I helped Beatrice cook today, he told me, "Ah, you will make such a good wife," so I did the only thing I could do- laughed. He also tried to give me a necklace and earrings today, but I told him I couldn't take them. He has a solution- he'll give them to his sister, and when she gives them to me, I'll have to accept. Gulp. He already knows I don't have a boyfriend, but maybe I should make up a fictional man? Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jealous disposition... suggestions?
My old roomie Amy tells me that she sent me a flock of fuzzy vibes to pull me out of my low mood, and I have decided that they took the form of vervet monkeys. So this is me sending vervets back to all of you! If a bunch of squirrels, sparrows, or... I dunno, frogs? Whatever floats your boat-- if these things show up to brighten your day-- you're welcome! Now, if you find crows dive-bombing you, or you get stung by a bee, that's not me. Unless I have cause to be angry with you-- you know who you are!
Slowly and painfully, I am trying to learn Swahili. After learning karibu (welcome) and (thank you), the next word we inevitably all learn is mzungu, which means "white person". It's interesting to be in the racial and cultural minority, to know that you are constantly amusing
people with your cultural mistakes. As long as you smile and try, they don't seem to mind.
Today our mission was to give the children de-worming pills, which turns out to be nothing like de-worming sled dogs. For one thing, the dogs mostly don't have worms, whereas the children almost certainly do. But, much like the sled dogs, they are cooperative in almost anything you want them to do, regardless of whether they like it. Those pills couldn't have tasted good, but they chewed them down like champions, and we suggested some orange to cover the flavor.
After replenishing the antibiotic-enhanced water for the new chicks, I stayed to have lunch with Beatrice's family. She let me help her in the kitchen- the meal consisted of rice, beans, and cooked spinach, all enhanced with carrot and spices. Also bananas. Delicious and filling. Beatrice refilled my plate after my first helping, and even afterwards assured me that I had eaten very little. I was stuffed! I practically waddled out of there!
Before I left, Beatrice called me to the window and pointed out a family of monkeys who were loitering on the edge of the forest, raiding the compost. They had found some bananas, and some of them ate while the babies leaped and chased each other through the branches. Google tells me that they were vervet monkeys. Grey, black faces, very long tails. Adorable.
To return to Swahili lessons, mzungu women are much appreciated by Tanzanian men, and Beatrice's youngest son, Nicky, has told us that he should marry one. While I helped Beatrice cook today, he told me, "Ah, you will make such a good wife," so I did the only thing I could do- laughed. He also tried to give me a necklace and earrings today, but I told him I couldn't take them. He has a solution- he'll give them to his sister, and when she gives them to me, I'll have to accept. Gulp. He already knows I don't have a boyfriend, but maybe I should make up a fictional man? Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jealous disposition... suggestions?
My old roomie Amy tells me that she sent me a flock of fuzzy vibes to pull me out of my low mood, and I have decided that they took the form of vervet monkeys. So this is me sending vervets back to all of you! If a bunch of squirrels, sparrows, or... I dunno, frogs? Whatever floats your boat-- if these things show up to brighten your day-- you're welcome! Now, if you find crows dive-bombing you, or you get stung by a bee, that's not me. Unless I have cause to be angry with you-- you know who you are!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I Can Too
Sometimes I feel like Fate has a plan, like she lines up challenges for me, one by one, and watches to see if I get through them. Yesterday, it felt very much like she and I were having a conversation. It went something like this:
Irene: K, so what's next.
Fate: Well now, lessee here, we've tackled a number of different countries, all kinds of work...
Irene (preening): Why yes, I believe we have.
Fate: Mm-hm... you're feeling kinda smug, aren't you?
Irene: I suppose you could say that. After all, I've learned everything else. I can tackle anything.
Fate: Oh yeah?
Irene: I think so.
Fate: All right, hot stuff.... Cuddle that baby!
Irene (spinning around very fast and gulping): Excuse me, do what to what?
Fate: Babies. Cuddle them. Make them happy.
Irene: I... um.... uh, really?
Fate: What's wrong? Scared of a little baby?
Yes. Yes, babies do alarm me. Specifically, 30-odd babies and toddlers are quite intimidating to me. What are you supposed to do with them? What makes them happy? Why do they always have that vague odor to them? Yesterday I accompanied some of the girls to the baby orphanage and cuddled for three hours straight- with one break to feed a tiny girl named Victorie. After a while, I think I got the hang of the cuddling- the babies are especially easy, because I found that if you simply lie flat on your back on the floor, they'll come over on their own and make themselves comfortable. And if they don't want to sleep, you can fall back on the old classic of bouncing them and humming randomly jouncy tunes.
Nevertheless, I've come to the conclusion that not only does the baby orphanage have more than enough volunteers already, but I'm happier working in the sun for eight hours a day than cuddle for three. At Tumaini, where the older children live, I can do things to improve their quality of life, and still interact with them. This is more satisfying to me.
I'm having some trouble settling in here. I got so used to spending time with males in Capetown that a house full of women and couples is a tad unsettling. I seem to be the only solo traveler here. Also it took me some time to catch my journal up to date, and I haven't really arrived at a new place until I'm satisfied that I won't forget anything from the last one. Today I'm trying harder- I'm joining the Swahili class that Omi, one of the Tanzanian men who help us out at the hostel, teaches, and I'm heading back to Tumaini today to get the new baby chicks settled in. Trying not to be homesick, especially since, in my life, I never know exactly which home I'm sick for. This too shall pass?
Love all you guys.
Irene: K, so what's next.
Fate: Well now, lessee here, we've tackled a number of different countries, all kinds of work...
Irene (preening): Why yes, I believe we have.
Fate: Mm-hm... you're feeling kinda smug, aren't you?
Irene: I suppose you could say that. After all, I've learned everything else. I can tackle anything.
Fate: Oh yeah?
Irene: I think so.
Fate: All right, hot stuff.... Cuddle that baby!
Irene (spinning around very fast and gulping): Excuse me, do what to what?
Fate: Babies. Cuddle them. Make them happy.
Irene: I... um.... uh, really?
Fate: What's wrong? Scared of a little baby?
Yes. Yes, babies do alarm me. Specifically, 30-odd babies and toddlers are quite intimidating to me. What are you supposed to do with them? What makes them happy? Why do they always have that vague odor to them? Yesterday I accompanied some of the girls to the baby orphanage and cuddled for three hours straight- with one break to feed a tiny girl named Victorie. After a while, I think I got the hang of the cuddling- the babies are especially easy, because I found that if you simply lie flat on your back on the floor, they'll come over on their own and make themselves comfortable. And if they don't want to sleep, you can fall back on the old classic of bouncing them and humming randomly jouncy tunes.
Nevertheless, I've come to the conclusion that not only does the baby orphanage have more than enough volunteers already, but I'm happier working in the sun for eight hours a day than cuddle for three. At Tumaini, where the older children live, I can do things to improve their quality of life, and still interact with them. This is more satisfying to me.
I'm having some trouble settling in here. I got so used to spending time with males in Capetown that a house full of women and couples is a tad unsettling. I seem to be the only solo traveler here. Also it took me some time to catch my journal up to date, and I haven't really arrived at a new place until I'm satisfied that I won't forget anything from the last one. Today I'm trying harder- I'm joining the Swahili class that Omi, one of the Tanzanian men who help us out at the hostel, teaches, and I'm heading back to Tumaini today to get the new baby chicks settled in. Trying not to be homesick, especially since, in my life, I never know exactly which home I'm sick for. This too shall pass?
Love all you guys.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Trouble with Opposable Thumbs
I left Capetown at 4:30 Sunday morning, with a small farewell committee- Steve, Claire, and Skipper were all there to see me off, none of us having gone to sleep. I missed the hostel as soon as I left, and wished I'd taken a bit longer to say goodbye. But does it really help? I think it makes things harder.
The flights to Tanzania were uneventful. I kept falling asleep and slumping into the aisle so that the stewardesses had to wake me up. After one of my naps, a weird Afrikaans guy next to me informed me that he had read my journal. I sat bolt upright, thinking of a gajillion things in there that I would NOT like strangers to be reading. His only comment was on how much things could change in a generation.... Oh well.
Ujamaa Hostel is in Arusha, Tanzania, not too far from Mt. Kilimanjaro. It houses volunteers, feeds them breakfast and dinner, and provides them with volunteer opportunities for no additional fee. Yesterday, I worked at an orphanage called Tumaini (Too-MY-nee) for children ages 5-7ish. They only have 19 right now, but as soon as their new house is ready, more will be coming. The manager, Beatrice (called Bebe by the children, which means "grandmother" in Swahili), has grand plans for the place which she outlined for me. They've had chickens for a year, they're just getting cows, and soon we'll be digging fish ponds so that these too can be a source of food and revenue for the children. Beatrice wants Tumaini to be as self-sufficient as possible.
So yesterday I worked with Jade, an Aussie girl, to build an enclosure for baby chicks and to put a chicken wire roof over the chickens which will keep the kites out. I was actually able to use my experience in Ecuador to suggest a way of connecting the strips of chicken wire together. We did have the inevitable difficulty: the children were done with school for the day, and were naturally curious about what the white girls and the two field workers (Ezekiel and William) were doing. Soon there was a small cloud of them playing with the wheelbarrow and the tape measure (I do remember those being fun when I was little, though I can't recall why), scaring the chickens (who doesnb't love that?), running off with hammers, and my personal favorite, a little boy called Musa was intent on stealing the wirecutters and snipping chicken wire in inappropriate places. He was very bright- if he spoke more english, I could have explained to him that he was endangering his own egg supply, and he might have cut it out. As it was, he just enjoyed the game of trying to avoid my evil eye upon him.
This is something the animals never did. Some of them might have, given opposable thumbs to play with, but children definitely have too much of an advantage. The only comparison I can think of is when the capucchins at Santa Martha unscrewed the light bulb that was supposed to keep them warm at night, smashed it, and went running around with the metal base and jagged glass in their hands. So I would state that the trouble with opposable thumbs... is that children have them. Maybe that's something that ought to develop later in life?
Today, that last night of not sleeping at the hostel finally caught up with me, and I've been dragging myself around. Decided not to volunteer today, but to make myself more peppy and useful in days to come by sleeping and pulling myself together. I'm also a week behind on my journal, and I won't really be able to concentrate on Tanzania until I've written down everything I want to remember from before. And, of course, the third mission of the day- write to you lovely people. You are officially my favorite chore.
Tanzania is very green and junglish. Mosquitos have made a feast of me- yes, they ARE worse than Carlisle ones- and I'm very grateful for that blue capsule in the morning that fends off malaria. Nevertheless, the people are friendly, and I'm fascinated by the tangle of leaves and vines everywhere. Also, the food is great. Simple, tasty, filling, and doubtless more healthy than what I eat at home.
Since Ujamaa runs a number of different volunteering sites, I'll be visiting a number of them, so stay tuned. Or don't, whatever your fancy! As usual, I'll be trying not to remember that I miss you all!
The flights to Tanzania were uneventful. I kept falling asleep and slumping into the aisle so that the stewardesses had to wake me up. After one of my naps, a weird Afrikaans guy next to me informed me that he had read my journal. I sat bolt upright, thinking of a gajillion things in there that I would NOT like strangers to be reading. His only comment was on how much things could change in a generation.... Oh well.
Ujamaa Hostel is in Arusha, Tanzania, not too far from Mt. Kilimanjaro. It houses volunteers, feeds them breakfast and dinner, and provides them with volunteer opportunities for no additional fee. Yesterday, I worked at an orphanage called Tumaini (Too-MY-nee) for children ages 5-7ish. They only have 19 right now, but as soon as their new house is ready, more will be coming. The manager, Beatrice (called Bebe by the children, which means "grandmother" in Swahili), has grand plans for the place which she outlined for me. They've had chickens for a year, they're just getting cows, and soon we'll be digging fish ponds so that these too can be a source of food and revenue for the children. Beatrice wants Tumaini to be as self-sufficient as possible.
So yesterday I worked with Jade, an Aussie girl, to build an enclosure for baby chicks and to put a chicken wire roof over the chickens which will keep the kites out. I was actually able to use my experience in Ecuador to suggest a way of connecting the strips of chicken wire together. We did have the inevitable difficulty: the children were done with school for the day, and were naturally curious about what the white girls and the two field workers (Ezekiel and William) were doing. Soon there was a small cloud of them playing with the wheelbarrow and the tape measure (I do remember those being fun when I was little, though I can't recall why), scaring the chickens (who doesnb't love that?), running off with hammers, and my personal favorite, a little boy called Musa was intent on stealing the wirecutters and snipping chicken wire in inappropriate places. He was very bright- if he spoke more english, I could have explained to him that he was endangering his own egg supply, and he might have cut it out. As it was, he just enjoyed the game of trying to avoid my evil eye upon him.
This is something the animals never did. Some of them might have, given opposable thumbs to play with, but children definitely have too much of an advantage. The only comparison I can think of is when the capucchins at Santa Martha unscrewed the light bulb that was supposed to keep them warm at night, smashed it, and went running around with the metal base and jagged glass in their hands. So I would state that the trouble with opposable thumbs... is that children have them. Maybe that's something that ought to develop later in life?
Today, that last night of not sleeping at the hostel finally caught up with me, and I've been dragging myself around. Decided not to volunteer today, but to make myself more peppy and useful in days to come by sleeping and pulling myself together. I'm also a week behind on my journal, and I won't really be able to concentrate on Tanzania until I've written down everything I want to remember from before. And, of course, the third mission of the day- write to you lovely people. You are officially my favorite chore.
Tanzania is very green and junglish. Mosquitos have made a feast of me- yes, they ARE worse than Carlisle ones- and I'm very grateful for that blue capsule in the morning that fends off malaria. Nevertheless, the people are friendly, and I'm fascinated by the tangle of leaves and vines everywhere. Also, the food is great. Simple, tasty, filling, and doubtless more healthy than what I eat at home.
Since Ujamaa runs a number of different volunteering sites, I'll be visiting a number of them, so stay tuned. Or don't, whatever your fancy! As usual, I'll be trying not to remember that I miss you all!
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Bunkbed and the Chiropractor
This is the tale of a rickety bunkbed in the mountains of Ecuador, a chiropractor in Capetown, South Africa, and how they touched the life of a bright, beautiful and enterprising young woman. For the purposes of smooth narrative, we must give this paragon a name- I shall call her Irene.
The tale begins at an Ecuadorian wildlife center, where our hero is spending four months building lion enclosures, dodging homicidal kinkajous and giving butchery lessons. The month is August, the year is 2008, and night is trickling down upon the mountaintop. The lovely Irene was relaxing with her fellow volunteers. On an impulse, she scrambled up to her bunk to retrieve an mp3 player. And now we must reveal our hero's fatal flaw, her Achilles Heel, if you will. Irene is, we regret, undeniably and unfailingly clumsy.
As she slid down from her bunk, Irene's hand slipped, and she landed flat, facedown on a hard, tile floor. Her chin rebounded, blood leaped from her lower lip and jaw, and she gave a very manly howl of rage and pain. Having assured herself that it was a howl, not a girly squeal, she found to her relief that teeth and bones were all intact. Her teeth didn't seem to be meeting up exactly the way they used to, but why quibble? She did the only thing she could do:clean up the blood, go to bed, and rise in the morning, stiff-necked, to explain her new beauty marks to the volunteer group.
Our tale skips forward now to October 2009, when the restless wanderer Irene returned to the home of her mother after eleven months in Alaska. Shortly afterwards, as previously documented, a painful sinus infection arose, but Irene, believing herself capable of, to use the colloquial "kicking its microscopic ass back to germy-town," delayed her doctor's visit for almost two months. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, but as each course ended, the pain returned. In the first weeks of January, Irene boarded a plane for South Africa, having just started her third round of antibiotics, believing firmly that no puny microbes could survive this final scourge. Especially since the only thing left to do was see an ear-nose-throat doctor, and the hero has a dislike of doctor's offices.
She was wrong. Yes, I know it's a shock and a rarity from such a lady, but so it was. With the end of the prescription, the persistent pain returned. Iron entered Irene's soul. Her entire four months in Africa included only one sizable gap between programs, right after Drakenstien. Cunning and wise to the last, Irene knew that this time must be used to thwart the infection and restore order to her sinuses.
The owner of Drakenstein's wife worked in medicine, and was able to supply the name and number of a Capetown ENT. Despite being sent to the wrong side of town by tourist information, our hero successfully reached her appointment, and with eloquence she explained her problem. Examinations yielded bewilderingly normal results, and a CT scans was ordered posthaste. When Irene had braved the machine, she gazed in wonder at the glowing image of her own skull. Never had her nose looked less like a ski jump, she mused...
The doctor was dismayed. "Your skull is weird," she proclaimed, "but your sinuses are clear like crystal. The clear kind. Away with you to a chiropractor, then a dentist, and if they can't find a problem, you get more drugs."
Irene was discouraged, and in dread of dentists and further drugs. With little expectation that a chiropractor could help her, she nonetheless dutifully appeared on his doorstep two days later. Having heard her sordid tale, the chiropractor examined the gallant lass. As soon as his fingers touched the base of her spine, he exclaimed in surprise, "Oh my god, how did that happen?"
It didn't seem like a good sign. "What?" squeaked the hero.
"Your skull is sitting a centimeter off-center on your spine. Like someone picked it up and put it back in the wrong place."
Imagine Irene's bafflement. Would she not have remembered which an event? The now-intrigued chiropractor continued his tests, and it was while he was asking whether her teeth fit together correctly that she brilliantly recalled the sensation, right after striking the floor in Ecuador, of her teeth not quite matching up. The story of the fall was recounted immediately, and the mystery of the sourceless pain was solved. Although at the time she had laughed about her visible scars, Irene had thought little of the matter since except as a good story to tell. She had learned to move around her head's new position, all unawares, and for a year and a half the tension had built up. The good chiropractor cracked and stretched our hero's neck a few times, stuck a few needles into the nerve, and assured Irene that her skull was back where it was supposed to be.
I have kept this tale to myself, not wishing to cause anxiety to any of those persons inclined towards worrying from afar. Knowing that our hero was applying the full extent of her mental and social resources to the problem, it seemed counter-productive that anyone else should fret about it.
For myself, while the hero Irene has been bent on her quest to straighten out her head, I have been keeping myself lazy at the hostel. Most often I hang out with Steve, Claire, Marius, and a South African skipper called Bash. After the first three nights, I got tired of waking up hung over, and I scaled back the drinking. Since then, my time has been split between catching up on sleep, walks around the city, and hanging out. The massive sunburn I got at the beach is healing now, another the outline of my suit's tie is still sharply demarkated. Steve calls it Jesus, and I wish Jesus would hurry up and peel his butt off my back. We all had a braai (barbeque) a few nights ago; spent a night sleeping on the balcony at one point, giving birth to a new hostel rule: no sleeping on the balcony; and today is my last day, which makes me surprisingly sad for a place that I've only been a week. It felt like longer. Today I plan on trying to forget that it's happening, and going with Steve and Skipper Bash to see Bash's boat.
Sorry about the pictures I promised you. The computers don't have a cd drive, so uploading them was a no-go. I'll keep trying.
I leave tomorrow morning for a 6:oo flight to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, to stay at a place called Ujamaa Hostel.
The tale begins at an Ecuadorian wildlife center, where our hero is spending four months building lion enclosures, dodging homicidal kinkajous and giving butchery lessons. The month is August, the year is 2008, and night is trickling down upon the mountaintop. The lovely Irene was relaxing with her fellow volunteers. On an impulse, she scrambled up to her bunk to retrieve an mp3 player. And now we must reveal our hero's fatal flaw, her Achilles Heel, if you will. Irene is, we regret, undeniably and unfailingly clumsy.
As she slid down from her bunk, Irene's hand slipped, and she landed flat, facedown on a hard, tile floor. Her chin rebounded, blood leaped from her lower lip and jaw, and she gave a very manly howl of rage and pain. Having assured herself that it was a howl, not a girly squeal, she found to her relief that teeth and bones were all intact. Her teeth didn't seem to be meeting up exactly the way they used to, but why quibble? She did the only thing she could do:clean up the blood, go to bed, and rise in the morning, stiff-necked, to explain her new beauty marks to the volunteer group.
Our tale skips forward now to October 2009, when the restless wanderer Irene returned to the home of her mother after eleven months in Alaska. Shortly afterwards, as previously documented, a painful sinus infection arose, but Irene, believing herself capable of, to use the colloquial "kicking its microscopic ass back to germy-town," delayed her doctor's visit for almost two months. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, but as each course ended, the pain returned. In the first weeks of January, Irene boarded a plane for South Africa, having just started her third round of antibiotics, believing firmly that no puny microbes could survive this final scourge. Especially since the only thing left to do was see an ear-nose-throat doctor, and the hero has a dislike of doctor's offices.
She was wrong. Yes, I know it's a shock and a rarity from such a lady, but so it was. With the end of the prescription, the persistent pain returned. Iron entered Irene's soul. Her entire four months in Africa included only one sizable gap between programs, right after Drakenstien. Cunning and wise to the last, Irene knew that this time must be used to thwart the infection and restore order to her sinuses.
The owner of Drakenstein's wife worked in medicine, and was able to supply the name and number of a Capetown ENT. Despite being sent to the wrong side of town by tourist information, our hero successfully reached her appointment, and with eloquence she explained her problem. Examinations yielded bewilderingly normal results, and a CT scans was ordered posthaste. When Irene had braved the machine, she gazed in wonder at the glowing image of her own skull. Never had her nose looked less like a ski jump, she mused...
The doctor was dismayed. "Your skull is weird," she proclaimed, "but your sinuses are clear like crystal. The clear kind. Away with you to a chiropractor, then a dentist, and if they can't find a problem, you get more drugs."
Irene was discouraged, and in dread of dentists and further drugs. With little expectation that a chiropractor could help her, she nonetheless dutifully appeared on his doorstep two days later. Having heard her sordid tale, the chiropractor examined the gallant lass. As soon as his fingers touched the base of her spine, he exclaimed in surprise, "Oh my god, how did that happen?"
It didn't seem like a good sign. "What?" squeaked the hero.
"Your skull is sitting a centimeter off-center on your spine. Like someone picked it up and put it back in the wrong place."
Imagine Irene's bafflement. Would she not have remembered which an event? The now-intrigued chiropractor continued his tests, and it was while he was asking whether her teeth fit together correctly that she brilliantly recalled the sensation, right after striking the floor in Ecuador, of her teeth not quite matching up. The story of the fall was recounted immediately, and the mystery of the sourceless pain was solved. Although at the time she had laughed about her visible scars, Irene had thought little of the matter since except as a good story to tell. She had learned to move around her head's new position, all unawares, and for a year and a half the tension had built up. The good chiropractor cracked and stretched our hero's neck a few times, stuck a few needles into the nerve, and assured Irene that her skull was back where it was supposed to be.
I have kept this tale to myself, not wishing to cause anxiety to any of those persons inclined towards worrying from afar. Knowing that our hero was applying the full extent of her mental and social resources to the problem, it seemed counter-productive that anyone else should fret about it.
For myself, while the hero Irene has been bent on her quest to straighten out her head, I have been keeping myself lazy at the hostel. Most often I hang out with Steve, Claire, Marius, and a South African skipper called Bash. After the first three nights, I got tired of waking up hung over, and I scaled back the drinking. Since then, my time has been split between catching up on sleep, walks around the city, and hanging out. The massive sunburn I got at the beach is healing now, another the outline of my suit's tie is still sharply demarkated. Steve calls it Jesus, and I wish Jesus would hurry up and peel his butt off my back. We all had a braai (barbeque) a few nights ago; spent a night sleeping on the balcony at one point, giving birth to a new hostel rule: no sleeping on the balcony; and today is my last day, which makes me surprisingly sad for a place that I've only been a week. It felt like longer. Today I plan on trying to forget that it's happening, and going with Steve and Skipper Bash to see Bash's boat.
Sorry about the pictures I promised you. The computers don't have a cd drive, so uploading them was a no-go. I'll keep trying.
I leave tomorrow morning for a 6:oo flight to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, to stay at a place called Ujamaa Hostel.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
A few notes on Capetown
Four days in Capetown can seem very long, and a ridiculous number of things can happen. I'm constantly entertained by my hostel, which is like a tiny little soap opera. Better, in fact, because I never noticed that soaps were anything but predictable, and Backpackers on Castle certainly isn't that.
Capetown is a bustling tourist destination, crawling with souvenirs, cafes and bars. On Sunday, I took a walk down to the waterfront and found myself watching a number of sea lions fishing just near the docks. Their heads would burst out of the water, whipping back and forth to break the neck of their catch, and then they'd dive again to eat it. Several were courting a pair of dock workers who were watching them. I get the distinct impression that some of the dock workers spoil them. One sea lion in particular kept pointedly floating past the workers, belly up, looking as cute as possible, sometimes rubbing at his snout with his flippers to enhance the effect. I found more of them sunning themselves in shameless comfort on a floating boarding dock farther down.
Quite to my own surprise, I've become caught up in the dramas of the hostel. I figure, as long as I am a mere spectator and don't cause drama myself, this can entertain me for the bulk of the week. I continue to get along with all the regulars. Yes, this ornery soul is baffled by the sudden availability of people willing to hang out with her. Yesterday I visited a beach with Marius, one of the regulars, made a stunning sand castle (Castle Ruckus) and was rewarded with a truly impressive sunburn all down my back, arms and legs. Also discovered that the beaches near Boston have warmer water than those near Capetown. The planet makes no sense. I try to get a good exploratory walk in most days, and then hang out with the hostel kids at night.
Oh! I discovered once again that I'm behind on technology. Apparently now when you develop film, you get a digital copy as well as prints, which means of course that my Drakenstein photos can come out sooner than I'd expected. Have a look around some of my recent entries, watch for added photos.
Capetown is a bustling tourist destination, crawling with souvenirs, cafes and bars. On Sunday, I took a walk down to the waterfront and found myself watching a number of sea lions fishing just near the docks. Their heads would burst out of the water, whipping back and forth to break the neck of their catch, and then they'd dive again to eat it. Several were courting a pair of dock workers who were watching them. I get the distinct impression that some of the dock workers spoil them. One sea lion in particular kept pointedly floating past the workers, belly up, looking as cute as possible, sometimes rubbing at his snout with his flippers to enhance the effect. I found more of them sunning themselves in shameless comfort on a floating boarding dock farther down.
Quite to my own surprise, I've become caught up in the dramas of the hostel. I figure, as long as I am a mere spectator and don't cause drama myself, this can entertain me for the bulk of the week. I continue to get along with all the regulars. Yes, this ornery soul is baffled by the sudden availability of people willing to hang out with her. Yesterday I visited a beach with Marius, one of the regulars, made a stunning sand castle (Castle Ruckus) and was rewarded with a truly impressive sunburn all down my back, arms and legs. Also discovered that the beaches near Boston have warmer water than those near Capetown. The planet makes no sense. I try to get a good exploratory walk in most days, and then hang out with the hostel kids at night.
Oh! I discovered once again that I'm behind on technology. Apparently now when you develop film, you get a digital copy as well as prints, which means of course that my Drakenstein photos can come out sooner than I'd expected. Have a look around some of my recent entries, watch for added photos.
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