Host Familes

If someone asked me what I thought the most important aspect of this program was, I would have no hesitation in answering, "The host families."  The teaching that John and Megan give, the many excursions, and the demands of the internships are all crucial to a complete academic and in depth encounter with Africa, but it is their host families who each and every day teach the students about the real life of the people here in Tanzania.  Too often, we Americans have kept the Sunday School images we got of poor Africans living in mud huts in remote villages--and that is still true for many Africans--but more and more people are migrating into urban areas and pushing into middle class.  In Arusha, a city of perhaps 400,000, the professional and business groups are growing swiftly, as more children have opportunities to gain higher levels of education.  So, the six families with whom our students stay all have many modern conveniences and are almost as tied to computers and cell phones as we are.  The fathers are employed a variety of profession, from a safari operator to an official in the East African community, and some of the mothers are also employed as teachers or office workers. All the families have their children enrolled in private English-medium schools.

During January, adapting and fitting into a host family is a tremendous challenge for many of the students. The food is very different.  The mealtimes are strange:  Breakfast may be as early as 6:00; lunch, which is the largest meal of the day, is around 1:30; and the evening meal, which is very light, comes perhaps as late as 8:00.  Having "tea" in mid-morning is essential if one wants to make it through the day.  Additionally, there are people, people, people in and out of the houses.  Many families have young relatives staying with them in order to attend better schools or work in a good job.  It's hard for our students to sort out who is who and how the people in a household are connected to each other.  And, of course, so many people means that a house is almost never quiet except at night, and if students try to slip away for privacy in their rooms, it comes across as anti-social or rude. While there are western style toilets in many of the homes, some homes have only eastern or squat toilets, which also demands learning new skills.  (The direction one should face is a big concern at first.) Now, near the end of March, some of the students have admitted that in January they fantasized about pulling out of the program and returning to Whitworth.  Fortunately, they have all stuck with us.

During February, our month on Zanzibar, all the host families were Muslim, and in some households there were only women.  These placements were made through the Swahili program at the State University of Zanzibar (SUZA), so all of the homes were close to the school, either in or near Stone Town.  The students liked the proximity to both their classes and the lures of Stone Town, but they never became as integrated into these families, many of whom assist in hosting group after group of foreign students.  Our students were just more wagani (foreigners) who would be around only for a month.  In contrast, John and I have been incredibly fortunate that the family with whom we stayed both in 2012 and again this year had never hosted wagani before, and we all became attached to each other very quickly.

When we returned to Arusha at the beginning of this month, the students were looking forward to returning to the same families they had been with in January, and most felt that it was like returning home in many ways.  These were the babas, mamas, and children they already knew and the houses they had become comfortable in.  I always smile when I hear the students say "my baba," or  "mama."  They have bonded with the children in their families, and they have usually figured out that the young man staying with the family, too, is the cousin of baba's brother's wife.  So, this coming Saturday, when the students leave Arusha for good, there may be tears.

Students with some family members

This past Saturday, however, was a time of celebration.  The staff here at Kundayo catered a lovely Host Family Appreciation Dinner for our group, and all the host families came to enjoy the evening with all of us.  The stated time for the dinner was 6:30 p.m. but, true to African time, few showed up much before 8:00.   Students sat with their families, and I wandered around trying to take pictures of those at the various tables, but flash photography of dark faces does not work well.  Some of the girls were wearing new dresses that their mamas had had sewn for them, so we had a mini-fashion show.  After dinner, John made an official speech thanking the families.  Megan spoke a bit in Swahili. And, then one of the students, Jax, gave a speech she had prepared in Swahili.  If one judged by crowd response, Jax's was the best of the three speeches.  Then, John presented certificates of appreciation to all the families and the evening wound down.

Amaya provided cell phone light so Jax could read her speech.

I could end by saying what we children always wrote in our Grandma Lehman's guestbook: "A good time was had by all."  That is certainly true, but I hope, too, it was an evening that will long be remembered and have an enduring influence on the attitudes and feelings we have for others who at first may seem so different and unknowable but in time can become good friends.

Fashion models

Fussing a Bit

Because, in general, life here in Tanzania is relatively easy compared to other places I have lived in Africa, I feel as if I have no cause to complain about much of anything.  Yet, I have to admit that sometimes I become annoyed, frustrated and/or discouraged by events and circumstances.  And, perhaps it was because nothing very unusual or exciting happened this week that I had empty time for some inner fussing.

One of the biggest inconveniences I have here is the complete lack of anything resembling a department store or a vendor such as Fred Meyer’s.  There are thousands upon thousands of tiny little shops (dukas), which generally focus on one type of commodity, be it cement, backpacks, second hand shoes, or stationery, but even such shops have very limited inventory.  Ever since we arrived in January, I have been hunting for a funnel so that we wouldn’t waste water when we pour it from the big 10-liter jugs into our personal water bottles.  I have no doubt that somewhere in the deep center of one of the big markets, someone is selling funnels, but since I can’t navigate the narrow and uneven mud paths and crowds inside the markets, I have been limited to searching at shops which offer plastic ware or household items.  And, so far, I’ve had no luck at all.  Finally, today I asked our taxi driver and friend, Ray, if he thought he could find a funnel for us.  He said he could, and I think it will probably come from a shop that sells small items for cars.  Funnels for filling bottles with gas!  I would have never thought of that myself.

Then there’s the seeming contradiction between how warm and friendly most Tanzanians are and their total disregard of anything we would recognize as customer service. In the more expensive cafes which cater to many tourists most of the wait staff is very prompt and courteous, but in any other venue, clerks or shopkeepers will just stand or sit and do nothing to help a customer unless one makes a very direct request.  Even then, the response usually sounds lackadaisical, and the clerk will make no move to help. This afternoon, I went to a shop where they will cut my kind of mzungu hair.  The shop is in a high-end complex, and four young adults were inside; two young women were behind the front counter, and two young men, whom I thought were hairdressers, were draped across the chairs usually used by waiting customers. I approached the counter stated that I wanted to have my hair cut.  Without moving or even making eye contact, one of the young women told me that wouldn’t be possible.  So, I asked if I needed to wait—sometimes people are off at tea—and she said no because the hairdresser wasn’t in today, and in fact hadn’t been in most of the week.  When, I asked if/when he would be in, she said she didn’t know.  So, finally I asked if there was a phone number I could call next week to check on whether I could make an appointment.  She looked at me for a long time and finally said yes.  So, I asked her to please give me that number, and she finally did.  John was standing behind me in the doorway throughout this entire conversation, and as we left he commented to me that I had been treated as if I had rudely interrupted a private party.  Unfortunately, while this particular situation was more extreme than usual, a lack of active customer service is fairly uniform in Arusha.

And, while I’m venting, I will mention that we are often run about trying to access simple services.  So, yesterday, John spent much of his afternoon trying to wire money to Dar es Salaam to make down payments on some services for next month. He got part way done with the transaction only to find that he needed another number to complete the transfer.  He kept texting his contact in Dar as we tried to complete some other errands, and finally after he received the requisite number, he had to return to the office where he had begun the process to finish the transfer.  Then there are the shops which proudly advertise services they cannot provide.  After my failed attempt to get my hair cut, John went to a nearby shop which advertised that it provided photocopying, and prepared advertisement brochures, booklets, signs, etc. so it seemed that this would be closest thing we could find to a full service Kinkos.  John needed a color for the border on the certificates he wanted printed (He brought his own paper).  But, unbelievably this shop could not do color printing.  Ray then took John to another shop which advertised color printing, and there they got as far as loading the paper in the copier before discovering that the ink cartridge was empty, and they had no idea when they would have a new one.  Finally, John decided to walk to a nearby grocery shop which has a copier, and there of all places, he got what he wanted.  As John noted, no one who hasn’t lived here would ever understand how buying bottled water and getting a dozen certificates printed could take up a whole afternoon.

However, it isn’t just Tanzanians or local services which can be taxing, our young Americans are also surprising in some unexpected ways.  One of the biggest headaches that John and Megan face is the lack of attention the students pay to what they are told and their failure to read email messages.  I stand on the side of the academic aspects of this program, but I have seen the careful syllabi, calendar, and descriptions of assignments.  I have heard the repeated clarifications and reiterations of specific details for what is expected for each project and paper.  Yet, many of the students continue to act as if they have no idea what was/is expected of them, and whine and wheedle for extensions on assignments that could have easily been finished on time if they had chosen to manage their time better.  Even the more responsible ones often fail to read the email messages they are sent and then plead ignorance of what is expected of them. Believe me, they have been repeatedly told to read their email regularly! I realize that I may sound like an old grouch here, but I don’t blame the students for this behavior as much as I do those who should have been helping them to mature into responsible young adults.  More and more, I am convinced that in trying so hard to provide a warm, welcoming, and supportive environment for its students, Whitworth has failed to recognize the concurrent necessity of providing a balance with a clear expectation that students need to accept more personal responsibility for their lives.  Student evaluations, which frankly are blatant popularity polls, make it more difficult for professors to hold lines with students or to let the consequences for irresponsibility happen.  There should be grace and mercy at times, but not license to avoid any personal responsibility.  Quite frankly, I would not have shown the “flexibility” that John and Megan have with this group.  The fact that a small number of the students do follow though and have accomplished their assignments on time demonstrates that the work can be done if one chooses to do it.

[Note:  I wrote the above paragraphs last night and want to report that it was a pleasant to find three students here on the Kundayo terrace this morning.  They had come to spend the day on the internet working on their assignments.  The fact that these three are some of the most mature and responsible ones in the group was no surprise at all.]

Still, as much as I can feel momentarily peeved, I love being here and feel very fortunate to have this amazing opportunity to see and experience so much that is new and unexpected. We still have six more weeks left in Tanzania, and that gives plenty of time for the students to do more self-reflection and gain a better awareness of who they are. They are all doing remarkably well in their internships, and as in 2012, supervisors have mentioned that our students are far superior to what they had expected given their stereotypes of young Americans. So, a few bumps and jolts along the way in no way make the journey too onerous to enjoy.

Village Visit

On Sunday, which was yesterday, John, Megan and I, traveled with Mama and Baba Tesha to Baba’s home village, Uru Shimbwe, up in the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro. Mama runs a big private school here in Arusha, so she had commandeered one of the smaller school buses for this trip.  The village is off to the north of Moshi, the next nearest city of any size, and the ride lasted about 2 hours.  The paved road from Arusha to Moshi was smooth riding past large fields, planted mainly in corn.  There were also fair-sized herds of cattle, goats, fat-tailed sheep, and donkeys being herded, by Maasai boys.  However, every so often there were also large commercial buildings already completed or being built and plots with large houses on them.  The city of Arusha keeps pushing outward, and Mama Tesha predicted that before long, Arushi and Moshi will be blended into one big urban corridor—somewhat as Spokane, Liberty Lake, Post Falls and Coeur d’Alene are now.

With Mama Tesha

Here at Kundayo it had rained hard during most of the night, and the fields we passed were very green with healthy corn plants.  I had worried that it might rain a lot during the day, especially when we got to a higher elevation, but though the sky was cloudy and hid Kili, there was no rain all day.  Baba’ brother (but maybe not same mother/same father) had died the night before, so it was imperative for him to show up for family business.  As we wound our way through Moshi, we stopped to pick up a young man, who turned out to be the youngest son of the man who had died. I couldn’t detect any signs of what we would recognize as grief from Baba, Mama, or the young man, who was named John Paul because he had been baptized by Pope John Paul when he visited Moshi years ago. Customs around death vary so much from culture to culture that I just try to observe and not analyze much at all.

Traveling from the outskirts of Moshi up the rutted dirt road to the village was a shake, rattle and roll experience the likes of which I hadn’t had since long ago in Liberia.  The rains have already cut gullies into the road in places, and I told John by the time the students all try to get there in two weeks, things could be even worse.  I’ve only been truly stuck in the mud once—in a Land Rover in the Congo—and I can’t see how one would ever be able to pull a bus out of the ditch or a mud patch.

It’s difficult for me to describe how very dense the vegetation is along the road and how brilliantly red the soil is.  We had definitely entered a very different ecosystem than what we have down here in Arusha.  Even though much of the original forest has been cut to clear fields for banana and coffee trees or for making charcoal, there are still many large trees, vines, and plants I recognized as being like those we often buy to keep as houseplants.  We knew that Kili loomed right above us, but the clouds hid it all day.  Because John had forgotten to recharge our camera, I couldn't take any photos except two which somehow the camera decided I really needed.

What surprised me most was that the Chaga people who live in this area do not have centralized villages at all like I was used to seeing in the Congo and Liberia.  Instead, they have settled in a series of small farms running vertically up the mountainside.  This means that people do not necessarily live within the view of each other, and there is no obvious village center around which village life takes place.  John and Megan had hoped to house the students with families for several days before we all leave for Lushoto and then Dar, but with the homes so spread out, that began to seem less than optimal.  After a meal at Baba’s house, while Baba was off handling some family affairs, Mama took John and Megan on a walk to see some of the possible host homes; I stayed back at the house and took a nap.  The more Megan and John saw, the more they realized that this was not the type of place they had envisioned for the students’ village experience.  There were no young, intact nuclear families, as almost all men of working age are off at jobs in Moshi, Arusha or Dar.  Even young women have mainly left the village for city life, so the people still at Uru are old men and women, children, and some poorer relatives left behind to tend the farms for their absentee owners.  In addition, it looked like most of the adult men spend a great deal of their time at little huts drinking mgebe, the local brew made from bananas and millet.  John didn’t seem to notice, but Megan said there were drunk men everywhere.

Baba Tesha's family home

Mama and Baba's kitchen with Baba's sister cooking

It was all quite disappointing, but certainly very enlightening.  Unless one is very far from urban influence, traditional village life collapses and new types of social problems creep in.  However, since the days for a village visit are already in the program schedule, John and Megan decided the group would still travel to Uru as planned, but not stay in individual homes.  Instead, everyone will stay together at the Catholic bishop’s very large home/guesthouse and then go out to explore the village and work in the nearby fields during the days.  The total experience will not be what was originally intended, but the students will be in a spectacular rural area, get to hike on the lowest slopes of Kili, and observe a great deal about the problems destroying traditional villages today.  The final irony of the day came when John and Megan learned that the names of the married couple who take care of the bishop’s house are Adolph and Ava.  Go figure.

Our trip back to Arusha was uneventful except for the brief view we had of Kili’s top above the clouds.  By the time we arrived back at Kundayo, I felt as if I had been jarred and jerked into a million tired pieces, and all I wanted was a shower and a clean bed.  We hadn’t had dinner though, so John ran over to a little chicken roasting duka and came back with delicious charcoal grilled chicken and chipsies. I made fresh green beans from the market, too, and life was again very good.

Theft

So much happens every day, some things seem routine, but others continue to surprise me.  This blog has been harder to write and maintain than I ever thought it would be, especially since in 2012 I always wrote almost every day about people, places, and happenings.  This time is different: Maybe because I am older and less energetic or perhaps because almost nothing is completely new anymore.  Still, each day has moments of new awareness, and unexpected events.

Last week, I experienced my very first encounter with something many people fear and is all too common in African cities: Theft.  In over 40+ years living and visiting in different African countries, I had never had anything stolen from me until Wednesday.  For lunch, John, Megan, and I had gone to the New Safari Hotel’s restaurant, which has a semi-enclosed open eating area, with posted security guards.  They serve lovely, big salads for about  $5, so it has long been one of my favorite places to go for a special treat.  Plus, it is owned and operated by the Lutheran church here in Tanzania and has very competent and congenial servers.  We three sat at one of the small round tables, John to my right, and Megan directly across from me, and ordered.  As usual, I had my wonderful little string bag I bought when I first went to Moldova and Lithuania in the summer of 2007, and I hung it on a knob on my chair’s back so that it was at my side and—because of the knob--could not be removed without special effort.  We had a great lunch, and then when I stood up, there was no bag anymore.  I was stunned.  I had felt nothing; John and Megan, who both always had me in their views, had seen nothing.  Whoever had taken the bag had apparently cut the straps, moved quickly, and had somehow been able to avoid any suspicion. The food manager came and wondered if I had really brought the bag in with me or had perhaps left it in our taxi, and though I knew I had had the bag with me because I had taken out my phone to call Megan, we called Ray to come back.  He was horrified and assured the manager that I had kept my bag with me.  One of the other diner’s suggested that the video from the security camera be checked, and while I strongly suspected that the camera had not been operational, I asked the manager to do that.  We waited and waited, but eventually the manager said they hadn’t seen anything “yet,” so we left, knowing there would be no further news.

I felt betrayed and sad.  Foreign visitors so often say negative things about Africa, as though here but never at home bad things happen and people are less than trustworthy.  While it’s true that many Africans are very poor and perhaps desperate for a better life or even daily food, I’ve never felt that thievery was any more prevalent here than is major cities in America or Europe.  The news at home in Spokane is always full of burglaries, stolen cars, assaults, etc.  I actually feel much safer here—especially as a privileged white person—than I do in downtown Spokane.  So, I was stunned.  Fortunately, during our taxi drive to the café, I had given our camera to John to carry, and I had taken out my phone to call Megan, so those items were not taken.  And, I never ever carry my passport on me unless we are actually traveling, so that wasn’t taken either.  I lost my wallet with maybe $60 and my two credit cards, my sunglasses, my red cowboy hanky, a comb, a collapsing umbrella, some pens, etc.  None of that was very important to me (Well, I was fond of the hanky), but losing my little string bag was a big blow.  It’s odd which items we may cherish most: that bag had traveled with me twice to Lithuania and twice to Tanzania and was the perfect size for carrying everything I needed with me when I went into town, and yet it never looked stuffed and bulky. It had become my adult equivalent of a child’s favorite blanket.  So, I miss it acutely and feel violated that now someone else has it.  If I thought I could get it back, I would post a reward.  I really would!

Megan and I eventually left John behind to deal further with the NS manager while we went to pick up some items we had custom ordered from a group of women who do bead work under a big tree downtown.  We had cut a deal with them the week before and paid a hefty deposit, so we wondered if they had maybe cut and run.  But, there they were, sitting along the sidewalk, stringing beads.  When they saw us, the called out greetings to their “rafiki” and shook our hands and some even hugged us.  We went back to their “office,” which is really an alley in which they stack their supplies and goods under plastic coverings, and they brought out our orders.  I had only three items to retrieve, a customized bracelet and two beaded stars for my Christmas tree, but Megan had ordered a lot of beaded stars, rings, and coasters.  There is no such thing as just paying and leaving, so we sat on upside down plastic buckets and discussed how great their work was, how happy we were with what they had made, why we did not need more beaded sandals or other things, and whether or not we would return with more orders.  The young woman sitting next to me, leaned over and laid her arms across my lap as she spoke with Megan, and I was again comforted by how accepting and open people here can be.  It felt good after what had happened less than an hour before.  John finally came, and there were more greetings and handshakes before we finally left to run our other errands and return to Kundayo.

Business women

 All in all, it was a good bad day: Theft and disappointment, yes, but also concern and warmth. And, I got a bit crazy and made bread pudding in my little handmade clay pot. So, I ended the day feeling okay—though I do miss my little black string bag.

Not bad bread pudding

Back from Safari (Photos may take download time)

Yesterday, we returned from five days of safari, a trip both exhilarating and totally fatiguing.  This time, we skipped traveling all the way to Serengeti and focused instead on Tarangire, Manyara, and the Ngorongoro Crater.  Although I regretted that the students missed experiencing the overwhelming vastness of the grasslands in Serengeti, I knew that they would see every animal on their wish lists, plus others they didn't know about.  And that was true for everything except a leopard, an animal which is known to be very difficult to sight.  Tarangire was outstanding for the number of elephants we saw, old ones with enormous tusks to babies with fuzzy heads and tiny trunks.  Many were right beside the road, as though they were posing for photos.  There were also plenty of giraffes, impalas, baboons, monkeys, ostriches, and zebra, as well as different kinds of mongoose.  My favorite thing in this park are the many huge baobab trees.  They can live to be several hundred years old and are massive and beautiful. As we drove out of this park on the way to Lake Manyara, we were incredibly lucky to spot a mother cheetah with three young cubs that she was teaching to hunt. The cubs chased after an impala, but finally had to give up and return to their mother. It was perhaps the most amazing sighting of this particular visit. Unfortunately, John's cheap point-and-shoot camera was not up to capturing this.

One of hundreds of Baobab trees in Tarangire

An elephant family

One of many such elephants posing for us.

Dwarf mongooses

Lake Manyara has flocks of flamingos, and is also famous for its tree climbing lions.  Strange as it may seem to some, I opted to skip the drive in this park.  Except for the lions up in trees, I had seen all the wonders of Manyara in 2012 and was more inclined toward some quiet time than reviewing the hippos, elephants, and all else once again.  Furthermore, since I had given my camera to a student whose own camera is broken, I wouldn't have been able to take any new photos anyway. The best part for me--in addition to time out--was listening to the students' exclamations about all the incredible animals and views they had seen.

Baboons grooming

Manyara's tree-climbing lions

Our first night out, at Tarangire, we stayed at a tented camp which is basically geared toward people who go on hot air balloon rides. (http://www.madahotels.com/index.php/tanzania/balloon-camp-tarangire) However, since this is off season, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. The term "tented camp" is misleading because while the units have canvass sides, they are complete which hardwood and tiled floors, western toilets, spacious showers, and king-size beds. There is nothing much akin to camping in such a set-up.  However, because this camp is located within the park boundaries, it has no barriers to keep the animals from wandering wherever they want to go, so after dark, we had to be escorted to our tents by Maasai guards, and there were always several guards on duty along the paths.  One student heard a lion roar during the night, but I apparently slept through it.

Hatted up and ready to go

At both Manyara and Ngorongoro, we stayed at Serena hotels, which are on the upside of luxury (http://www.serenahotels.com/serenalakemanyara/default-en.html and http://www.serenahotels.com/serenangorongoro/default-en.html) and serve incredible meals in dining rooms with the whole white tablecloths and elaborate service settings appropriate to such places.   Fortunately, we have wonderful Kenyan/Tanzanian travel agents who can get incredible deals for us during off-season. In fact, because we all have resident visas Class C now, we got the Tanzanian rate for entry into the first two parks. Ngorongoro is a conservation area and thus operates under different rules, so we had to pay the much higher foreigner fee there.  Still, this safari cost the students a fraction of what it will if they ever try to repeat it in the future.  (The entire safari of 5 days and 4 nights, with all transportation, guides, meals, upscale lodging, tips, etc. cost only about $1,300 per person.) And, as some noted at the Ngorongoro Serena Hotel, they may never again stay in such luxurious accommodations. I have very mixed feelings about placing the students in such a setting, but they did get to observe and comment on the usual clientele at these places and the whole affect the tourist/service industry has on local residents.  The head of our travel agency's Nairobi office, Elphas, was traveling with us and sat with us for dinner each evening, and he was a wonderful asset in responding to student questions.  In addition, our driver/guides were extremely knowledgeable and wonderful with the students, too.

Elphas at dinner with us

On the way to Ngorongoro,  I was dropped off at the Serena Lodge while the rest of the group went on to stop visit Olduvai Gorge, where the oldest footprints of early hominoids were found not many years ago. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olduvai_Gorge) Since I can't hike up and down in canyons, I had decided to sit this out and find a place to read for a while before the group returned for a late lunch and checked in. It was particularly great that the students had been to Olduvai when it turned out that Richard Leakey himself--and his brother Phillip--were also staying at the lodge. When the students realized who was eating dinner in the same dining room with them, they were totally star-struck.  John, however, walked over and had a short chat with him.  One of the students was brave enough to snap a photo for me.

Olduvai gorge, a very barren and hot spot

John chatting with Richard Leakey

 The following morning, we all got up early in order to have a full day of viewing the animals in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, which is a giant volcanic crater the bottom of which is now a vast plain full of wildlife. It took us well over an hour just to drive down into the crater, and then we spent 7 hours driving all around and through it.  On this drive, we saw countless zebras, wildebeests, buffaloes, hyenas, hippos, gazelles, and lions, as well as numerous types of birds. I kept thinking of friends who have excellent cameras and photographic skills and wishing they were with us to take the photos I never could.  Two of our students have very good cameras, so I am hoping they will be willing to share some of their shots with me.  John did get some good photos of a zebra scratching his stomach on a big rock.  I had never seen anything like this before: a tool using zebra!  One of my favorite sights of the day was watching a very young lion cub--maybe only two-weeks-old--nursing.  John tried to get some photos of this, but the mother wanted to lie in the shade of our vehicle, making it almost impossible to get any decent photo of the two of them.  Of course, we had to keep all our windows closed, too, whenever we were any place near lions.  Most of the lions we saw were just lying sprawled out having naps instead of doing any exciting wild beast actions.  As the following photos show, the rainy season has begun, and many of the animals were focused on keeping cool in the mid-day sun.

Zebra using a rock to scratch its stomach

Warthog cooling off in the mud

Mother lion nursing her cub

Searching for the Big Five

Very lazy lions

Hyenas enjoying some mud therapy

At about 3:00 p.m. we headed back up out of the crater, and this time it took us almost to hours to get back to our hotel, as we had to return from the far side of the crater.  The students were exhausted, and those in our vehicle, and I assume the others, slept during the entire ride back. We were spending a second night at this Serena lodge, and once again at dinner had a celebrity sighting.  This time it was Anthony Bourdain, who was at Ngorongoro with his crew for a show they were going to tape the next day.  A couple of students approached him to say how much they enjoyed his show, but he was less than gracious with them.  So, I sent him evil thoughts all during dinner.  Still, the students were very impressed that they were staying in a hotel where celebrities also stayed.

Up a tree in the Ngorongoro Crater

The following day, Tuesday, we had to return to reality and drive back to Arusha.  We stopped several times at viewpoints for photos and bathroom breaks, and the drive back through Maasai territory was very interesting, too.  But, the students were tired, and in between stops the students again slept and missed most of what I wished they had been awake to see, too.  This is another source of question for me: Why do students stay up late testing, Skyping, or being silly and then sleep through much of what they should be seeing and absorbing in such a different country and culture?  I've actually thought about getting a big air horn with which I could blast them from time to time.  They are paying a lot of money for this program, and yet they waste so many learning opportunities with poor time management and an addiction to electronics. I actually had to announce a "rule" that no electronic devices would be allowed at meals because it it rude to ignore others at the table while hooked up to an iPad smart phone.  Why this wouldn't be obvious to all is another mystery to me.

John at the Manyara Serena Lodge

 Once again, it was wonderful to return to Kundayo though it was sad to say good-bye to the three driver/guides who had taken such care of us on the roads and in the game parks.  While the students waited here for their host families to come and take them to their homes again, John and Megan met with them to go over assignments and answer any questions they might have about their field notes, journals, and policy papers.  I unloaded our suitcases and got our very dirty clothes ready for laundering.  All of Johns trousers and polo shirts went to Kundayo's laundry service, but I got busy and began hand-washing all our socks, underwear, and tee-shirts.  That task continued well into Wednesday.

Back again at Kundayo.

 

Catching Up

So, it's been a while since I last posted anything on this blog, almost two weeks, in fact.  So much has happened so quickly in this time that I feel as if I am in a fast-forward phase of the Tanzanian experience.  I was already beginning to notice while yet on Zanzibar how much the thought that I will likely never return to see and experience  all the wonders and people of this exceptional country again was foremost in my thoughts.  Whenever, I passed a street vendor, peeked into a small dark store, walked down a narrow cobblestone street, played with Fahdila's children, rode the Kiembe Samamki daladala home, drank the superb coffee at Kilimanjaro III, or ate another meal of roasted fish, I thought, "This may be the last time."  It was if everything I saw was emphatically outlined in black, just as I used to outline the completed drawings in my coloring books when I was a child.  The color saturation is on high, and the focus is so sharp it cuts deep engravings in my mind.  I love this country more than all the other 36 or so I have visited or stayed in.

And now, we have been back in Arusha for almost two weeks, and the days continue to zoom past so full of color, noise, and even smells that my mind cannot capture them quickly enough.  The relative coolness of Arusha compared to Zanzibar is an enormous relief.  The comfort and quietness of the Kundayo Apartments are soothing.  Reuniting with our friends here--especially Ray and his family--is deeply satisfying.  Yet, behind all the joy and contentment is my awareness that this too will change all too soon.  If I could have any wish, I would wish that I were once again 22 and just beginning my love-hate relationship with Africa--though I would somehow want to avoid erasing the fantastical experiences of the past 40 years.

The students have all begun their internships, and there is a much better range of places where they have been placed than we had in 2012.  This time, the assignments range from working with the local ASPCA, doing donkey and dog clinics and vaccinations, to researching for Carbon Tanzania, a carbon offset organization.  In between, are Elimu Community Light, Inherit Your Rights, Compassion, the African Cultural Heritage Center, and Juvenile Detention. Best of all, each student loves his or her placement and is actively learning not only about the specific focus of an organization but also about the undercurrents and problems which occur in operating an NGO.  I envy their opportunities to learn so much that can never be taught in a classroom.

For the weekend, we traveled to Longido for a visit to a Maasai boma (family group).  Elizabeth, whom we had met on this same trip in 2012, made all the arrangements since it is her father's boma, and her mother, siblings, aunts, and cousins live there.  Seeing the vast differences between Elizabeth's life as a university graduate and the life of her extended family, which still lives a traditional nomadic life, makes me wonder how a person can change so much and yet slip seamlessly back into a lifestyle hundreds of years old.  Saturday was spent doing almost nothing except sitting will the people, watching a goat killed and roasted in our honor, petting the many donkeys and calves, and holding silky soft baby goats. One of the major activities was frantically beating off the zillions of flies.  With improved rains, came more animals and prosperity, which means much more poop and accompanying flies. My major accomplishment for the day was swallowing only one fly. Unfortunately, my camera battery went dead, so I was unable to photograph much of this inaction.

Elizabeth introducing us to her family

Tea time at the boma

Young warrior who helped with killing the goat for us

The boma and Mount Longido

Carrying in our gifts

Cuddling baby goats

Then, as evening fell, we adults went back into Longido to spend the night in the Lutheran guesthouse there, leaving all the students to spend the  night in the boma, where they would sleep on the ground in a dung plastered hut with only a cow skin "mattress."  Elizabeth had made certain that the evening meal would be good and filling and even have vegetables, which the Maasai traditionally do not eat. Except for being very cold and needing to huddle together like a litter of kittens for warmth, the students had a great time.

Elizabeth and her son, Osi

Sunday morning, our bus driver picked up the students and brought them into the guesthouse for breakfast and showers before we went back for church at the same Lutheran church we had attended in 2012.  This time, however, there was no excitement with a sheep being led into the church mid-service, but two baby goats, one pure black and one pure white, wandered inside and all over the altar area before exiting out the front entrance. No one paid any attention to them.  The audience was mainly female, but the choir had men in it and the beauty of Maasai singing was simply ethereal.  I thought about how the Maasai have no musical instruments, and how their voices replace the need for accompaniment, even with drums.

Just before we reached the church, the students spied a mother dog with a litter of very young puppies, and the minute the bus stopped, most of them went straight to the dogs.  There were 11 puppies in the litter, enough for everyone to hold and cuddle several.  It's been interesting for me to observe how much time the students spend taking pictures of themselves and themselves with animals.  Perhaps they do take photos of other people and the scenery, but if so, I haven't seen them do it.  It's selfies and groups making strange faces and gestures for the most part.  Their whole worldview centers so tightly on themselves that I wonder if even the intensity of these months can shake and break down some of their self-obsession.  And, I should not get started on the topic of how entitled some students feel:  they will argue that they deserve an "A" even though they do not do excellent work.  I'm not a sciologist, but I think that there is far too much emphasis on making a child believe he/she is "special" even if he/she is a perfectly lovely yet ordinary child.

Sunday night, after we had returned from Longido, one of the host families had all of us to their home for a dinner party.  It was a lavish affair with tables set up in the courtyard and a catered buffet dinner.  We all enjoyed the excellent food, happy conversations, and eventually dancing.  The family's Bibi (grandmother) even pulled me into the dancing, and we did a bit of bootie shaking together. Then, in honor of a student's birthday, there was an elaborate cake--a really exceptional way to end a very, very, generous gift of friendship.

Buffet line

At our tables

Birthday girl and cake

The cake!

Ready to dance

Dancing with the chefs

Now, we're half way through another week in Arusha, and on Friday morning, we will leave on safari for  five days.  Having visited many game parks in several different countries, I'm not so interested in seeing more of the same animals again as I am in watching how excited and happy the students are when they see their first giraffes, lions, zebras, and wildebeests.  Our travel agent here somehow manages to book us in Serena hotels, which are the top lodges at the parks, so the students get a few days of true luxury, too.  It must seem like a fairy tale come true to them.

For now, I will focus on eradicating the last vestiges of the cold I have had this week.  I want to be at my best when we leave for Ngorongoro Friday morning.

Swahili Women

I don't think I should make a generalization about what Americans think when they see a Muslim woman covered in black from head to toe, but I will venture that most, if not all, of us do not think of liberated or feminist.  However, the Swahili women of Zanzibar are some of the strongest and most independent women there are.  Our students are often surprised to find that many of their host mothers live without a husband at home and have often divorced two or three husbands.  Even Fahdila divorced her first husband, though she has never told me why or any details of that first marriage.  The only reason a Swahili woman will stay in an unhappy marriage is if she has not accumulated enough of her own property to live independently.

Take Fahdila for example.  She lives in a very nice upper-middle class home with her children while her husband, Hamad, works over  on the mainland and returns home maybe only one or two weekends a month.  When this house was built 5 or 6 years ago, a small shop was built right in front of the compound wall so that Fahdila could operate an auto parts business, specializing in front ends.
In addition, before she married Hamad, she had also built a very nice house, which she owns herself and rents out for extra income.  And now, she has opened a new restaurant near the airport to cater to the airport workers and the President of Zanzibar, who leaves and returns from a special building right behind her cafe.  Since he is a diabetic, Fahdila makes his fruit juices without any added sugar.  She never stops thinking about possible new capital ventures and ways of increasing her personal wealth and prestige.

Fahdila's auto parts shop

At The Executive Chef

At first, I thought Fahdila was uniquely loud when she spoke to people or called to the dadas, but I have since learned that many Swahili woman come close to top decibel levels when they engage in animated conversation.  When we ride on the SUZA bus for our weekly field trips, the female faculty sit clear up front by the driver, while John and I usually sit in the first row of passenger seats.  Before long, my head rings with the assault of the incredibly high volume of the women's discussions.  They absolutely shriek back and forth at each other.  Yesterday, as Fahdila drove me downtown for SUZA's "graduation" for our students, she was animatedly telling me about the troubles she has had this week, and her voice was so loud, I wanted to hang my head out the window to escape the ear pain.  These women are not at all meek and quiet.

Zainab, the SUZA Swahili program coordinator

SUZA faculty

A host mother

No doubt there are many nuances and unique traits in the behavior of Swahili women that I have not noticed, but I now know better than to overlay my western stereotype of male dominated and docile females on them.   If their black bouibouis indicate submission and suppression, that message has not been inculcated into these women's psyches.  They might verbally agree with the conservative Christian view that a man is the head of a woman, but they absolutely do not live subserviently  in their daily lives.  I place them far ahead of many American women in their entrepreneurial drive, personal independence, and social assertiveness.  They are definitely bodacious!