Arusha, Tuesday, January 24, 2017

John and Ron decided that they would spend the majority of the day visiting Shanga-Shangaa, a coffee plantation with a workshop for disabled adults who then market their crafts in a gift shop (www.shanga.org), and the African Cultural Museum, one of the most unexpected sites in Arusha—or maybe in all of Tanzania (http://www.culturalheritage.co.tz). These are very common stops on the tourist circuit, but both are worthwhile in very different ways. Colette and I had very different plans.

Colette wanted to exchange one of the pieces of cloth she had purchased yesterday, and I was eager to see the cloth store she had discovered with her new friend, Mary.  We didn’t leave as early as the men, and we also took a taxi instead of dolla-dollas.  Ray drove us to the Central Market (which side, I can’t say because I never know my directions), and soon all three of us were in a small shop which was stacked lie an overstocked bookstore wall to wall and floor to ceiling with beautiful pieces of cloth. I am definitely peeved that I hadn’t remembered to carry my camera with me.

The Yemeni shop owner watched with amusement as his workers pulled piece after piece from the carefully shelved stacks, and we made comments and asked for others to examine. We discussed the various merits of wax prints versus kitengi cloth, and the colorful Chinese prints, some with glitter in them, which felt a bit like sandpaper. I made three choices and then changed my mind twice before my absolute final selection. Colette exchanged her one piece and then purchased four more. I gave Ray one piece he particularly liked so that his wife could make a dress for herself and a shirt for him. Ray must have thought we were crazy, which in a way we were, but it’s been so long since I was last with Colette that I feel I have to live as much as  possible to make up for all the lost time.

Ray kept our purchases in his car trunk while Colette and I indulged ourselves with lunch at FiFi’s, another decadent cafe catering largely to ex-pats and African businessmen (www.fifistanzania.com).  It was quite full when we got there, but we found a table close to the front door and the breeze and settled in to enjoy ourselves.  I ordered their chicken and chips which came with a large salad (12,000 Tsch = $5.45), and Colette had their mutton curry special (15,000 Tsch = $6.82). I had forgotten how superbly marinated Fifi’s chicken is, so I had a moment of ecstasy when I first tasted it again.

In addition to catching up still more on the past years, we amused ourselves by trying to figure out who the 16 or so wazungu sitting together in a long line of shoved together tables were. Colette guessed German, but I was sure they weren’t, perhaps Swedish, I thought. They certainly were not mission or NGO personnel, but they could have been tourist volunteers, which many people, especially Europeans, seem to become these days. Colette also went to the back section of the cafe to look at the few items of clothing and crafts marketed there.  She returned incensed at both the outrageous prices and the shoddy workmanship of many of the items. As a seamstress herself, she was especially peeved by a small girl’s sleeveless dress, a very plain shift, for $25. I had to agree that given the amount of cloth we had bought for the prices we paid, we could have made dozens of much better dresses for far, far less.

I had the waitress wrap up the chicken I could not eat and called Ray to come and return us to Kundayo. While we waited for Ray, we sat outside in the sidewalk eating area and made comments on all the cloth outfits worn by passing women. I recognized many as patterns we had just seen and was surprised by how good many cloths I had rejected looked on actual women. I have absolutely no ability to imagine material in another form as a finished product.

We got back to Kundayo before the men did and made no attempt to be very detailed in our report of our activities. However, before we went to sleep, I finally confessed to John how much I had spent, and he laughed and laughed since it was less than $35 total. Prices just sound so outrageous when one deals with thousands of schillings all the time. However, the current rate is approximately 2,200 Tsch per $1, so working out the exchange can be a huge relief to someone like me.

Arusha, Monday, January 23, 2017

When we awoke on Monday morning, Ron and Colette were already gone—off to connect with Mary from church and go on a cloth buying spree.  It would never have occurred to me to ask Mary if she were a seamstress and if she would be willing to help me find some good African cloth and sew me a dress, but Colette has a way of connecting and finding out whatever she wants to know.  So, the two ladies went to Mary’s favorite cloth shop and bought beautiful waxes, each 6 yards long. Then, they returned to Mary’s house, where Colette had her measurements taken, and the new dress will be ready by Friday. Here I am in the same women’s group as Mary, and I have been a guest in her house several times, but I had no idea she might be willing to sew a dress for me.

After Ron and Colette returned to Kundayo, she told me all about their morning and how she had bargained with the Yemeni shop owner, and then she brought out her five pieces of cloth and told me to choose one for myself. They were all beautiful, but there was one I liked more than the others, so I chose it even though I worried it might be Colette’s favorite, too. None of the cloth I see today is as rich and gorgeous as the Java waxes we used to get in the Congo, but the prints are pretty and some are very reminiscent of old designs. Today the wax prints I see come from Nigeria, Tanzania, or even China, but no longer Java.

Later in the afternoon, Agape, a former staff person here at Kundayo—my favorite, in fact—came to visit me.  Maso left her go last August when he cut back staff because of lower bookings. I know better than to ask him why he let Agape go instead of Beatrice, but I personally think he made a mistake in doing so. Agape was by far the most mature and helpful staffer, and I am sad that she is now unemployed except for what jobs she can pick up plaiting hair. Agape is grateful that a friend has let her occupy a corner in her store so she has a set place for doing hair. So many good, competent people are having to piece together whatever they can for a livelihood.

The rest of the day was uneventful resting, reading, sending email, etc. For dinner, I heated up the eggplant stew I had made earlier and served that with rice and broccoli. Colette had returned not only with cloth but also with three enormous heads of broccoli and several purple avocados the size of small cabbages. For dessert we all enjoyed John’s signature fruit salad.

Arusha, Sunday, January 22, 2017

Just before 10:00 a.m. I went up on the front veranda to wait until Ray came to take us to church, and there was Noriko Noda, a Japanese woman I had met briefly the Sunday before. At that time we have only exchanged names and told each other what we were doing in Arusha; she is a physics and mathematics teacher in a secondary school outside the city. When I excused myself and said I was going to church, she expressed interest, and I said she could join us the following week if she wished. I hadn’t spoken to her since, so I was surprised that there she was ready to go with us. Since Ray’s taxi couldn’t comfortably take all of us, we had already arranged for a second car, so adding Noriko was easy.

We were some of the very first ones at church, mainly because after all these years, I still take stated times for events as real times. Before more people arrived I took a photo of the flowers up front, as I love the arrangements different people bring. Noriko also decided to take a photo. I hadn’t asked Noriko about any religious affiliation I was pleased that she seemed very at ease.  Gradually the church filled up, and the usual service began.

After the service, everyone always mixes and mingles over coffee or tea out on the brick terrace in front. Of course, there were people with whom Ron and Colette knew or were connected because of their many years in the Congo. Colette spotted on of the members of the women’s group who was wearing a spectacular dress and somehow got into a conversation about cloth and tailoring which lead to an invitation to go shopping the next day. In all my years of knowing Mary, I had never learned that she is an accomplished seamstress and her daughter is an international fashion designer.

As before, Sharon offered to take us somewhere to eat.  Noriko needed to return to Kundayo to work on lessons, but the rest of us decided to try George’s, the place we were last Sunday again. We were joined by another couple and a young woman, Rachel, from Canada who is here working with the only program for autistic individuals that I know of in Arusha. Rachel is also a dancer and gives free ballet lessons to children in her spare time. One of the joys of being here is that there is always someone new and interesting to meet.

Ron, Colette, and John all decided to order the special grilled lamb with mashed potatoes, cooked greens, and a big Greek salad for 30,000 Tsch. The plates were huge as were the servings, so each brought about half of their food home for a meal on Monday.  John was feeling very guilty for spending approximately $15 on his meal, but I asked him where he thought he could get such a dinner at that price at home, and he realized he couldn’t. I myself had modestly ordered one of the build-it-yourself salads, which was so huge, I brought more than half of it home with me. Everyone was having a terrific time and Colette commented on how many little children there were running about. There must have been 20 or more between the ages of toddler to 10 years, and they ran in and out (Georges is completely open on the garden side), playing on the swing set and with each other on the terrace. I had never seen so many families with small children in a restaurant before, and it was lovely to watch.  No one fussed, cried, called for a parent, or threw a fit, and sometimes the bigger children picked up and carried the smaller ones. We were definitely not in America.

It was mid-afternoon before we returned to Kundayo and took naps, after which we spent more time with Ron and Colette, catching up on family news and filling in the details of the years we have been apart. I feel sad that I missed so many years of being more closely connected with Colette, who truly is a remarkable woman.

Arusha, Saturday, January 21, 2017

Saturday was very ordinary with our Wheetabix breakfast special and time trying to get some things done on the internet. I don’t remember many details because we were focused on the arrival of John’s cousin Ron and his wife Colette later in the day. They had been delayed several days so Ron could have some therapy in Nairobi on a broken finger. Finally, soon after 1:00 p.m. they pulled into Kundayo with Evans, our travel advisor friend.  He had driven them all the way down from Nairobi and will drive them back this coming Saturday.

I hadn’t seen Colette for over 40 years and Ron for almost 10, so our reunion was wonderful. Ron has never seemed to change all that much, but Colette has become a very self-assured and formidable woman, whom I instantly liked more than ever. She has had an incredible life, mainly on her own raising 3 children and putting herself through nursing school, while Ron has been off in Africa working as a contractor for the UN or mining companies.  Now she is retired, and Ron works in Guinea, six weeks on and three weeks off, so either he flies “home” to Kansas or Colette flies to Africa, where they meet up for time together. During this three-week time off, they chose to visit us here in Arusha, and we are very happy to be with them again. We share a lot of Congolese and African history and connections with them, which almost no one we know in the States can appreciate.

Once Ron and Colette were settled next to us in apartment W, my former favorite space at Kundayo, we spent the rest of the day talking and having dinner together at the Kundayo restaurant. We have a lot of catching up to do in the next few days.

Friday, January 20, 2017

John needed to do some errands, so he took a dolla-dolla (taxi van) downtown and i agreed to meet him at Africafe at 1:00 for lunch. Usually, I eschew frequenting Africafe since it is an over-priced, Americanized coffee shops always crammed with wazungu. However, I wanted a decent loaf of bread and felt the need to spoil myself on this dreaded inauguration day. So, I called Ray to pick me up just before 1:00, and we headed downtown.

Unfortunately, on the street Ray chose, there was a posse of five or six policemen, one of whom was the same man who had treated Ray so rudely a short time before,  He stepped out into the road and began hassling Ray, who had a paper showing he had paid his fine and had 21 days to fix his tail-light. The policeman grabbed the paper out of Ray’s hand, wadded it up, and threw it into the bushes. Ray couldn’t stay where he was because of traffic, so he pulled through the intersection, parked, and told me to stay put. I was afraid what would happen as Ray walked back toward the group of police, so I got out of the car and made sure to stand very conspicuously beside the street.  There was some shouting and fist-waving between Ray and the policeman, but Ray was able to recover his paper, and we made it to Africafe only a little late. I was so totally steamed by what had happened that I jumped out of the car without paying Ray, but I knew I could make that up on the way back to Kundayo later.

John was waiting for me inside. Surprisingly, the place was fairly empty, and most of the patrons were African.  Perhaps this is another indication of how much Tanzania’s tourist industry has fallen recently.  The new government has foolishly sought to gain revenue from higher taxes on safari companies, increased fees to enter game parks, and taxes on all sort of commodities. When Tanzanian safari companies raised their prices to cover these new costs, cancellations poured in. And so while Tanzania suffers, Kenya profits from increased tourist business because of its lower fees and streamlined imports and services for safari companies. No wonder so many people here are upset with President Magafuli.

Once I had settled down, we ordered lunch: John got a chicken salad, and I ordered a cheese, ham, and mushroom omelet, plus a café au lait.  Africafe has free wifi, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get any connection. This happens more and more around town, so I wonder what is happening with the internet in this area. In addition, after over a week and a couple of visits to deal with the phone company (Tigo), my phone still was not functioning. I can do without most first world conveniences, but being without a phone in Arusha is not acceptable—or safe. So, in spite of being in a relatively posh, western style coffee shop, I was grumpy.

Eventually, John called Ray to come pick us up and went outside to stand on the sidewalk to wait for the car.  Almost immediately he was accosted by Gary, an old friend of one of the Whitworth students who came here with us in 2012 (You know who you are, Kate.) who always seeks to find out what we are doing and how he can help us do it. Ray took a long time coming, so John and Gary had a long conversation before we finally got away. i have little doubt that Gary is a good guy, but it’s difficult to know what to say to, and more important, what to do with all the young unemployed, or under employed, people in a place like Arusha.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were uneventful until about 8:00 p.m. when the ceremony for Trump’s inauguration began.  We can get MSNBC here at Kundayo, so we watched the pageantry, but for me the focus was on the Obamas and how incredibly stoic and controlled they were throughout the swearing in, Trump’s dismal speech, and their departure from the Capitol.  It still seems unreal to me that such capable, decent people are being replaced by a narcissistic, misogynistic, compulsive liar. As a Christian, I think of  scripture such as Galatians 5: 22 - 26 and think that no matter what one may claim as a reason for voting for Trump, they chose to do so in spite of the fact he has never demonstrated that he has any moral center. So I was disconcerted to watch a man who has demeaned women, mocked the disabled, and bragged that he could shoot someone and his supporters would not care take office as the American leader. People here in Tanzania cannot understand why this has happened and often extend their condolences to us. We ended the day on a very sober note.

Arusha, Wednesday, January 18, & Thursday January 19, 2017

Wednesday was a day of waiting.  John’s cousin Ron and his wife, Colette, were scheduled to arrive by bus from Nairobi, but they never showed up. This was nothing to be alarmed by, as schedules are usually quite fluid in Africa.  However, John spent a lot of his day going to the bus drop off point to meet them if they came on the 1:30 or 7:30 p.m. bus. I spent my time at Kundayo doing very little at all.  It’s so odd that in past years we used to think we simply had to go places and see things, but now that we have pretty much covered the Arusha scene, I’d rather sit out in Kundayo’s garden area and read or simply float away in my thoughts. Maybe I am finally getting to the stage where I understand what a vacation means.

Later in the evening, John got an email from Ron telling us that they were delayed in Nairobi because he needed to have some rehab therapy on a finger he had broken in Guinea just before he left there. He hasn’t told us how he broke the finger but there is likely to be an interesting story connected to it, as in his past he has been in a Congo jail as a suspected diamond smuggler and was once kidnapped by an Eastern Congo warlord, held for three weeks, and then inexplicably released. There isn’t much in Central Africa that he hasn’t seen, done, or escaped from. The last time we saw him was almost 10 years ago when he flew down to South Africa to meet us there, so we have a lot of catching up to do.

My day was brightened by the announcement that our women’s group would be meeting on Thursday morning.  That meant that I had to get up a tad earlier than usual and have Ray take me to the Impala Hotel to be picked up there at 9:00. Of course, it was nearly 9:20 before Deborah drove in with another woman, Bethany, who was in town for her monthly shopping. Bethany and her husband live way out in Masai land, where he oversees several small rural clinics.  With the recent dry weather here, I imagine that Bethany lives in a hot dusty place I couldn’t begin to cope with. With no crops growing and livestock suffering, rural people—especially the children—are now beginning to suffer from hunger, and it will only get worse if the rain doesn’t come soon.  I have never met anyone in Tanzania who doubts that climate change is real.  Many live and die by the climate, and they have seen the way in which the rains have changed.

The three of us then went to Grace’s house, the very same house in which I first met this unique group of women. Grace’s husband is a doctor specializing in fertility issues, and after many years in the UK, they decided to return to Tanzania, and he now practices here in Arusha.  So, while Mary gets to live in a lovely big house, she is separated from her grandchildren, all of whom are in the UK now.  The splits and scatterings in international families are often difficult for older parents to handle. Other couples we know have married children living in not only other African countries or Canada, the UK, or the USA, but also India, Malta, and various European countries.
I think it’s bad enough having a daughter and grandchild living in Florida!

Since this was the first group meeting since the big Christmas holiday break as Linda was extremely late getting the announcement sent out, there were only ten of us present.  Still, we had a grand time catching up on news and discussing current events both here in Tanzania and the USA.  There seem to be some unfortunate similarities in what the current Tanzanian president, Magufuli, is doing and what Trump says he will do.  There wasn’t a single woman present who supported either leader. However, there is a fear of speaking out against the Tanzanian president, as he has already put critics and political opponents in jail and threatens to continue to do so. The women kept cautioning, “This is only for inside this room,” when they spoke of current events. And, what they see already happening in Tanzania, they fear will soon happen in America.  To hear this from a group of European, American, and African women, all of whom would likely be categorized as “evangelical Christians” back home, was sobering.

Cheryl, a very snazzy older woman I had never seen before, was also present as she is now in Arusha for a short visit to check on a new school her foundation is building. I didn’t get many details on her, but she and her husband (now dead) used to work in Tanzania, and now she wanders among her several houses doing her version of “good.” 

We were supposed to be studying Psalm 104, a beautiful song about the wonders of nature, but as usual the discussion focused on current issues and pressing social problems.  The lack of rain is paramount in everyone’s mind at the moment, so we heard about which mission stations needed food immediately. Bethany had brought along a box full of beaded animals the women in her area had made to sell for immediate food money. A couple of us bought some of these items, which I thought were nicer than average.  However, selling a few craft items will not solve the problem of adequate food supplies and distribution. The government has been very negligent in keeping emergency food stored, and the situation for both the agriculturalists and pastoralists could be extremely critical very soon.

The woman we had all given money to last year so she could have chemotherapy treatments in Dar is still there but not doing as well as we had all hoped.  Another member, whose daughter was murdered last fall, is now in South Africa fighting a very aggressive form of leukemia. None of the personal news, local news or international news was encouraging, so it was only when attention turned to new grandchildren that several of us now have that the mood lightened. As usual, Grace had prepared a light lunch of mtoke (cooked mashed bananas), aubergine stew, curried beans, avocado and tomato salad, watermelon, and banana bread. Of course, coffee, tea, and fruit juice were also available. Since I am officially scheduled to host this group on February 16, I need to pay attention and make notes on what I will be expected to serve for lunch here.

After our gathering ended, I rode along with Linda Jacobson, the powerhouse behind almost everything, along with Cheryl and a very young woman whose husband is doing a two-month medical rotation here toward Njiro.  Linda stopped at Pik ’n Pay, a small grocery store I had never been in before. It carried the usual assortment of basic goods and the prices seemed reasonable. I didn’t have enough cash with me to buy anything more than some shampoo for John and some curry powder for me. Linda picked up some vile looking white yam chips, which she warned me not to buy.  When I asked why she was buying them, she said she was serving them to guests from the States.

Linda insisted on bringing me clear to Kundayo, so everyone in the vehicle got completely jarred to bits and thoroughly covered in dust.

The rest of the day was all downhill until John ran over to the nearby little hole-in-the-wall cookshack and bought us kuku and chipies  for dinner. I am so glad that there is no health department checking on these open air stands because there is no better chicken on earth.

Arusha, Tuesday, January 17, 2017

I have been trying to watch some of the interregnum action on MSNBC and our wifi connection has been spotty, so I have not written as much for my blog as usual. Here's the latest, however.

During the night, we were disturbed by the sound of large trucks rumbling on the little, dirt road in front of our compound. There were other loud noises as large loads of something was being dumped out onto the ground. This made no sense as our road is so narrow that two cars can barely pass each other without scraping the side walls. Neither of us got up to check what was happening, so it was the next morning before John discovered that large mounds of broken concrete now were strewn here and there on our road. Some of the business owners on Kundayo Road had gotten the discarded concrete from the big highway project near us and brought it to our road as "repavement". They hired men to spread the rocks more evenly on the road surface and said the chunks would eventually break down and make a better covering with less dust. For today, however, driving on it looks like an axle breaking activity to me.

Our paradise has been a bit blighted this year by the huge road construction project taking place nearby. The Chinese are changing a nice, two-lane, tarmac road into a four-lane, divided highway. While this will certainly help with all the truck traffic to and from the airport, it will also make it much more difficult for people to get across the road and cut off many little shops from their customers. What I personally dislike most is that all the lovely green space and landscaping which used to be along the road is now gone and there will be no space in which to replace it. Development and “progress” are often not as wonderful as touted.

The construction also stirs up massive clouds of dust which settles on everything; our computers, dishes, tables, chairs, etc. John came with a bad cough which is now exacerbated by the dust. He won’t wear a mask because it looks threatening to others, so he coughs, and coughs, and coughs. Today, in a effort to get some relief, we had Ray take us out to Njiro, the nearby suburb with a mini shopping mall. I was looking forward to two things we always do at Njiro: shopping at the Village Grocery Store, which carries everything from cupcake papers to Pringles, and eating my favorite chicken saagwala from the Curry Pot.

In the Village Grocery Store, I noted both higher prices and the absence of usual commodities such as curry powder and Pear’s soap. The bakery was still the same with wonderful breads, pastries, and samosas. I had wanted to buy some yogurt, but at $7 a pint, I passed it by. Also, there was no Stoney Tangawizi, so we bought boxed milk, more Wheetabix, bread, jam, gingernuts (cookies), plus a few other items. Another change was that we were to have reusable shopping bags, as they no longer use plastic. While I applaud this change, it meant that we had to buy cloth bags which we cannot use for our garbage at Kundayo. This wasn’t the entertainment shopping that I had been anticipating.

When we went out into the central open area for lunch, we learned that the Curry Pot had closed just a week ago, so there would be no chicken saagwala for me. I was devastated. I love that dish as the C. P. made it more than any other Indian food I’ve ever had. My consolation was that Chinese Whispers, a fairly new establishment in Arusha, now has a branch in Njiro, so I ordered cashew chicken from them. While the food was delicious, I still wished I could have had my saagwala

Arusha, Monday, January 16, 2017

What a lovely day.  I stayed in the Kundayo compound and tried to catch up with my email, read, cook, and do some laundry.  John can’t stay still for long, so he went out on a hunt for a small plunger to use as an agitator when we wash clothes in the 5-gallon bucket.  He ended up needing to go to four or five shops until he found one, but he returned triumphant and did a bucket of socks for us. He was also covered with dust and coughing badly, so he gave in and finally wore a face mask for part of the day.  The nearby road construction and lack of rain have made the air quality here much worse than usual.

I had a lot of difficulty getting into my Hotmail and wasted far too much time trying to solve the problem.  For some reason the wifi here does not like Macs as much as it does PCs, and I finally have to give in and use John’s computer.  I hate that because he always makes remarks about how my wonderful Mac isn’t doing so well. Today my connection seems better.

My only big project was making beef stew for dinner. Because the burners on our stove do not have a genuine low setting, we kept having to turn the burner on and off to keep the pot from boiling all the time. In the end, however, the meat and vegetables turned out perfectly.  Except for occasional quirks in food preparation or cooking, it’s fairly easy to make meals here. We have a lot of stews, often with rice. There is always plenty of wonderful fruit for dessert.

For those of you who have been reading my postings in past years, I have great news. The incredibly LOUD next door neighbor we had in 2015, Marjoline (sp?), showed up here yesterday.  We heard her out on the road long before she entered the gate. We greeted each other and caught up on her NGO which does something with sports for youth. I’ve always suspected it may do more for Marjoline than Tanzanian youth, and indeed she said she had been back and forth to the Netherlands four times last year. I was pleased to notice that she was rather conservatively dressed and not wearing her favorite cut-off jeans with the metal crosses riveted all over. And, I actually felt regret that she was not our neighbor again.

Arusha, Sunday, January 15, 2017

This was the day I had been waiting for since I landed.  Ray was scheduled to pick us up at 10:00 and drive us to Arusha Community Church, a place I love for the incredible mix of people who attend services there. From the moment we arrived, we were greeted by friends we hadn’t seen since last spring and exchanging news about who had returned to their countries, who had just come back from Christmas break, and who was absent because of illness or family issues. The saddest news for me was that my favorite people, Rosemarie and Edward Charles, have retired and gone to Canada. I knew they were considering that, but I thought they would still be here now, and I was looking forward to being with Rosemarie again and learning still more about her incredible life from her birth in a Congo internment camp during WWII through her years in Botswana and elsewhere. Maybe I’ll just go to Canada to see her there.

However, others I have grown to love were there, and I found out that the women’s group will be meeting this coming Thursday. I can hardly wait!  There will be so much to hear about who is doing what and which members need our help.  During my layover in Amsterdam, I was seated next to an elderly woman who was accompanied by a middle-aged couple.  I found out that the woman had lived in Tanzania for decades and three of her four children were born here.  She had been back in Idaho for 6 years, and after her husband died last year, her children decided to bring her back to Tanzania to be with them. Imagine my surprise when at church, I looked across the aisle and there she was again: Elaine Peterson, a legend of sorts here. Most likely, we will meet again on Thursday.

During the time for newcomers to introduce themselves, an older, very tall, rangy woman stood and announced she was Margaret, a vet working with livestock in a very remote place about two and a half hours drive out of Arusha. After the service, I introduced myself to her and told her I had many questions about goats because I might be buying a pair soon. She was obviously a real character and told me all sorts of facts I should have written down. Later, the friend who had invited us to go out to lunch with her also invited Margaret, so we had a lot more time to chat then. Margaret had managed to put herself through vet school as a single mother in Oklahoma. She was convinced that God was calling her to mission work, but that never panned out until she retired a few years ago and managed to hook up with an NGO working in Tanzania. I have a feeling she is self-supporting, so she is literally paying to live out in the most rudimentary conditions with absolutely no one else to talk with in English. No wonder she is willing to put in 5 hours of rough driving in order to attend church at least once a month.

There were several incredible “small world” moments.  The first was when we were introduced to the young couple sitting behind us and realized that the young man, Tarek, is the son of very close friends we had in Evanston during John’s graduate studies at Northwestern. Tarek immediately took selfies to send back to his parents. He and his wife, Laura, who is a dentist, have been in Arusha for nine months and will be returning to the States soon. They also joined us for lunch, so we caught up even more with events since we were in Evanston.

The second “small world” moment occurred when Tarek mentioned that a man we have known here for several years is the brother of John’s second cousin’s husband. Don’t laugh. This is important Mennonite connection information. I’ve often said that there is no place on earth where two Mennonites can meet and not find some connection between them. So finding out that John’s mother’s cousin John’s daughter was married to Wayne’s brother was a big deal.

Our friend Sharon took us to George’s Tavern, a place where we had never been before. We sat outside on the veranda and enjoyed a beautiful setting. I, of course, choked when I saw the prices, e.g., 18,000 TZSch for a pizza, but John brought me back to my senses by pointing out that is less than $9.  So, I ordered a lovely pizza with ham, mushrooms, olives, and green peppers, and John had a build-it-yourself salad with a Greek theme. Not only was the food delicious, but the portions were ridiculously huge. John’s salad was in a bowl almost a large as the one I use with my KitchenAide mixer, and Papa Murphey would have classified my pizza as large. We brought home more than half of our servings and had two more meals. As John made sure to tell me that was all for less than $18 with drinks included.

I’m peeved that John didn’t take his camera with us, as mine is too big and hunky to take to church.  As always the flowers were beautiful and the banners creative and colorful. Perhaps we can get some of the photos that Tarek and Sharon took and share them later. It was a marvelously good day, even better than what I had anticipated.

Arusha, Saturday, January 14, 2017

We are both still struggling with debilitating jet lag, which has seemed to become worse as we age.  John fights falling asleep any time he sits down, and I struggle with being unable to sleep either during the night or day. Either way, we misspeak, misread, and just plain fall to stay focused. I’m hoping this will all be behind us by the middle of the coming week.

This morning, we had our beloved Wheetabix and sliced banana breakfast, as well as some mango jam on toast. Then we sat outside and pretended we were working on email and other computer activities while we were really just zoning out and enjoying the garden terrace. Around 10:00, I reminded John that Ray had mentioned that he’d like to look at some more refrigerators, so we called him and were soon on our way downtown again. It soon became obvious that Ray wanted a refrigerator delivered before 1:00 p.m. because his two oldest children, Priskilla and Good Luck, were leaving for their boarding schools in the afternoon, and he wanted them to see their mother’s surprise before they left.

Ray had another appliance store he wanted to check out, and while it had a really lovely little refrigerator within our budget, John did a quick check and found out that the brand, Boss, was faulted for compressor problems. So, we returned to Benson’s, and after a bit of opening and shutting doors and comparing freezer compartment sizes, chose a nice little Westinghouse with a 2-year guarantee and free delivery. Ray was so proud as the workers took the refrigerator out and loaded it on their truck.  He gave directions to his house, and we all took off for the delivery.

The shiny bubble of happiness was soon partially deflated by a policeman who stopped Ray and yelled at him about his taillights. Maybe Ray was in violation, but the policeman was very, very aggressive and rude and seemed set on embarrassing Ray in front of the wazungus (us). When a bystander made a comment of some sort, the policeman leapt toward him, throttled him round the throat, and shook him angrily. At that point, I had had enough, so I got out of the car—John was in a shop and couldn’t stop me—and walked toward the policeman and said, “You are not being polite.” Tanzanians place a high value on politeness and respect, so I just kept saying, “You are not being polite” over and over until he left. Poor Ray was incredibly upset. I gave him the 30,000 TZsch he needed for the fine (less than $15), and we drove off. Shaming people is a way of showing power in this culture, and it is dreadful how hurtful it can be.

When we finally got to Ray’s house, the delivery truck was already parked in front waiting for us. You need to envision a row of small shops with very narrow dirt walkways in between which lead back to a scramble of cement brick “houses” with outside spaces for laundry and cooking here and there.  Ray’s house was an extremely small unit in a sort of quadraplex. In the big front room, which was perhaps 12’ x 12’, there were bunk beds along one wall, a China cabinet on the opposite wall which also had a window, and then a sofa and three large overstuffed chairs crammed around a coffee table in the middle. As is always the case in respectable households, there were decorative doilies on the backs of the sofa and chairs. While Ray is not at the bottom economically, his poverty always pains me. Think of a family of five living in two very small rooms that the landlord does not maintain, and still maintaining their dignity and hope for a better life in the future.

Anyway, the men carried the refrigerator down between the buildings and placed it just inside the door of the main room. News travels instantly, and soon an aunt and her best friend showed up to observe the big event,  We sat with bottles of ceremonial soft drinks on the coffee table, visiting while we waited for Ray’s wife to return from her errands and discover the big surprise. Poor Honorine. She went into shock, and Ray kept having to tell her what was happening. Then, one of the aunties told us that the electricity had been disconnected from all the homes in Ray’s neighborhood because the landlords haven’t paid their bills. I was poised to shriek and ask what good a refrigerator would be without electricity when Ray told us that it would be carried to a nearby house of a neighbor/friend who has power. The coalition of assistance among the poor always touches me. After we took some photos, most of which did not turn out well, Ray drove us back to Kundayo. As we got out of the car, I leaned up to Ray and told him that no matter what the policeman had said, I knew he was a very good man.  He took my hand and kissed it.

I felt overwhelmed for the rest of the day.  Why do I deserve such riches while people like Ray and his family live in such minimal circumstances? I’m sure that Ray didn’t fully realize that giving the refrigerator gave me as much joy as Honorine felt in getting it. It was a moment of euphoria for all of us. I look forward to learning how she and her women’s cooperative continue to find ways to build more economic power.

Later in the afternoon, the parents of a former Whitworth student’s host family dropped by. The former student, Kate Sowers, had given us some small gifts to pass on to them, so while they and John chatted, I burrowed under our bed to find where I had put things. Finally, I discovered where all had been secreted—Gosh, I am good at hiding things!—and passed on the presents. I loved having another small moment of sharing affection between those of us who have been fortunate enough to become friends with some of the remarkable people here in Tanzania.

Arusha, Friday, January 13, 2017

John arrived late last night, tired but very happy to have made it here so quickly.  he dumped his suitcases on the floor, took a shower, and went to bed immediately.  I stayed up a while longer so I could watch the special ceremony for Joe Biden at the White House.  It was so moving to watch Mr. Biden when President Obama announced that he was giving Biden the Medal of Freedom with Distinction. Of all the possible moments I could see on American TV this week, this ceremony was the very best one. It gave me a moment of pride as an American to see such a good, humble public servant honored in this way as well as a feeling of sorrow that the majority of this next wave of politicians in D.C. have no such devotion to the nation’s common good.

Yesterday evening, while I was reading out on our front veranda, Mama Kundayo, the matriarch of this compound, came floating through the dark to greet me and spend some time visiting. She is one of the most elegant, queenly African women ever, so I felt greatly honored by her presence.  She had brought one of her sons along to translate for her, as she knows very little English. They wanted to know all about our election process and Trump’s election, and asked questions which demonstrated that they pay very close attention to American political news. They were concerned about the Russian meddling in our political process and kept wondering why Americans, who claim to be for honesty and democracy, would vote for such an obvious liar and charlatan, I could only try to explain possible reasons for those who supported Trump, but nothing I posited made any sense to them.  They know firsthand about crazy dictators such as Idi Amin, and it was more than they could imagine that Americans would vote for a person like Trump.

We woke up this morning just before 8:00 a.m. (9:00 p.m. Spokane time) and had breakfast out on the garden terrace. Mason, the son who operates the apartment compound came by to greet John, and then they got into a discussion of what has been happening politically here in Tanzania.  Apparently, the president has now begun jailing opposition MPs and making absurd purchases and investments which are actually unconstitutional. NGOs are beginning to pull out (Good riddance to many of them!), businesses are suffering, and, because the EU has withdrawn development funds and the USA pulled its Millennium Challenge grant, taxes on common Tanzanians have been increased and pension funds plundered to make up the difference. In Maso’s words, “This guy is crazy”! So politics here aren’t all that much better—or worse—than ours at home. It all makes me think of a gospel song people sang during my childhood:
   
    This world is not my home,
    I’m just a’passing through.
    My treasures are laid up,
    somewhere beyond the blue.
    The angels beckon me
    from Heaven’s open door,
    And I can’t feel at home
    in this world anymore.

After breakfast and after John had spent some time on email, Ray came to take us downtown to do some shopping and errands. One of our first needs is always for new SIM cards for the phones we use here. Airtel, the company we have always used in the past, isn’t so reliable anymore, so we got Tigo cards this time.  We’ll see how this works. We also went to the big shopping store Nakumatt for groceries and household items. Prices seem much higher than last year, and I refused to pay the equivalent of $3 for a can of diced tomatoes or $7 for a medium container of yogurt. Most disappointing was that the selection of herbs was so puny. Usually, I can get a huge variety of spices and herbs at very good prices, but not today.  I was tempted to buy a bottle of garlic shampoo, something I had never imaged I would ever see, but it too was quite overpriced. After Nakumatt, we went to the big market for tomatoes, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, carrots and potatoes.  Ray and John did the shopping while I sat in the car and watched the tailors on the sidewalk run their peddle-powered Singer sewing machines. They use no patterns and yet turn out incredibly well made clothing. Our last stop was at the one and only Meat King, where we bought some hamburger, stew meat, chicken parts, and butter.  The beef here is excellent and a good bargain for us, but I won’t even mention what we had to pay for butter. Apparently, butter hasn’t been making it into the country lately for unknown reasons.

I had brought Ray a hair clipper so he can do his own family’s haircuts. Honorine will also get a BIG surprise very soon. She doesn’t know that Ray and I have conspired to buy her a small refrigerator. John and Ray already began some comparison shopping at Nakumatt and Benson’s this morning, and they’ll probably look at another store or two tomorrow. Honorine belongs to a women’s business co-op, in which the members pool part of their earnings to help each other invest and earn more.  With a refrigerator, Honorine will add selling ice cream to the candy and other treats she already sells to school children. Ray says she will be extremely excited. What fun that will be.

While we were parked outside of Benson’s, Arusha’s best electronics and appliance store, a very loud boisterous crowd came pouring down the street. At first I thought it was some sort of political rally or protest, but it soon became apparent that a thief had been caught and the crowd was viciously beating him. A few years ago, in a similar situation in Dar es Salaam, the crowd proceeded to necklace the thief and burn him to death right in front of the big World Vision offices.  I was so incensed that none of the WV personnel had tried to intervene that I vowed to do so if I were ever present at a similar event. However, just as I was thinking about exactly what to say, Ray came back to the car and told me it was okay and I should stay put. John had gone closer to see exactly what was happening and reported that police were present, so we knew at least the man would not be killed though badly beaten. I’m still wrestling with my conscience, however. Perhaps the intervention of an enraged, elderly, white lady screaming, “Stop! Jesus forgave a thief”! might have had some beneficial effect.

Driving in and out of Kundayo is a real challenge, as everything is dug up and extremely rough because of the road construction on Moshi Road, the main highway from Dar es Salaam to Kenya. There is now no way I will ever be able to walk to Phillip’s Corner, our nearest grocery store. There are no lane markers or any discernible lanes in  some places, so I have n idea how Ray knew where it was safe to drive.  Maybe he didn’t, and we were just lucky. The dust is horrendous!

My stomach began complaining on the flight to Amsterdam, so I’ve been mainly on a bland diet of tea, toast, and, for lunch today, ramen noodles.  Soon after 4:00, we went over to the garden terrace to connect with wifi and have our first late afternoon beverages.  John always orders Stoney Tangawise, and since there was no Passion Fruit Fanta, I went with Bitter Lemon. Ray came back with a recharging cord—or should I say cords?—for my phone since somehow the original cord had gone missing since last year.

The dueling public address systems began soon after 4:00, and not only were two pentecostal churches vying for the loudest music but there was also a van driving around blaring out some sort of political announcement. It was a aural over seasoned stew.  (At least the usual early holy risers haven’t been heard from at 5:00 a.m. yet.) At 6:00 p.m. we ordered dinner from the kitchen: chicken peanut stew and greens, rice for me, and ugali (manioc goop) for John. As usual we were told our food would be ready in 45 minutes, and also as usual, Emmanuel showed up with it more than an hour and a half later. It’s nice when life is so predictable.

This is the usual sign at the corner where one turns onto Kundayo Road.

This is what it looks like now at the entrance to Kundayo Road.

This is the Moshi Highway going toward Phillip's Corner.

Back in Arusha, 2017

Arusha, Thursday, January 12, 2017

This has not been our usual trip from Spokane to Arusha. For some reason, I simply did not monitor my packing as carefully as usual and made no lists of what I had packed in which suitcase.  So, I soon began to think of items I had undoubtedly left behind, e.g., tennis shoes, a glasses repair kit, extra plastic containers, and on and on. I did pack enough clothing this time and plenty of insect repellent, so we’ll be fine.  I may even be able to buy some of the “luxury” items I’d like at Nakumatt later this week.

Because of the heavy show in Spokane, we had Luke drive us out to the Ramada Inn at the airport so we would be sure to make out flight Tuesday morning at 9:20 a,m, That all went well, and we had plenty of time the next morning to get ready, have a nice breakfast, and get to the airport far ahead of time—which turned out to be absolutely crucial.  John had never heard of the rule that one must have at least 6 months of validity left on a passport to travel to Tanzania, as well as many other countries. In all our years of flying all over, we had never heard of this, and since John had only exactly 5 months left on his passport, Delta would not check him in to Arusha even though they had supposedly checked his passport when they sold us our tickets. John went all banty rooster berserk for awhile, and called up the Delta chain of command to no avail. He could not understand why they had sold him a ticket they clearly knew they would not honor. To make his dilemma all the more maddening, he could not find his phone and had to rely on the kindness of the Delta counter crew to make his calls. Things only got worse, when one of the security men told John to leave his carry on luggage with his daughter (me), while he returned to check in his big suitcase, which he had been told would be “pink ticketed” at the gate and carried on. More erroneous directions from Delta.

Finally, we decided that I would fly all the way by myself, and John would go as far as Seattle and then apply for an expedited passport there.  So, after, some repacking and checking in separately, we were off.  John went with me to my gate in Seattle and then left for downtown and the immigration office.  My flight to Amsterdam, while tedious, was the usual: reading and eating an unusual amount of snacks and meals.  I lost count.  My seatmate was a young man from Hawaii who was flying to Nuremberg to lead a course on how to maintain Striker vehicles for the Army.  He had been in Iraq but is now a private contractor and makes much more money. We talked about the privatization of the military and how while it avoids the problems that come with recruiting or a draft, it costs the taxpayers much more. I was surprised that he also expressed concern about what might happen under the new administration.

During the hours I was in air, John had rushed to downtown Seattle to find the immigration office and see how to get an expedited passport so he could be on a plane on Wednesday.  Fortunately, this process did not take endless hours though it did cost a pretty penny.  Better yet, as the security staff was searching John’s luggage before he entered the offices, they found his missing cell phone, right in his shaving kit, where any man would stow his phone. Once, John got his new passport, he called Rob and Carol Wilson, friends in Seattle, to see if they would rescue him for the night. Of course they did, so it was almost as if John was rewarded for messing up our day so amazingly.

No one does better with disabled services than the KLM staff at Amsterdam, and they aren’t even allowed to take tips. Their professionalism and diligence always impress me.  So, I had no problem at all getting from my arrival to departure gates. Once on the plane again (Why do we say “the plane”?), I found I was fortunate fortune enough to be in a row of three seats with no one in the middle.  Better yet, my seat mate was a retired elementary school principal from Massachusetts, who was going on a 12-day African safari.  She was lovely, and we soon found out that we were both distressed about Trump, against charter schools, and concerned about the inequity among public school budgets. Also, it was good for me to be with someone who was obviously very excited about going to game parks since I have become so weary and jaded about them.

We arrived at the Kilimanjaro International Airport soon after 9:00 p.m. which meant it was 
7:00 or 8:00 a.m. (I still haven’t figured this all out again) in Spokane. Then, the long, sweaty visa process began.  Since we no longer have valid multiple-entry visas, I had to get in the long line for a new tourist visa. All one has to do is fill out a simple form and pay $100, but the waiting seemed never ending. I spent my time in line chatting with a young French couple who were coming to Arusha to climb Mount Meru, not Kilimanjaro. Mount Meru is right behind us here in Arusha, and while it is not at high at Kilimanjaro, it is reputed to be more difficult to climb.

Finally, we reached window #1, paid our $100 (a crisp new bill is necessary), and then were told to go to window #2.  What?  I could see no reason for another wait in line, but there was nothing else to do.  Slowly we progressed to the window, and the man there took our photo and put a sticker visa form in our passports and told us to go to window #3. Good grief! By this time I was dripping in sweat and likely smelling like a septic tank cleaner. The wait for window #3 was shorter than at the first two, so after the man there looked all through our passports, as had the previous two, and then stamped them, we were free to go retrieve our luggage.  I had my carry-on and an additional two big, very heavy suitcases, but as usual, a nice young man helped me get the big ones onto a luggage cart, and I was set to leave. But wait! We now had to go  through a scanner before we exited.  This machine had never been operational any other time we’ve come through this airport and should have been used for scanning incoming luggage, not outgoing.  I was knew I could not sling my luggage up on the table, so I beckoned over a young Tanzanian airport worker and told him I’d give him $5 if he lifted up my suitcases for me. He was super happy to both lift them up, put them through the scanner, and then reload my cart. I was super happy to have that handled so well. And, no one paid any attention to what did or didn’t go through the scanner anyway. I decided that all those windows and the scanner must be part of some new employment program since almost none of it had any other possible purpose.

In spite of the long, hot wait in lines and the ridiculous scanner procedure, I still love this airport, as the Tanzanians are uniformly polite, well-intentioned, and honest.  More remarkable for  an African airport, we never have to worry about our luggage being rummaged through or stolen before we retrieve it. For me the airport sets the tone for our stay in Arusha: One should never expect everything to work quickly, but in general everyone does their best and means well.

Ray and his wife and children were waiting for me outside. It was wonderful to see them again, and there were greetings and hugs all around.  Anita and Good Luck hung on to me, and Priskilla presented me with an elaborate arrangement of roses.  Of course, they were very surprised that John was not with me, but Ray will go back to the airport to get him tonight. On the ride into Arusha, I caught up on the children’s school activities and the general political and economic situation for the common people in Tanzania.  Ray’s perspective is that the President is doing his best to clean up corruption and reform many agencies, but it is slow going again entrenched bureaucracy. Economically, things are tight for the general citizens, while the wealthy are doing very well.  I told Ray that this is much the same in America, too. Ray then expressed his condolences for the Trump election.  People here cannot figure out why America, the supposed land of equality and democracy, would elect such an obvious liar and charlatan. They are concerned about how this will affect the global economy and international relations.

It was very late when we arrived at Kundayo. The highway project the Chinese have been working on for several years has now reached its absolutely most disruptive stage right at the entrance of Kundayo Road, so driving in was like navigating an obstacle course. It was probably good that it was too dark for me to see the full extent of the chaos. I have no idea how we are going to walk out to the main road and catch Dolla-dollas or walk down to the road to Phillips Corner and the Impala Hotel. I’ll leave all that for John to figure out once he is here.

Maso was waiting for me, but there was no welcome by the staff as there has been in the past. (I sense that there may be some downsizing of the staff, as I found out at breakfast that Agape, my favorite staff member, is no longer here.) I was so addled by the time I got into our apartment that I couldn’t figure out what I was doing and mulled through all my suitcases with no particular plan in mind.  Finally, I quit whatever I was doing, took a shower, and went to bed soon after 3:00 a.m,. I slept until nearly 9:00 and then got up, dressed and went for my complimentary breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, fruit juice, and coffee.

I tried to connect to wifi during breakfast without any success, so I couldn’t let John know that I have arrived successfully.  I’ll try again soon, but something is not functioning correctly at the moment. I was miraculously able to figure out the TV remotes correctly and now have MSNC on. I’ve just learned that Donald Trump wouldn’t have had carnal relations in Russia because he is a “germaphobe.” I am very happy to be out of country at the moment.

We have once again been placed in Apartment S, the same one we were in last year.  I prefer the apartment next door, apartment W, but John thinks the steps up to the bathroom are too dangerous for me to use.  This apartment does have the advantage of having a table and chairs on the front terrace, which is great for visits, so I’m satisfied with this placement. However, this year, the always minimal kitchen and cooking utensils are more minimal than ever.  Since things had been fairly decent last year, I didn’t bring some items such as a funnel or extra plastic containers, which are not here at all this year. We have only two plates, three drinking glasses, and several mismatched bowls, plus a small skillet and two small cooking pans. As alway I brought a can opener, vegetable peeler, and assorted spoons, knives and forks from the thrift shop, but I did not bring a funnel, small plunger (for laundry), and a good paring knife, all of which I need to operate well. We’ll have to see what we can find in town.

I am now so fuzzy headed I need to stop writing and find some other way for staying awake during the day here while it’s night back in Spokane.