Arusha, Saturday, February 4, 2017

This morning I ate another kitumbua, and there is still one more left for tea time this afternoon. (Notice: ki- for singular, vi- for plural) While we ate our Wheetabix, Lawrence O’Donald came on MSNBC and reported that a Washington State federal judge—a GW appointee—had ruled that Trump’s immigration ban was unconstitutional and was immediately suspended. We had a wonderful surge of state pride!  While we are happy to be as far removed as we are from US politics at the moment, we still get enough news on our TV to keep us incredulous at the antics of Trump. Making a high level decision for a disastrous strike in Yemen over dinner with a few friends instead of in the Situation Room with a top level advisors, draws no criticism from those in Congress who screamed “Benghazi” year after year. The Emperor is dancing nude, and no one is stepping forward to confine him to a padded room. Where are the checks and balances? Maybe in Washington State.

This was not going to be a day of outings and adventures. Instead, I put on the shoes I had bought from Rebecca, and John and I took off on a walk in our neighborhood. Kundayo Road winds through a nice and very diverse neighborhood.  There are little shops and bars along the way, and the further back one goes, the more one sees large walled compounds around big, fancy houses. This is a walk I have often taken in past years, so today I paid attention to which shops had been newly painted and what sort of new construction was going on. There is another large compound crowding against my favorite vegetable garden now, and several sheds have been repainted.  Otherwise, all is much the same.

Traditional brooms, charcoal, and charcoal burners

Newfangled painted brooms

Except, I noticed a terrible increase in the number of trees which had had their branches loped off for fire wood. Some very old trees are entirely gone, and many other have been severely amputated. This is a sure sign of both increasing urban population and higher prices for ever more scare wood. Someday, the lovely woods behind us will be completely gone.

 Butchered tree

 

As we reached the farthest point of the walk, I heard someone calling my name. It was Rebecca, who was on her way to market.  All the little neighbor boys stopped to see the mzungu and local lady greet each other. Rebecca and I had a conversation about the elaborate doilies ladies here put on their sofas and chairs, and she promised to bring me some samples later in the day.  (Which she did.)

On the way back to Kundayo, we stopped at one of the small shops, where I had seen some homemade fabric purses for sale. I looked through them and then asked the shopkeeper how much one of the larger ones was. I’m not very good with Swahili, so when he told me the price, I assumed I had misunderstood and asked John to ask again for me. The guy really had said 7,000 Tsch. ($3.20) instead of 17,000, so I didn't even bother to bargain and bought the purse. John took our picture together to celebrate the deal.

Once we were back at Kundayo, one of the two Dutch men I have disparaged in the past came to me with a problem.  He had been told that I have been here often and wanted to know how to treat the tsetse fly bites his partner had suffered while they were pursuing elephants at Tarangire yesterday. John, who was sitting at another table started laughing, so I explained to Martin that I am the most allergic person in the world to tsetse fly bites and had lots of things they might want to try. I warned him that it takes me about three weeks to recover from these bites, so they should not expect an instant recovery. He was tremendously grateful for what I could give him. So, now I am really sorry I had remarked on his babe-in-the-woodsness.