Arusha to Spokane, March 20 - 21, 2018, Tuesday -Wednesday
It rained all night. As soon as I woke up, I texted Elizabeth, and later she called to say she was still in Arusha, but planned to return to Nmanga as soon as possible. She thought she might get to Kundayo before we left, but Ray arrived early and we left before 10:00. I left some money in an envelope with Mazo, who promised to give it to Elizabeth if she showed up. While we were on our way to the airport, Elizabeth called and we got to say good-bye once again. What a torturous journey she had just to give me her special gift.
All the way to the airport, I tried to soak in everything I saw along the way. It was a very gray, wet morning, but the colors of the foliage, flowers, kitenge clad women, street vendors, small dukas and bars, and even the pikki-pikki drivers brightened the landscape. This stretch of road is very familiar now. Going from the airport to Arusha, I note the landmarks and think about how close we are getting to Kundayo; on the reverse trip, I see the same scenes and think about how long it will be until I see them again.
Saying good-bye to Ray for another nine months is always hard. He and his family have become very important to us. I heard him tell an Italian guest at Kundayo that we treat him just like a son, and we are his children’s Bibi. And, he told us that when he labels Goodluck’s school clothes, he writes “Goodluck Mtui Yoder.” That really made me laugh.
Checking in and flying to Dar es Salaam wasn’t difficult, and even though I hate the airport in Dar, I managed our 3-hour lay-over there okay. We had lunch at some western style fast food place, and the food was just as crappy and over-priced as we should have expected it to be. Then, finally we boarded our Emirates’ flight to Dubai, where we landed at 11:00 p.m. (I watched the movie “Darkest Hour” and didn’t think it was all that great.) Then, we had to navigate through the largest airport I have ever seen and catch a shuttle bus to our hotel. Because I had wheelchair assistance, there was no problem getting to and through all the check points. It was just after midnight, when we checked in to the hotel, which was much nicer than the one we had stayed in on our trip to Tanzania. I decided to go straight to bed, as our wake-up call would come at 4:00 a.m. John decided to go to the hotel’s restaurant because they were serving our complimentary dinner until 12:30 a.m. I was barely awake when he came back to the room, and I have no memory at all of him getting ready for bed, etc.
The wake-up call came cruelly soon, and we were quickly up, dressed, and ready to board the shuttle back to the airport. We were actually there much earlier than we needed to be, but the hotel and shuttle service must have a set schedule for who goes when. Because I need wheelchair assistance, navigating the necessary security stops and getting to our correct gate was all done for us, but John had to hustle to keep up with our carry-on luggage. Soon we were back on another Emirates flight; this one would last for 14 hours.
There is little good I can say about such a long flight, especially when one is seated right behind a whole row of mothers with screaming babies. I felt sorry for the mothers, but also for myself since sleep was impossible. Anyway, here are some good things I can list: the food was much better flying out of Dubai to Seattle than it was flying out of Seattle into Dubai; the bathrooms were close by and there was never a line; we got lots of water and juice between meals; and I got to watch the entire season 8 of “The Middle.” (Maybe that last item doesn’t quite deserve being on the “good” list.) I tried to get up and walk about every so often, but by mid-flight my legs were aching, and my wicked ankle was throbbing. There ought to be an international law prohibiting flights of more than 9 hours unless the airplane has an onboard gym and walking path. I did not even get a small nap during the entire flight.
We landed on time in Seattle, and then had the bizarre, ridiculous, and absolutely unbelievable experience of being in a stampede of Indians pushing to get to the wheelchairs. I have never, ever in my life seen so many wheelchairs lined up in a boarding ramp, and later I viewed many more down an adjoining hallway. John agrees that there may have been 50 or 60 or even more of them all with attendants. Fortunately, we had been seated in the economy section closest to the exit door, so I was in front of most of the stampede. The person in charge of the wheelchairs kept trying to stop people from just climbing into them as fast as they could, but traffic control was impossible. My attendant quickly pulled me to the side and race up the ramp with me. Then, he called out that I was a “transfer” and maneuvered to the front of the increasing line behind me. Still, because the way down to the passport check has only one single-passenger elevator, it took a while for me to get down to where John was waiting for me to go through the passport/customs security check. I almost fell apart laughing when I thought how long it would be until all of those many wheelchairs got down that one elevator. They were probably still in line when our flight left for Spokane.
The young man who pushed my chair was amazingly quick and efficient, so we got our baggage collected and rechecked on to Spokane in relatively short time. This was in spite of the Emirates practice of piling part of the baggage on the floor instead of allowing it all to come down the rotating claim belt. Still, John and my pusher managed to gather our three suitcases very efficiently, and we were soon off through the baggage recheck and another security check. Then on to the gate, where we had a 3 hour wait. I had a small fit about that, but John had feared we wouldn’t make the earlier flight to Spokane. So, we got salads from Burger King and recharged our computers.
The 38-minute flight to Spokane seemed almost silly it was so short. We landed; Kate picked us up; and we were back in our house by 5:00 p.m. I was exhausted and went straight to bed as quickly as possible. John, however, stayed up for a while and began some unpacking. After sleeping for 16 hours, we were up and doing our best to stay awake all day Wednesday here. I did loads of laundry; John sorted through all the mail that had accumulated; and somehow we did not nap at all. Now it’s almost 7:00 p.m. and we think we will watch the Gonzaga vs. Florida State game. I hope I find out the final score before tomorrow morning.
Monday, March 26, 2018
Last Supper
Arusha, April 19, 2018, Monday
Our last day in Spokane was full of all the last-minute errands and tasks we had left to, well the last minute. After our Last Breakfast of Weetabix with banana slices and toast with mango-passion fruit jam, I worked on packing the large box of items we leave behind at Kundayo for our next visit. Somehow it seemed fuller this year than it had been before. I’m not sure what we might have added—maybe more kitchen items.
Elizabeth called say she was coming all the way down from Nmanga to see me again before we left. I thought perhaps she’d be with us for lunch, but when she didn’t arrive by 2:00 p.m., we just ate all of our leftovers by ourselves. Coconut beef stew and 2 Russian sausages were a bit weird together, but that’s what there was. Eric and Bernice Rowberg were coming for dinner in the evening, so we knew we’d have a decent meal then.
Around 4:00 p.m. Elizabeth called again. She was on her way, but the heavy rain had caused flooding in her shop, and she had had to clean up a lot before she could leave. Then, there was water over the road and bridges in some places, so she was being very delayed. When the Rowbergs came at 6:00p.m., we sat out on the terrace with drinks—juice for John and Bernice and Mama’s bottle of wine for Eric and me. Everyone except me was bundled in sweaters and jackets because of the cool, wet weather. Elizabeth called again and said she was still on her way and would arrive soon. So, I ordered dinner for her, too. Just before we went into the dining area to eat, Elizabeth arrived. Introductions were made, and we went for dinner.
It turned out that because Elizabeth had worked with World Vision for a short time on the issue of FGM among the Masai, she and Bernice had met before and semi-knew each other. That made for a great time at dinner with conversation alternating between English and Swahili, with Bernice joining in more than I had ever seen before. She’s usually more quiet and observant, but I knew there was a very capable and interesting person inside. We had cream of vegetable soup to begin with and then whatever entree one wanted, plus Swahili salad. The table specially decorated with flowers and candles, making it feel like a very special occasion.
The rain continued, so after dinner, the Rowbergs offered to give Elizabeth a ride to the bus park. She was set on returning to Nmanga yet that night. First, she gave me the “surprise” she had come so far to deliver: a dress made out of Masai shuka (the cloth they wrap in). She had chosen a very dark blue and black small plaid, which is more elegant than the red ones. And, there was a tiny little matching dress for Peri as well. It was very generous of her.
I was very worried about Elizabeth traveling so far so late in the evening, but she was sure she’d be fine and left with the Rowbergs. An hour or so later she called saying she could not find a bus back to Nmanga after all and would have to stay somewhere in Arusha overnight. It was still pouring rain. I was so glad I had given her my last schillings for transportation so she had that for lodging. Still I worried about her all night.
Our last day in Spokane was full of all the last-minute errands and tasks we had left to, well the last minute. After our Last Breakfast of Weetabix with banana slices and toast with mango-passion fruit jam, I worked on packing the large box of items we leave behind at Kundayo for our next visit. Somehow it seemed fuller this year than it had been before. I’m not sure what we might have added—maybe more kitchen items.
Elizabeth called say she was coming all the way down from Nmanga to see me again before we left. I thought perhaps she’d be with us for lunch, but when she didn’t arrive by 2:00 p.m., we just ate all of our leftovers by ourselves. Coconut beef stew and 2 Russian sausages were a bit weird together, but that’s what there was. Eric and Bernice Rowberg were coming for dinner in the evening, so we knew we’d have a decent meal then.
Around 4:00 p.m. Elizabeth called again. She was on her way, but the heavy rain had caused flooding in her shop, and she had had to clean up a lot before she could leave. Then, there was water over the road and bridges in some places, so she was being very delayed. When the Rowbergs came at 6:00p.m., we sat out on the terrace with drinks—juice for John and Bernice and Mama’s bottle of wine for Eric and me. Everyone except me was bundled in sweaters and jackets because of the cool, wet weather. Elizabeth called again and said she was still on her way and would arrive soon. So, I ordered dinner for her, too. Just before we went into the dining area to eat, Elizabeth arrived. Introductions were made, and we went for dinner.
It turned out that because Elizabeth had worked with World Vision for a short time on the issue of FGM among the Masai, she and Bernice had met before and semi-knew each other. That made for a great time at dinner with conversation alternating between English and Swahili, with Bernice joining in more than I had ever seen before. She’s usually more quiet and observant, but I knew there was a very capable and interesting person inside. We had cream of vegetable soup to begin with and then whatever entree one wanted, plus Swahili salad. The table specially decorated with flowers and candles, making it feel like a very special occasion.
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| L - R: Eric, me, John, Bernice, Elizabeth |
The rain continued, so after dinner, the Rowbergs offered to give Elizabeth a ride to the bus park. She was set on returning to Nmanga yet that night. First, she gave me the “surprise” she had come so far to deliver: a dress made out of Masai shuka (the cloth they wrap in). She had chosen a very dark blue and black small plaid, which is more elegant than the red ones. And, there was a tiny little matching dress for Peri as well. It was very generous of her.
I was very worried about Elizabeth traveling so far so late in the evening, but she was sure she’d be fine and left with the Rowbergs. An hour or so later she called saying she could not find a bus back to Nmanga after all and would have to stay somewhere in Arusha overnight. It was still pouring rain. I was so glad I had given her my last schillings for transportation so she had that for lodging. Still I worried about her all night.
Farewell to ACC
Arusha, March 18, 2018, Sunday
It was the best of days; it was the most difficult of days. ACC had asked me to give the sermon for this morning, and though I had carefully prepared, I was still quite anxious about how things would go. Not only would what I was going to say be acceptable but also if I’d fall flat on my face as I climbed up the steps to the pulpit platform. I didn’t want to rely on John to help me up, so I was on my own. Fortunately, all went well. I didn’t stumble and fall; I didn’t have any blank moments; and I stayed within the time frame of 15-20 minutes. What surprised me was that the congregation clapped at the end. I’d not seen that happen before, and my first thought was that they were as relieved as I that I have managed to get through it without a major flub. The two comments I liked best were one from a Catholic sister who said, “Now, that was a real homily.” (I’ll have to find out more of what a homily means to Catholics.) The other best comment came from Africans who told me that they could understand everything I said because I enunciate clearly and speak at a moderate speed. As, I told a friend, that’s the pay-off from all of the years I spent teaching international students.
After church people dispersed more quickly than usual because of rain. It wasn’t really raining, just spitzing, but it looked as if it would pour any minute. Deborah and Joe Troester asked if we wanted to go to lunch with them, and of course we did. So, they drove us our to the Njiro Mall to eat at Whispers, the best Chinese restaurant in Arusha. Being with the Troesters was bitter sweet, as they are being reassigned to Zambia and will not be here when we return next year. They will be greatly missed by many, and Deborah will leave a big hole in our women’s group.
Once we were back at Kundayo, we took time to rest for a bit and then got to some serious packing. I’m always surprised at how long it takes me to pack so relatively few things. It’s also odd that since we use up or give away so many items we pack from home, we still have almost too much to fit back into our suitcases. I do buy some gift items, but not so many anymore. Everyone I know is now pretty well supplied with kitenge placemats and napkins, beaded coasters, and small tinga-tinga paintings.
Now, our big task is to eat all the perishable and leftover food we still have. I made spaghetti bolognese for dinner, and we worked on eating our frozen raspberries. Not such a bad combination. That leaves us with some leftover coconut beef stew and two Russian sausages, which is more than enough since we’ll order from the restaurant here for dinner tomorrow when our friends Eric and Bernice Rowberg come.
It was the best of days; it was the most difficult of days. ACC had asked me to give the sermon for this morning, and though I had carefully prepared, I was still quite anxious about how things would go. Not only would what I was going to say be acceptable but also if I’d fall flat on my face as I climbed up the steps to the pulpit platform. I didn’t want to rely on John to help me up, so I was on my own. Fortunately, all went well. I didn’t stumble and fall; I didn’t have any blank moments; and I stayed within the time frame of 15-20 minutes. What surprised me was that the congregation clapped at the end. I’d not seen that happen before, and my first thought was that they were as relieved as I that I have managed to get through it without a major flub. The two comments I liked best were one from a Catholic sister who said, “Now, that was a real homily.” (I’ll have to find out more of what a homily means to Catholics.) The other best comment came from Africans who told me that they could understand everything I said because I enunciate clearly and speak at a moderate speed. As, I told a friend, that’s the pay-off from all of the years I spent teaching international students.
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| Yellow roses are my favorite. |
After church people dispersed more quickly than usual because of rain. It wasn’t really raining, just spitzing, but it looked as if it would pour any minute. Deborah and Joe Troester asked if we wanted to go to lunch with them, and of course we did. So, they drove us our to the Njiro Mall to eat at Whispers, the best Chinese restaurant in Arusha. Being with the Troesters was bitter sweet, as they are being reassigned to Zambia and will not be here when we return next year. They will be greatly missed by many, and Deborah will leave a big hole in our women’s group.
Once we were back at Kundayo, we took time to rest for a bit and then got to some serious packing. I’m always surprised at how long it takes me to pack so relatively few things. It’s also odd that since we use up or give away so many items we pack from home, we still have almost too much to fit back into our suitcases. I do buy some gift items, but not so many anymore. Everyone I know is now pretty well supplied with kitenge placemats and napkins, beaded coasters, and small tinga-tinga paintings.
Now, our big task is to eat all the perishable and leftover food we still have. I made spaghetti bolognese for dinner, and we worked on eating our frozen raspberries. Not such a bad combination. That leaves us with some leftover coconut beef stew and two Russian sausages, which is more than enough since we’ll order from the restaurant here for dinner tomorrow when our friends Eric and Bernice Rowberg come.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Masai and Mutton Stew
Arusha, March 17, 2018, Saturday
On this day, forty-five years ago, we brought home our daughter, Rebecca Suzanne. She was just over three months old and very tiny for that age. She had intensely blue eyes and watched us very carefully at first. Then, she settled in and became a little princess, the first granddaughter on both sides of our family. How quickly the years have passed since then. Now, she has her own daughter, our first grandchild. But, I’ll never forget a minute of that “homecoming day,” when I got all dressed up in a new dress someone had sewn for me, and John and I, and my mother, who had come from Indiana for the occasion, went to The Cradle in Evanston, Illinois. We walked in as a couple, and walked out as parents. It was an amazing day.
And, here all these years later we are in Arusha, Tanzania, finishing up our annual stay from January into March. In only three more days we’ll fly back to Spokane, and I feel so unready for the return to life in the U.S. We’ve begun some sorting and packing, but a lot of that will have to wait until much nearer our departure. We’ll leave a large box with clothing and kitchen items we which we use only here with Mazo, as we did last year. That cuts out an extra suitcase for us when we fly. And, I’ve begun to give away items,especially books, that I don’t need anymore. This should allow room for packing home the few souvenirs and gifts I have bought, plus 2 kg, of coffee beans from Kitamu.
In the morning, the director of Nariva Academy, the school which Goodluck attends, came by to meet and visit with us. Ray had wanted him to meet with us because getting out to visit Goodluck’s school would be very difficult for us. We would have to drive through Arusha National Park and pay an entry fee of $30 each and a vehicle fee of $20. To drive around the park would more than double the distance, most of which would be on very bad road. So, the director, Lepilal Lairser, came to tell us about the school and comment on Goodluck’s progress. I was very pleased with both reports. The school is only elementary up to the 7th year, and relatively new, yet its students score very high on their exams. As a boarding school, the faculty can control and supervise study time and homework in a way that cannot be done at the day schools here in Arusha. This seems to be a good environment for Goodluck, whom I have always though of as being more Good Time than studious. However, according to Mr. Lairser, Goodluck is doing well in his classes, especially science and math.
When I asked Mr. Lairser about his own educational background, he told us a remarkable story of growing up as a traditional Masai child whose father saw education as useless and would not allow him to attend school. So, he appealed to the elders, who told the father to let Lepilal attend school and see if he was any good. Well, he was very good and scored high enough on exams to earn a scholarship. The father was not ready to lose a cattle harder, so again Lepilal appealed to the elders, who again backed him. This continued year after year until he was ready to enter college. By that time he had left his father’s boma and was living with an uncle, but the elders told his father that he had to sell some cattle to pay for college. Eventually, Lepilal graduated, got a teaching job at a very good private school here in Arusha, and was able to give his father very impressive gifts. When the father saw the reward of all the years of education, he declared that Lepilal was his only real son. This parallels my friend Elizabeth’s story in so many ways. Only very recently have Masai parents begun to see the value of an education, and there are still many children who do not get to attend any school at all. The fathers need them home to herd the goats and cattle.
After Mr. Lairser and Ray left, we began to assemble some lunch. Naturally, we are doing our best to use up any produce or groceries we have on hand. I had everything figured out so that even the leftovers would come out just right at dinner on Monday. So, just as John was heating up leftover eggplant stew and rice, there was a knock on our door. There stood Emanuel, on of the staff, with two large lidded casseroles that Mama had sent us. When John opened the one casserole an incredibly delicious aroma came out. It was lamb stew, and in the other casserole were potatoes. We each took a taste of the stew and then set the food aside to use for dinner. Then, there was another knock. It was Sidney delivering a bottle of wine from Mama, too.
In the afternoon, it rained and rained and rained some more. This is the wettest March I have ever seen here, and I hope it is a very rare anomaly. I spent most of my time going over the talk I was preparing for church on Sunday. Eventually, John heated up Mama’s lamb stew, and we ate dinner out on the terrace even though the world was wet and cool. The stew was amazing! The absolute best I have ever eaten. So delicious that both John and I talked about licking the serving dish after we had eaten absolutely every bite. That Mama is a treasure.
On this day, forty-five years ago, we brought home our daughter, Rebecca Suzanne. She was just over three months old and very tiny for that age. She had intensely blue eyes and watched us very carefully at first. Then, she settled in and became a little princess, the first granddaughter on both sides of our family. How quickly the years have passed since then. Now, she has her own daughter, our first grandchild. But, I’ll never forget a minute of that “homecoming day,” when I got all dressed up in a new dress someone had sewn for me, and John and I, and my mother, who had come from Indiana for the occasion, went to The Cradle in Evanston, Illinois. We walked in as a couple, and walked out as parents. It was an amazing day.
And, here all these years later we are in Arusha, Tanzania, finishing up our annual stay from January into March. In only three more days we’ll fly back to Spokane, and I feel so unready for the return to life in the U.S. We’ve begun some sorting and packing, but a lot of that will have to wait until much nearer our departure. We’ll leave a large box with clothing and kitchen items we which we use only here with Mazo, as we did last year. That cuts out an extra suitcase for us when we fly. And, I’ve begun to give away items,especially books, that I don’t need anymore. This should allow room for packing home the few souvenirs and gifts I have bought, plus 2 kg, of coffee beans from Kitamu.
In the morning, the director of Nariva Academy, the school which Goodluck attends, came by to meet and visit with us. Ray had wanted him to meet with us because getting out to visit Goodluck’s school would be very difficult for us. We would have to drive through Arusha National Park and pay an entry fee of $30 each and a vehicle fee of $20. To drive around the park would more than double the distance, most of which would be on very bad road. So, the director, Lepilal Lairser, came to tell us about the school and comment on Goodluck’s progress. I was very pleased with both reports. The school is only elementary up to the 7th year, and relatively new, yet its students score very high on their exams. As a boarding school, the faculty can control and supervise study time and homework in a way that cannot be done at the day schools here in Arusha. This seems to be a good environment for Goodluck, whom I have always though of as being more Good Time than studious. However, according to Mr. Lairser, Goodluck is doing well in his classes, especially science and math.
When I asked Mr. Lairser about his own educational background, he told us a remarkable story of growing up as a traditional Masai child whose father saw education as useless and would not allow him to attend school. So, he appealed to the elders, who told the father to let Lepilal attend school and see if he was any good. Well, he was very good and scored high enough on exams to earn a scholarship. The father was not ready to lose a cattle harder, so again Lepilal appealed to the elders, who again backed him. This continued year after year until he was ready to enter college. By that time he had left his father’s boma and was living with an uncle, but the elders told his father that he had to sell some cattle to pay for college. Eventually, Lepilal graduated, got a teaching job at a very good private school here in Arusha, and was able to give his father very impressive gifts. When the father saw the reward of all the years of education, he declared that Lepilal was his only real son. This parallels my friend Elizabeth’s story in so many ways. Only very recently have Masai parents begun to see the value of an education, and there are still many children who do not get to attend any school at all. The fathers need them home to herd the goats and cattle.
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| Ray and I with Mr. Lairser |
After Mr. Lairser and Ray left, we began to assemble some lunch. Naturally, we are doing our best to use up any produce or groceries we have on hand. I had everything figured out so that even the leftovers would come out just right at dinner on Monday. So, just as John was heating up leftover eggplant stew and rice, there was a knock on our door. There stood Emanuel, on of the staff, with two large lidded casseroles that Mama had sent us. When John opened the one casserole an incredibly delicious aroma came out. It was lamb stew, and in the other casserole were potatoes. We each took a taste of the stew and then set the food aside to use for dinner. Then, there was another knock. It was Sidney delivering a bottle of wine from Mama, too.
In the afternoon, it rained and rained and rained some more. This is the wettest March I have ever seen here, and I hope it is a very rare anomaly. I spent most of my time going over the talk I was preparing for church on Sunday. Eventually, John heated up Mama’s lamb stew, and we ate dinner out on the terrace even though the world was wet and cool. The stew was amazing! The absolute best I have ever eaten. So delicious that both John and I talked about licking the serving dish after we had eaten absolutely every bite. That Mama is a treasure.
This and That
Arusha, March 15 -16, 2018, Thursday and Friday
With so many end-of-stay activities and rain deluges, it has been difficult for me to find much time to sit and think or write. Yesterday, Thursday, the rain was horrendous until late afternoon, and then it fell again during the night. I’ve given up trying to keep track of when we have electricity or not. It’s really not very important because when the power goes out, our light switch automatically to solar power, and we have two gas burners to use on our kitchen stove. It’s hard to feel at all inconvenienced here at Kundayo.
Even though it was raining buckets all morning yesterday, we met up with our friend Terry Morton at Kituma yesterday for lunch. She’s going back to the States for 2 months for fund raising and leaves on Monday. She does some wonderful work with albinos in Tanzania, and we wish her well. However, everyone who has an NGO, be it a seed program, health clinic, school, or orphanage, does the same thing. Many of the people I have met these past weeks at Kudayo come to Tanzania for several months and then return to their countries, e.g. Holland, Italy, Sweden, the US, to raise funds before returning for another period of time here. There are so many competing hands stretched out for donations that I find it overwhelming at times. My little effort to change the world has focused mainly on providing quality education for a few children and making donations to a very small group of organizations.
Before we met Terry at my new favorite place, Kitamu, John and I had Ray drive us quickly to a few places where one of us could jump out of the car, dash through the rain, and get what we needed. John ran into Moona’s to buy an ACE bandage for my ankle, which has made some crackling noises and hurts more than it did. Then, it was my turn to splash into Gohil’s, the place for spices in Arusha, to make some gift purchases there. John also went to Meat King for our very last bit of beef before we leave next week. We still got to Kitamu before it was time for Terry to arrive, so we ordered juices. John had mango juice, and I ordered a mixture of avocado, beets, and mango juice. It looks like a blood transfusion and seems very popular. So, I wanted to try it, and now I’m pretty sure once will be enough.
By the time we had finished lunch, the rain had let up. Since Terry had come in a taxi because of the deluge, we had Ray detour a bit to take her to her house on our return to Kundayo. She lives in a tidy little triplex back off the road to Njiro. It’s larger than our apartment at Kundayo and has a second bedroom, but it is not more luxurious. I’d much rather live here with other people around all day long, than behind a big wall and gate in relative isolation. However, because Terry’s co-worker, Sister Martha, who herself in an albino, lives in one of the other apartments, Terry chose to live there, too.
The rest of the day passed as usual, with more rain during the night.
Friday morning found me busy trying to finish up the last draft of the talk I am to give at church on Sunday. Originally, I had declined to do this, but then there was some sort of crisis with the other person who had been scheduled, and I agreed to step in. It didn’t take me long to compose what I want to say, but I keep editing and adjusting the text. This likely will continue right up until we leave for church.
Just before noon, I made may annual pilgrimage to my Arusha coiffeur, Aly, who is one of the most fey persons I know. His mother came from Vancouver, B.C. for a 5 month visit, and he was buzzing with news about that. This was the first time in almost 7 years that they had seen each other. Ali reported that his mother spent a lot of her time at the mosque and did not bother him at all about all of his partying and drinking. He is looking more battered and pickled than ever. Also, he now has 5 ( or is it 6?) dogs instead of just two. The newest dog is a sweet Shepard puppy named Simba.
John went his own way to meet up with a young dentist who attends ACC and is now working on setting his own clinic. Dr. Eric Mbele was proud to show John the renovated house which will house his practice and some of the equipment he has purchased. He has big plans, which will likely work out, since by his estimate, there are only 7 dentists in Arusha with a population of about half a million who have the training and equipment necessary for modern dental care.
Later in the day, Mama was sitting outside, so I decided to use a chocolate chip cookie mix I had and bake a treat for her. She was very appreciative, but told me that American cookies are too sweet—have to much sugar. She ate two and shared the others with the nearby staff and workers. We chatted for a while before a neighbor showed up to visit and I could return back to our place.
I wanted to use the beef John had bought yesterday in a coconut beef stew but couldn’t find a recipe in which only the spices I had were used. So, I pieced together my own recipe, and it turned out very well. (I just hope I can remember what I did—and didn’t do.) While I was in the kitchen, we could hear really beautiful music—hymns sung in a distinctive African style and harmony. This continued for a long time, followed by a loud session of fervent prayer, and then another shorter time of singing. Later Mazo told us that it was Mama’s church support group, meeting in the lodge’s lounge. I should have known the group was Lutheran by the excellent music.
By 9:00 there was thunder, lightning, and pouring rain again. The electricity went off and stayed off all night. The rain finally stopped before dawn. The only good thing about this weather for us non-farmers is cooler temperatures. We stay in the mid- to high 70s by day and go down to the lower 70s at night. It’s perfect for sleeping.
With so many end-of-stay activities and rain deluges, it has been difficult for me to find much time to sit and think or write. Yesterday, Thursday, the rain was horrendous until late afternoon, and then it fell again during the night. I’ve given up trying to keep track of when we have electricity or not. It’s really not very important because when the power goes out, our light switch automatically to solar power, and we have two gas burners to use on our kitchen stove. It’s hard to feel at all inconvenienced here at Kundayo.
Even though it was raining buckets all morning yesterday, we met up with our friend Terry Morton at Kituma yesterday for lunch. She’s going back to the States for 2 months for fund raising and leaves on Monday. She does some wonderful work with albinos in Tanzania, and we wish her well. However, everyone who has an NGO, be it a seed program, health clinic, school, or orphanage, does the same thing. Many of the people I have met these past weeks at Kudayo come to Tanzania for several months and then return to their countries, e.g. Holland, Italy, Sweden, the US, to raise funds before returning for another period of time here. There are so many competing hands stretched out for donations that I find it overwhelming at times. My little effort to change the world has focused mainly on providing quality education for a few children and making donations to a very small group of organizations.
Before we met Terry at my new favorite place, Kitamu, John and I had Ray drive us quickly to a few places where one of us could jump out of the car, dash through the rain, and get what we needed. John ran into Moona’s to buy an ACE bandage for my ankle, which has made some crackling noises and hurts more than it did. Then, it was my turn to splash into Gohil’s, the place for spices in Arusha, to make some gift purchases there. John also went to Meat King for our very last bit of beef before we leave next week. We still got to Kitamu before it was time for Terry to arrive, so we ordered juices. John had mango juice, and I ordered a mixture of avocado, beets, and mango juice. It looks like a blood transfusion and seems very popular. So, I wanted to try it, and now I’m pretty sure once will be enough.
By the time we had finished lunch, the rain had let up. Since Terry had come in a taxi because of the deluge, we had Ray detour a bit to take her to her house on our return to Kundayo. She lives in a tidy little triplex back off the road to Njiro. It’s larger than our apartment at Kundayo and has a second bedroom, but it is not more luxurious. I’d much rather live here with other people around all day long, than behind a big wall and gate in relative isolation. However, because Terry’s co-worker, Sister Martha, who herself in an albino, lives in one of the other apartments, Terry chose to live there, too.
The rest of the day passed as usual, with more rain during the night.
Friday morning found me busy trying to finish up the last draft of the talk I am to give at church on Sunday. Originally, I had declined to do this, but then there was some sort of crisis with the other person who had been scheduled, and I agreed to step in. It didn’t take me long to compose what I want to say, but I keep editing and adjusting the text. This likely will continue right up until we leave for church.
Just before noon, I made may annual pilgrimage to my Arusha coiffeur, Aly, who is one of the most fey persons I know. His mother came from Vancouver, B.C. for a 5 month visit, and he was buzzing with news about that. This was the first time in almost 7 years that they had seen each other. Ali reported that his mother spent a lot of her time at the mosque and did not bother him at all about all of his partying and drinking. He is looking more battered and pickled than ever. Also, he now has 5 ( or is it 6?) dogs instead of just two. The newest dog is a sweet Shepard puppy named Simba.
John went his own way to meet up with a young dentist who attends ACC and is now working on setting his own clinic. Dr. Eric Mbele was proud to show John the renovated house which will house his practice and some of the equipment he has purchased. He has big plans, which will likely work out, since by his estimate, there are only 7 dentists in Arusha with a population of about half a million who have the training and equipment necessary for modern dental care.
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| Dr. Eric Mbele's new dental clinic under remodeling |
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| Dr.Mbele's new equipment |
Later in the day, Mama was sitting outside, so I decided to use a chocolate chip cookie mix I had and bake a treat for her. She was very appreciative, but told me that American cookies are too sweet—have to much sugar. She ate two and shared the others with the nearby staff and workers. We chatted for a while before a neighbor showed up to visit and I could return back to our place.
I wanted to use the beef John had bought yesterday in a coconut beef stew but couldn’t find a recipe in which only the spices I had were used. So, I pieced together my own recipe, and it turned out very well. (I just hope I can remember what I did—and didn’t do.) While I was in the kitchen, we could hear really beautiful music—hymns sung in a distinctive African style and harmony. This continued for a long time, followed by a loud session of fervent prayer, and then another shorter time of singing. Later Mazo told us that it was Mama’s church support group, meeting in the lodge’s lounge. I should have known the group was Lutheran by the excellent music.
By 9:00 there was thunder, lightning, and pouring rain again. The electricity went off and stayed off all night. The rain finally stopped before dawn. The only good thing about this weather for us non-farmers is cooler temperatures. We stay in the mid- to high 70s by day and go down to the lower 70s at night. It’s perfect for sleeping.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Deluge!
Arusha, March 13, 2018, Tuesday
This has been without a doubt the wettest day I have ever experienced in Tanzania. The temperature got down to 69º before we went to bed and the sky was very dark and gray when I awoke this morning. Within minutes torrential rain began falling. This continued until after noon. I felt as if we would be trapped in our apartment for the day, as we couldn’t have even made it to the garden terrace without getting soaked—and we have umbrellas. However, around 1:00 p.m. the force of the rainfall diminished, and we called a taxi and took off to town for lunch.
Ray wasn’t here for us to call. Yesterday morning he came to tell us that his mother-in-law was in the hospital in Moshi, so he and his wife needed to go there right away. I certainly hope this is not a serious situation, as Ray has already had too many sad deaths in his extended family so far this year.
We asked our substitute taxi man, John, to take us to Bamboo by Fifi’s, which is a popular cafe with a good wifi connection and upscale food. The prices are a little higher than at some other places, but there are also some bargains, e.g., its huge fruit salad, to be had as well. When the waitress saw that I was hesitating about what to order, she pulled out a much smaller menu with only African dishes all at very good prices. I had no idea that existed and had wondered how Tanzanians could afford to eat there. I was able to get a great plate of rice and maharagwe (red beans) for only 3000 Tsh. (Less than $1.50) and the wonderful Fifi’s fruit salad for 6000 Tsh. This was more than I could eat without John’s help on the salad, and all for only about $4. I’ll never eat there again without asking for the Swahili menu!
Then, while John went to a bank to get us some more T schillings, I sat and read while having a great cup of coffee. The waitress was fascinated by my Kindle, so I showed her the “library” of my books, how to change pages, and how to increase or decrease the text size. She thought being able to download books from the internet sounded wonderful, so I had to tell her they cost money from a credit card. That didn’t sound so good to her, and when she asked the price, and when I said the lowest price was $49, she was really sad. There ought to be some way of getting electronic books to people in African countries at a low price they could realistically afford. Otherwise, the education and information gap between western and nonwestern countries will just continue to grow larger.
I forgot to say that when Taxi John dropped us off at Fifi’s, we decided to go first to the nearby bookstore. (It used to be the Lutheran Bookstore, but now it has new owners.) We wanted to buy some books to leave for the Mtui children. I knew I wanted a very good English dictionary for Priskilla, and found a great one from Oxford Press for her. Then, I noticed an attractive hardbound book of bible stories for children in which a child could color in the accompanying pictures. It was in Swahili, too, so I bought it for Anita.
Good Luck proved to be a much harder case. Finally, John chose two small books in English for him, one a story and one about animals with backbones. As we turned to walk to Fifi’s, an older street vendor I’ve often seen came by with soccer jerseys, and I asked if he had anything from Manchester United, Good Luck’s favorite team. He didn’t but said while we were in Fifi’s he would see what he could find on the street. In less than an hour, he was back with both a shirt and pair of shorts in Good Luck’s general size, and though the whole outfit cost more than I had wanted, we eventually agreed on a price I could swallow and he was happy about. I have little doubt that Good Luck will be ecstatic.
It was after 3:00 by the time we returned to Kundayo. The rain had almost stopped. However, everything was still wet and dripping, so not many folks were out and about either here or out on the street. John rested for a while and then walked down toward Philip’s Corner to a print shop to get a document printed out and to place an order for printing some photos as well. I stayed in and began preparing a kettle of Congo Eggplant Stew for our dinner this evening. Of course, the electricity went off for a while. It soon came back on though, and the rest of the evening was peaceful and uneventful.
This has been without a doubt the wettest day I have ever experienced in Tanzania. The temperature got down to 69º before we went to bed and the sky was very dark and gray when I awoke this morning. Within minutes torrential rain began falling. This continued until after noon. I felt as if we would be trapped in our apartment for the day, as we couldn’t have even made it to the garden terrace without getting soaked—and we have umbrellas. However, around 1:00 p.m. the force of the rainfall diminished, and we called a taxi and took off to town for lunch.
Ray wasn’t here for us to call. Yesterday morning he came to tell us that his mother-in-law was in the hospital in Moshi, so he and his wife needed to go there right away. I certainly hope this is not a serious situation, as Ray has already had too many sad deaths in his extended family so far this year.
We asked our substitute taxi man, John, to take us to Bamboo by Fifi’s, which is a popular cafe with a good wifi connection and upscale food. The prices are a little higher than at some other places, but there are also some bargains, e.g., its huge fruit salad, to be had as well. When the waitress saw that I was hesitating about what to order, she pulled out a much smaller menu with only African dishes all at very good prices. I had no idea that existed and had wondered how Tanzanians could afford to eat there. I was able to get a great plate of rice and maharagwe (red beans) for only 3000 Tsh. (Less than $1.50) and the wonderful Fifi’s fruit salad for 6000 Tsh. This was more than I could eat without John’s help on the salad, and all for only about $4. I’ll never eat there again without asking for the Swahili menu!
Then, while John went to a bank to get us some more T schillings, I sat and read while having a great cup of coffee. The waitress was fascinated by my Kindle, so I showed her the “library” of my books, how to change pages, and how to increase or decrease the text size. She thought being able to download books from the internet sounded wonderful, so I had to tell her they cost money from a credit card. That didn’t sound so good to her, and when she asked the price, and when I said the lowest price was $49, she was really sad. There ought to be some way of getting electronic books to people in African countries at a low price they could realistically afford. Otherwise, the education and information gap between western and nonwestern countries will just continue to grow larger.
I forgot to say that when Taxi John dropped us off at Fifi’s, we decided to go first to the nearby bookstore. (It used to be the Lutheran Bookstore, but now it has new owners.) We wanted to buy some books to leave for the Mtui children. I knew I wanted a very good English dictionary for Priskilla, and found a great one from Oxford Press for her. Then, I noticed an attractive hardbound book of bible stories for children in which a child could color in the accompanying pictures. It was in Swahili, too, so I bought it for Anita.
Good Luck proved to be a much harder case. Finally, John chose two small books in English for him, one a story and one about animals with backbones. As we turned to walk to Fifi’s, an older street vendor I’ve often seen came by with soccer jerseys, and I asked if he had anything from Manchester United, Good Luck’s favorite team. He didn’t but said while we were in Fifi’s he would see what he could find on the street. In less than an hour, he was back with both a shirt and pair of shorts in Good Luck’s general size, and though the whole outfit cost more than I had wanted, we eventually agreed on a price I could swallow and he was happy about. I have little doubt that Good Luck will be ecstatic.
It was after 3:00 by the time we returned to Kundayo. The rain had almost stopped. However, everything was still wet and dripping, so not many folks were out and about either here or out on the street. John rested for a while and then walked down toward Philip’s Corner to a print shop to get a document printed out and to place an order for printing some photos as well. I stayed in and began preparing a kettle of Congo Eggplant Stew for our dinner this evening. Of course, the electricity went off for a while. It soon came back on though, and the rest of the evening was peaceful and uneventful.
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| John at his terrace office |
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| Produce for the day |
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Sunday Friends and Showers
Arusha, March 10, 2018, Sunday
It was a quiet and very wet Saturday. The electricity went off and on over over and over, but usually was not off for more than several hours at a time. Sometimes the wifi went down as well, so we read and used word processing much of the time. John took his usual walk into town and bought bread and a few vegetables, but I stuck to Kundayo. Mama wasn’t out much because of the rain; we only had time to greet each other and then run—well, she doesn’t run—for cover.
Yesterday, Sunday, we had Ray pick us up as usual to take us to ACC. He himself had not been to church as he had been up until the early morning at a neighbor’s wake. Showing solidarity at a death is extremely important here. Mama even goes to pay respects to people she has never really liked. So, Ray, who never ever misses church or his men’s prayer group, gave up church to sit with the neighbors almost all night.
The service at ACC was better than average. The music was well chosen and the strings accompaniment was excellent. Linda was not present to play the piano as she usually does. Her daughter Sarah had had a bicycle accident in South Africa and broken her collarbone. The break was bad enough that Sarah needed surgery, so Linda flew down to be with her. I so hope she will be back before we leave. One of the women here whom I really, really like, Deborah Troester, gave the sermon. She and her husband, Joe, are being moved to Zambia soon, so I will not see her again when we return next year.
After the service, Tim Wright and his wife, neither of whom I had ever met before, came to talk with us. John had met them in Nairobi last week, and in one of those strange “small world” events discovered that they were the people who had followed us in 1975 at Kakinda in the Congo, where John did his doctoral research, and two-year-old Becca and I learned about survivalist living. Becca and I had flown home several months before John, and because of wanting to keep my luggage light, I had left behind several items for John to ship home later. Becca had worn a pair of little yellow rain boots, which I dearly loved. John promised to ship them home, but instead he left them for the Wrights, as they had several small children. All these years, I have mourned those boots, and now I met up with those who knew them last. It didn’t seem to me that the Wrights had loved those boots as much as I had, but at least I heard the rest of the story.
I also introduced John to Susan James, another person I find extraordinarily fascinating. She is from Minnesota, where her husband teaches wildlife conservation at the University of Minnesota. While he’s busy with that, Susan operates her own business which contracts with different agencies and NGOs to do surveys and data analysis for them. She has been doing this for 8 years now in Tanzania and uses very bright university graduates to do the data gathering, etc. In fact, she is the only mzungu involved in the work here. Once, when I had asked her if she has ever thought of doing a survey on gun ownership here, she looked taken aback and commented that wouldn’t tell much, as no ordinary citizen would own a gun unless they were a hunter and had an old rifle. Susan is also Linda’s “best friend,” just as Linda tells me I am.
We had spent so much time talking after church that we hadn’t found out if anyone was going anywhere for lunch. So, we found a taxi and took it to George’s, where others often show up. No no one we knew was there, so we took a table outside—the waiter assured us it would not rain. The sky kept looking more and more ominous, and just then the Mosley family—Paul, Rebecca, and their two boys showed up—so we asked if we could sit with them inside. Of course, they said yes, and we picked up our beverages and went under the big thatched roof. Just about then, it began to pour, harder than any other deluge so far. There was also a strong wind which whipped the rain in through the open sides of the pavilion, so we had to move again to the back away from the side in order to keep dry. Not only did the rain fall extremely hard, but it kept up for at least an hour. John kept wondering how long we might be trapped before we could get back to Kundayo. The din of the rain made it extremely difficult to carry on much of a conversation with Paul and Rebecca. However, we did have some moments of communication and found them to be very interesting and enjoyable people. They came this past summer to work with MCC, but because they have young children and normally do their own thing after church, we hadn’t gotten to know them before.
Of course, the rain did eventually die down and we called Ray to get us back to Kundayo. After that, we tried to take a nap, and eventually I made dinner (braised chicken, mashed potatoes, and sauced zucchini, with fruit for dessert). We tried to have a video chat with Peri, but the internet was not functioning well, so we only got a few seconds of actually seeing her and hearing her voice. I don’t know what she saw or heard. We’ll be home soon, and then we can talk face to face again. Oh happy day!
It was a quiet and very wet Saturday. The electricity went off and on over over and over, but usually was not off for more than several hours at a time. Sometimes the wifi went down as well, so we read and used word processing much of the time. John took his usual walk into town and bought bread and a few vegetables, but I stuck to Kundayo. Mama wasn’t out much because of the rain; we only had time to greet each other and then run—well, she doesn’t run—for cover.
Yesterday, Sunday, we had Ray pick us up as usual to take us to ACC. He himself had not been to church as he had been up until the early morning at a neighbor’s wake. Showing solidarity at a death is extremely important here. Mama even goes to pay respects to people she has never really liked. So, Ray, who never ever misses church or his men’s prayer group, gave up church to sit with the neighbors almost all night.
The service at ACC was better than average. The music was well chosen and the strings accompaniment was excellent. Linda was not present to play the piano as she usually does. Her daughter Sarah had had a bicycle accident in South Africa and broken her collarbone. The break was bad enough that Sarah needed surgery, so Linda flew down to be with her. I so hope she will be back before we leave. One of the women here whom I really, really like, Deborah Troester, gave the sermon. She and her husband, Joe, are being moved to Zambia soon, so I will not see her again when we return next year.
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| Joe and Deborah Troester with Atula |
After the service, Tim Wright and his wife, neither of whom I had ever met before, came to talk with us. John had met them in Nairobi last week, and in one of those strange “small world” events discovered that they were the people who had followed us in 1975 at Kakinda in the Congo, where John did his doctoral research, and two-year-old Becca and I learned about survivalist living. Becca and I had flown home several months before John, and because of wanting to keep my luggage light, I had left behind several items for John to ship home later. Becca had worn a pair of little yellow rain boots, which I dearly loved. John promised to ship them home, but instead he left them for the Wrights, as they had several small children. All these years, I have mourned those boots, and now I met up with those who knew them last. It didn’t seem to me that the Wrights had loved those boots as much as I had, but at least I heard the rest of the story.
I also introduced John to Susan James, another person I find extraordinarily fascinating. She is from Minnesota, where her husband teaches wildlife conservation at the University of Minnesota. While he’s busy with that, Susan operates her own business which contracts with different agencies and NGOs to do surveys and data analysis for them. She has been doing this for 8 years now in Tanzania and uses very bright university graduates to do the data gathering, etc. In fact, she is the only mzungu involved in the work here. Once, when I had asked her if she has ever thought of doing a survey on gun ownership here, she looked taken aback and commented that wouldn’t tell much, as no ordinary citizen would own a gun unless they were a hunter and had an old rifle. Susan is also Linda’s “best friend,” just as Linda tells me I am.
We had spent so much time talking after church that we hadn’t found out if anyone was going anywhere for lunch. So, we found a taxi and took it to George’s, where others often show up. No no one we knew was there, so we took a table outside—the waiter assured us it would not rain. The sky kept looking more and more ominous, and just then the Mosley family—Paul, Rebecca, and their two boys showed up—so we asked if we could sit with them inside. Of course, they said yes, and we picked up our beverages and went under the big thatched roof. Just about then, it began to pour, harder than any other deluge so far. There was also a strong wind which whipped the rain in through the open sides of the pavilion, so we had to move again to the back away from the side in order to keep dry. Not only did the rain fall extremely hard, but it kept up for at least an hour. John kept wondering how long we might be trapped before we could get back to Kundayo. The din of the rain made it extremely difficult to carry on much of a conversation with Paul and Rebecca. However, we did have some moments of communication and found them to be very interesting and enjoyable people. They came this past summer to work with MCC, but because they have young children and normally do their own thing after church, we hadn’t gotten to know them before.
Of course, the rain did eventually die down and we called Ray to get us back to Kundayo. After that, we tried to take a nap, and eventually I made dinner (braised chicken, mashed potatoes, and sauced zucchini, with fruit for dessert). We tried to have a video chat with Peri, but the internet was not functioning well, so we only got a few seconds of actually seeing her and hearing her voice. I don’t know what she saw or heard. We’ll be home soon, and then we can talk face to face again. Oh happy day!
Monday, March 12, 2018
A Resort and a Ring
Arusha, March 9, 2018
We had decided that we would go and discover more about the big restaurant Ray had shown me on Tuesday. I found out that its name is Asili Resort, which seemed odd for a restaurant without any hotel attached to it. Anyway, we sat over on the terrace and worked on our computers or read until nearly 1:00 p.m. Then Ray came to take us to the “resort.”
I asked Ray to drive us on Kanisha Road so we would pass by the Peace Restaurant, where I had braved the rain and mud to cross over a temporary wooden bridge to enter. Today it was dry, but I wanted John to see the dirt piles and deep trench. He agreed with me that the trench was at least 8 feet deep. Even Ray got out of the taxi to have a look. Some sort of cable is being laid, but a workman told John that this is being done for a sewer line. The entire trench is being dug by hand, foot by foot, both deep and block by block.
When we got to Asili and entered the restaurant, there were a few African diners scattered throughout the one side, and on the other side, there was a large group of wazungu tourists—maybe European, not American. There was a buffet lunch laid out for the group, and our waitress invited us to have that, too, if we wanted. John thought that sounded pretty good, so we went over to serve ourselves. It was a buffet of all African food: banana soup, rice pilau, chicken stew, beef stew, vegetable stew, ugali, greens, Swahili salad, three types of baked yams/sweet potatoes, beef mishikaki, and fruit. There was plenty to eat, but we were disappointed in the quality. Nothing was seasoned well: the pilau was over loaded with cinnamon, and the stews were bland. There was no wali (plain rice) or mandazi. We questioned our waitress again about whether there were rooms for rent, and she said, “No, we are a resort, so we only serve food and beverages.” A rather strange definition for the word resort.
The waitress also told us that while they serve the public, they specialize in large safari groups like the one there with us. Asili certainly has the space for that since it is every bit as expansive as the dining areas in the big lodges we’ve visited in game parks. I would advise, however, that their chefs take some cooking lessons or hire some mamas to improve their food. The regular menu offers mbuzi (goat) and chipsie in its African section, so why didn’t they offer that to the tourists?
We couldn’t find a taxi after lunch, so we walked back to the main street, Moshi Road, to see if we could find one there. To get to the larger road, we had to pass the curio shop where I usually buy gifts each year. Of course, all the workers just happened to be outside. They greeted me and asked why I hadn’t come in yet this year. I gave a vague response and kept walking. When we got to the main road there was a big police stop right at our corner. Of course, absolutely no taxis were approaching from either direction. Taxi drivers warn each other about police stops so they can avoid being hassled and having to pay a bribe or worse yet a fine. We wanted to go to the House of Gems to pick up my ring, which had been sized for me, but it was too far away for me to walk. We had no choice but to wait patiently until finally a taxi approached. While waiting, I was pestered by a street vendor named Johnny. He was absolutely certain that I had to buy some of his bracelets. I finally convinced him that I really didn’t.
We were rescued by a taxi driver who took us to the House of Gems and waited for us while I got my ring and looked at other rings and pendants in the $100 and under range. There were some nice items which would make good souvenirs for students on limited budgets who still would like a bit of Tanzanite. With my ring on my finger, we continued back to Kundayo, where Mama was outside waiting. I gave her a short report of our lunch, and she examined my ring. She, of course, would have gotten a far better stone and setting. However, I like my simple circle and twinkling bit of blue. Rain cut our conversation short, but I’m sure we’ll resume the topic.
The rest of the day provided time for washing underwear, reading, and watching some TV when the power was on. For dinner, we had the fish fingers John had purloined from the women’s lunch on Thursday. It’s the first time I’ve ever eaten fish fingers wrapped in a mayonnaise smeared chapati. It was actually a fairly good wrap, But I think I can improve it if I try it again in the future.
We had decided that we would go and discover more about the big restaurant Ray had shown me on Tuesday. I found out that its name is Asili Resort, which seemed odd for a restaurant without any hotel attached to it. Anyway, we sat over on the terrace and worked on our computers or read until nearly 1:00 p.m. Then Ray came to take us to the “resort.”
I asked Ray to drive us on Kanisha Road so we would pass by the Peace Restaurant, where I had braved the rain and mud to cross over a temporary wooden bridge to enter. Today it was dry, but I wanted John to see the dirt piles and deep trench. He agreed with me that the trench was at least 8 feet deep. Even Ray got out of the taxi to have a look. Some sort of cable is being laid, but a workman told John that this is being done for a sewer line. The entire trench is being dug by hand, foot by foot, both deep and block by block.
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| Peace Restaurant, now dry |
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| Bridge over deep trench |
When we got to Asili and entered the restaurant, there were a few African diners scattered throughout the one side, and on the other side, there was a large group of wazungu tourists—maybe European, not American. There was a buffet lunch laid out for the group, and our waitress invited us to have that, too, if we wanted. John thought that sounded pretty good, so we went over to serve ourselves. It was a buffet of all African food: banana soup, rice pilau, chicken stew, beef stew, vegetable stew, ugali, greens, Swahili salad, three types of baked yams/sweet potatoes, beef mishikaki, and fruit. There was plenty to eat, but we were disappointed in the quality. Nothing was seasoned well: the pilau was over loaded with cinnamon, and the stews were bland. There was no wali (plain rice) or mandazi. We questioned our waitress again about whether there were rooms for rent, and she said, “No, we are a resort, so we only serve food and beverages.” A rather strange definition for the word resort.
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| On the exterior wall |
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| The impressive entrance |
The waitress also told us that while they serve the public, they specialize in large safari groups like the one there with us. Asili certainly has the space for that since it is every bit as expansive as the dining areas in the big lodges we’ve visited in game parks. I would advise, however, that their chefs take some cooking lessons or hire some mamas to improve their food. The regular menu offers mbuzi (goat) and chipsie in its African section, so why didn’t they offer that to the tourists?
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| One half of the large dining area |
We couldn’t find a taxi after lunch, so we walked back to the main street, Moshi Road, to see if we could find one there. To get to the larger road, we had to pass the curio shop where I usually buy gifts each year. Of course, all the workers just happened to be outside. They greeted me and asked why I hadn’t come in yet this year. I gave a vague response and kept walking. When we got to the main road there was a big police stop right at our corner. Of course, absolutely no taxis were approaching from either direction. Taxi drivers warn each other about police stops so they can avoid being hassled and having to pay a bribe or worse yet a fine. We wanted to go to the House of Gems to pick up my ring, which had been sized for me, but it was too far away for me to walk. We had no choice but to wait patiently until finally a taxi approached. While waiting, I was pestered by a street vendor named Johnny. He was absolutely certain that I had to buy some of his bracelets. I finally convinced him that I really didn’t.
We were rescued by a taxi driver who took us to the House of Gems and waited for us while I got my ring and looked at other rings and pendants in the $100 and under range. There were some nice items which would make good souvenirs for students on limited budgets who still would like a bit of Tanzanite. With my ring on my finger, we continued back to Kundayo, where Mama was outside waiting. I gave her a short report of our lunch, and she examined my ring. She, of course, would have gotten a far better stone and setting. However, I like my simple circle and twinkling bit of blue. Rain cut our conversation short, but I’m sure we’ll resume the topic.
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| Slightly better stones than mine |
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| My ring |
The rest of the day provided time for washing underwear, reading, and watching some TV when the power was on. For dinner, we had the fish fingers John had purloined from the women’s lunch on Thursday. It’s the first time I’ve ever eaten fish fingers wrapped in a mayonnaise smeared chapati. It was actually a fairly good wrap, But I think I can improve it if I try it again in the future.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Women's Group at Kundayo
It wasn’t raining when I awoke this morning, and the electricity was on. Both were good omens for a day when I was hosting my women’s group here at Kundayo. Mazo and I had worked out a menu: vegetable curry with rice, fish fingers (not at all like our fish sticks), samosas, Swahili salad (thinly sliced tomatoes, red peppers, and cucumbers in a vinaigrette), fruit salad, and mandazi. Of course, there was also tea and coffee. Ray also showed up with a stack of chapatis his aunt had made for me.
Our stated meeting time is 9:30, but the only woman here by then was Terry. Since she is American, she still believes in promptness. Others vehicles began to arrive just before 10:00, and soon after we began our meeting. Mama Bishop, a retired Anglican bishop’s wife who is usually fairly dour, entered with her fist in the air and wished us “Happy International Women’s Day.” (She recently had a mild stroke, so who knows what transformation that has brought her.) Then Linda had to share all the emails she had gotten from former members now living elsewhere but who still feel connected to the group. It’s amazing how many women still link back to the sisterhood here. Eventually, Linda decided we had to get to the lesson, which had so many funny things in it that Deborah and I kept muttering in spite of Linda’s cautionary glances. I mean, who would’t laugh at that the part in Numbers 11 where God says he’s going to send the whining Israelites so many quail the meat will run out of their nostrils?
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| Always a two-cheek greeting |
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| The buffet |
While we were contemplating the idea of dead quail 3 feet high on the ground out in the Sinai Desert, the sky here grew dark, and I became worried about rain. Mazo and Beatrice were busy out in the garden area, setting up tables with cloths for our lunch buffet. I had told Mazo to have everything set up by 11:45, but Linda took her time and the women had a lot of news to share, so it was about 12:15 before we exited the lounge, where we had been meeting. The buffet table looked perfect; the sky was clear and blue; and the women were very pleased with the menu. The oldest women, Mama Bishop and Mary Bura, commented on how excellent the chapatis were. They really were the best I have ever had.
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| Enjoying our lunch |
The women wanted John to join us, so he, too, had a great lunch. Several women lamented the decrease in our number. This week, Margaret was in Uganda; Miriam was at the hospital with her husband; Eunie was just out of the hospital; and Atula didn’t come. However, more serious is our continuing loss of members who leave Tanzania or transfer elsewhere. This week, Christine from Switzerland, moved to Nairobi, where her husband has a new teaching position. John took photos of us as a group, and we’re a much smaller group than just two years ago, when I had a group photo taken at Linda’s house. We need to find some way to recruit new members.
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| Our small group for the day |
Once everyone had left, I collapsed on our bed and decided I had done more than enough for one day. However, later I saw Mama Kundayo outside and realized she was hoping for a report of the day. So, I went out to sit with her and show her the photos I had taken at the school yesterday and with the women in the morning. She sent Sidney out to the corner to buy two ears of roasted corn for us. We sat there gnawing on our corn and discussing the photos until it was dark. Meanwhile, John had walked over to our neighborhood kuku na chipsies place to get something for our dinner. I didn’t have to make a single meal all day, and yet I felt as if I had put in a full day of labor. Social obligations both delight and exhaust me.
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| Reviewing the day with Mama. Beatrice sometimes helps translate. |
Friday, March 9, 2018
Anita's New School
Arusha, March 7, 2018, Wednesday
Less than two weeks before we leave Arusha for Spokane. As always our time here has gone by far too quickly. Also, as usual, I have left several things I absolutely need to get done undone until the last minute. That’s always the way it is though. I think I have plenty of time to do certain errands or small tasks and then leave them until the last minute. Oh well. There’s always next year.
It was downright chilly during the night, and for the first time it made sense to me that there is a light comforter on our bed. Usually, I think of it as a decoration which must be folded away each night at bedtime, but last night, about 2:00 a.m., I crawled out from under the mosquito net and got it to cover me. The electricity which had been off more than on all evening, was on when I got up, so I had a long, lovely, hot shower to warm up.
With John gone, I tend to lose track of time. Ray had told me he was coming at 10:00 this morning to take me to visit Anita’s school, but it wasn’t until he texted me at 9:25 to tell me he would be here at 9:45 that I realized I needed to get dressed and ready to go. This definitely seemed like a skirt occasion to me, so I put on my most conservative black and white skirt and black top. Ray seemed to approve as when he doesn’t, he sometimes lets me know in question form, e.g., Is that what you are wearing? Do you like your hair that short? This morning he was silent except for the traditional morning greetings.
The school’s location wasn’t where I had thought it was. That’s because the Prime Secondary School is near us, and the Prime Primary School, where Anita goes is not. We drove in a very different section of Arusha in and among very nice compounds and shops. When we entered the gates of the school, the children were all outside on a break, happily running around or playing on genuine, nicely maintained play equipment. I was already seeing some enormous differences between this school and the former one where Anita had been.
First, Ray took me to the director’s office, where we made our formal introductions, and then director took me on a tour. I had already noted that the grounds were far better kept than the norm, and all the buildings were spotlessly painted. It’s difficult to maintain exterior paint in this climate, so extra care had to be given here. There were African and Indian students, and many of the girls were obviously Muslim. However, almost all the play groups I saw were mixed, not segregated by race or culture. Also, even the littlest children came up to me and greeted me in English, instead of hanging back and just peaking at me as usually happens in school situations. This is the school that Sidney Kundayo attends, and he was very surprised when I suddenly appeared.
The director was very proud to show me the different classrooms from nursery (age 3+) to 7th form (maybe equivalent to our 7th grade). Every single classroom was spacious, bright, and very well decorated. I had never seen anything this nice at any other African school here—not even St. Margaret’s, which is frightfully expensive. Only very expensive international private schools have such classrooms. However, the absolutely most impressive thing was that every single classroom is limited to only 30 students. This year 40 students were admitted to the 6th form, so the group was split into two groups of 20 each even though that meant the expense of hiring another teacher. That’s better than the classroom ratio some of our American teachers have!
They are still building a second story onto the classrooms for the higher grades, but they already have a computer room in place. I didn’t climb the stairs to see it, but based on what I had already seen, I am sure it has real computers which actually function. The Indian community here values good education, and by making certain their children get it, they also give Tanzanian students who can afford it, the same opportunity. The fees are expensive, but here Anita will be offered a real education, not just a place to sit and parrot back all day.
I tried to be careful while taking photos. I would have loved some closer shots of the different students. Most interesting to me were the little Sikh boys with tiny training knots on top of their heads. These looked like small buns covered by white or blue hankies. The little Muslim girls in their hijab made me nostalgic for Fadhila’s daughters. We miss out on so much without such diversity at home.
After we left the school, Ray wanted to take me to see a restaurant he thought I should know about as they serve authentic African food. This place is actually next to the curio shop I usually shop at each year, but have avoided this time. I actually ducked down so the men inside wouldn’t see me pass by. The restaurant totally amazed me: it was like walking back into the colonial years, with big fake tusk arches over the entry path and a huge thatched covered dining area. I asked to see a menu, and was surprised that the prices were very reasonable. This is where John can go to get his fix of goat meat.
From there, Ray drove me to Kitamu Coffee. I wanted to spend several hours outside Kundayo at a place where I could drink good coffee and read for a couple of hours. People came and went, but no one bothered me while I drank French press coffee, nibbled on mandazi, and read my current book, “It Can’t Happen Here.” I ordered some maharagwe (beans stewed in coconut milk) to take away, and returned to Kundayo about 1:00p.m.
I had barely gotten into my apartment, when Emmanuel appeared at the door with a tray with a big plate of baked chicken, rice, and greens, a dish of vegetable stew for the rice, and another dish of Swahili salad. When I expressed my astonishment, he told me that Mama Kundayo had ordered it for me. So, I put my humble maharagwe in the refrigerator, and had a delicious feast. Mama is something else!
The afternoon went by slowly, as I was waiting for John to return from Nairobi. The bus left there at 2:00 p.m. so I assumed if all went well, John would be back between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. I was too juiced up from strong coffee to stay still or take a nap, so I pitter- patted around cleaning out the refrigerator, squaring the corners of book piles, and checking my Facebook and email. It poured rain for about an hour and then the sun reappeared
Around 8:30 John returned and we talked abut his experiences in Nairobi before finally going to sleep.
Less than two weeks before we leave Arusha for Spokane. As always our time here has gone by far too quickly. Also, as usual, I have left several things I absolutely need to get done undone until the last minute. That’s always the way it is though. I think I have plenty of time to do certain errands or small tasks and then leave them until the last minute. Oh well. There’s always next year.
It was downright chilly during the night, and for the first time it made sense to me that there is a light comforter on our bed. Usually, I think of it as a decoration which must be folded away each night at bedtime, but last night, about 2:00 a.m., I crawled out from under the mosquito net and got it to cover me. The electricity which had been off more than on all evening, was on when I got up, so I had a long, lovely, hot shower to warm up.
With John gone, I tend to lose track of time. Ray had told me he was coming at 10:00 this morning to take me to visit Anita’s school, but it wasn’t until he texted me at 9:25 to tell me he would be here at 9:45 that I realized I needed to get dressed and ready to go. This definitely seemed like a skirt occasion to me, so I put on my most conservative black and white skirt and black top. Ray seemed to approve as when he doesn’t, he sometimes lets me know in question form, e.g., Is that what you are wearing? Do you like your hair that short? This morning he was silent except for the traditional morning greetings.
The school’s location wasn’t where I had thought it was. That’s because the Prime Secondary School is near us, and the Prime Primary School, where Anita goes is not. We drove in a very different section of Arusha in and among very nice compounds and shops. When we entered the gates of the school, the children were all outside on a break, happily running around or playing on genuine, nicely maintained play equipment. I was already seeing some enormous differences between this school and the former one where Anita had been.
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| Buildings for the lower grades |
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| Part of the playground |
First, Ray took me to the director’s office, where we made our formal introductions, and then director took me on a tour. I had already noted that the grounds were far better kept than the norm, and all the buildings were spotlessly painted. It’s difficult to maintain exterior paint in this climate, so extra care had to be given here. There were African and Indian students, and many of the girls were obviously Muslim. However, almost all the play groups I saw were mixed, not segregated by race or culture. Also, even the littlest children came up to me and greeted me in English, instead of hanging back and just peaking at me as usually happens in school situations. This is the school that Sidney Kundayo attends, and he was very surprised when I suddenly appeared.
The director was very proud to show me the different classrooms from nursery (age 3+) to 7th form (maybe equivalent to our 7th grade). Every single classroom was spacious, bright, and very well decorated. I had never seen anything this nice at any other African school here—not even St. Margaret’s, which is frightfully expensive. Only very expensive international private schools have such classrooms. However, the absolutely most impressive thing was that every single classroom is limited to only 30 students. This year 40 students were admitted to the 6th form, so the group was split into two groups of 20 each even though that meant the expense of hiring another teacher. That’s better than the classroom ratio some of our American teachers have!
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| Anita's old school, a private Lutheran one. Anita is the tiny girl far in the back corner in a red and white hat. |
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| Anita's new classroom and teacher |
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| Notice the nice desks and the decorated walls. |
They are still building a second story onto the classrooms for the higher grades, but they already have a computer room in place. I didn’t climb the stairs to see it, but based on what I had already seen, I am sure it has real computers which actually function. The Indian community here values good education, and by making certain their children get it, they also give Tanzanian students who can afford it, the same opportunity. The fees are expensive, but here Anita will be offered a real education, not just a place to sit and parrot back all day.
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| Anita in her new uniform |
I tried to be careful while taking photos. I would have loved some closer shots of the different students. Most interesting to me were the little Sikh boys with tiny training knots on top of their heads. These looked like small buns covered by white or blue hankies. The little Muslim girls in their hijab made me nostalgic for Fadhila’s daughters. We miss out on so much without such diversity at home.
After we left the school, Ray wanted to take me to see a restaurant he thought I should know about as they serve authentic African food. This place is actually next to the curio shop I usually shop at each year, but have avoided this time. I actually ducked down so the men inside wouldn’t see me pass by. The restaurant totally amazed me: it was like walking back into the colonial years, with big fake tusk arches over the entry path and a huge thatched covered dining area. I asked to see a menu, and was surprised that the prices were very reasonable. This is where John can go to get his fix of goat meat.
From there, Ray drove me to Kitamu Coffee. I wanted to spend several hours outside Kundayo at a place where I could drink good coffee and read for a couple of hours. People came and went, but no one bothered me while I drank French press coffee, nibbled on mandazi, and read my current book, “It Can’t Happen Here.” I ordered some maharagwe (beans stewed in coconut milk) to take away, and returned to Kundayo about 1:00p.m.
I had barely gotten into my apartment, when Emmanuel appeared at the door with a tray with a big plate of baked chicken, rice, and greens, a dish of vegetable stew for the rice, and another dish of Swahili salad. When I expressed my astonishment, he told me that Mama Kundayo had ordered it for me. So, I put my humble maharagwe in the refrigerator, and had a delicious feast. Mama is something else!
The afternoon went by slowly, as I was waiting for John to return from Nairobi. The bus left there at 2:00 p.m. so I assumed if all went well, John would be back between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. I was too juiced up from strong coffee to stay still or take a nap, so I pitter- patted around cleaning out the refrigerator, squaring the corners of book piles, and checking my Facebook and email. It poured rain for about an hour and then the sun reappeared
Around 8:30 John returned and we talked abut his experiences in Nairobi before finally going to sleep.
Tanzanite and Mud
The electricity came on again this morning for a while, and then it went on and off for a while before finally deciding to stay off for several hours this afternoon. Apparently all the rain we’ve been having plays havoc with our power grid or perhaps just the wiring somewhere nearby. Anyway, I didn’t need electricity to have my usual wonderful breakfast of Wheetabix and banana slices, and the milk was still cold.
Unlike my normal morning pattern, I did not go out to the terrace after breakfast. It was just too cool to be there without a sweater, which I failed to bring with me this year. The sky was a sullen gray, and instead of waiting until afternoon, the rain fell on and off all day. Maybe the farmers are happy with this weather, but I’m getting a bit grumpy about it. I’d like some more sunny, almost hot days before we leave.
John is still off in Nairobi, so I decided to meet up with a friend and do some tanzanite shopping. I’m not much of a jewelry person, but I had heard of a gem/jewelry merchant who sells some very affordable tanzanite rings. Tanzanite is both beautiful and very expensive, but if one opts for the second tier in color and a sterling silver instead of gold setting, it is possible to buy very attractive rings for just about $100. Most people back home will not note the slightly lighter color of a stone, so I found a ring which I liked for its simplicity and made the decision to buy it. It needs some slight sizing, so I won’t actually get it until later this week. (Maybe next year I should take orders.)
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| My photo does not capture the true color and brilliance of these stones. |
Once the jewelry buying was complete, we went to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. It was pouring rain, and the road in front of the restaurant was piled high with dirt from a very deep trench. However, there was a board across the trench, so even though the roadside was a mini-river, we decided to enter the restaurant. A waiter came out with an umbrella and took my hand to help me across the moat. Still, I had to wade in water and nearly slipped in the mud. By the time I got inside, I was in a definite noodle mood and ordered a big plate of chicken fried noodles. My friend got a big bowl of chicken corn soup and egg rolls. The rain had stopped by the time we left, but the maneuvering back across the trench was almost as perilous. I am so glad John wasn’t present, as he would have had a fit about the possibility of me misstepping and falling into an 8-foot deep pit of mud.
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| I went back 3 days later when it wasn't pouring rain and took photos. |
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| This was a waterfall on Tuesday. |
Ray came to pick me up, and on the way back to Kundayo, I asked him about the proper colors to wear when mourning or attending a funeral. He said that the usual choices are white and purple. So, yesterday Mama was wearing white for mourning, and I must have misunderstood about white being bright and cheery. She wasn’t out at all this afternoon, so I didn’t have an opportunity to quiz her.
On My Own
Arusha, March 5, 2018, Monday
We had to get up early this morning since John was catching a bus at 7:30 a.m. for his trip to Nairobi. It seemed better to me to have John turn on all the lights as he dressed, ate breakfast, and did his last minute packing than to let him stumble and bang about in darkness. He wanted to be considerate and let me sleep for another hour, but I was fully awake by the second time he crashed into something. Anyway, I didn’t want to sleep through his leaving and not say good-bye. Ray came at 7:15, and just like that I was here alone.
Prior to this morning, I had bravely planned to set up a schedule full of activity and adventure. However, once John was off, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do except read, do some research on line, and think about napping. Ray returned later in the morning to tell me that Priskilla’s glasses had broken and needed to be replaced. Obviously, he needed some assistance in order to do that, so I helped him out, and then decided to stay here for lunch instead of treating myself to something in town. It’s great that I have never lost my love of chicken ramen.
Mama was sitting outside before noon, dressed all in white. She seemed to have people with her most of the time, so I didn’t go out to greet her until nearly 2:00 p.m. It was then that I learned that she was going to pay her respects for a neighbor who had died. When I asked if white was the color for mourning, she said no, that one could wear any color, but she thought white was nice and bright. Maybe I missed something there. Anyway, we didn’t have time to sort it all out, so don’t take this as a new insight into Masai culture.
Because of all the rain lately, our TV service has been very sporadic, and the electricity is very unreliable. This afternoon sometime the electricity went out, and six hours later it hasn’t come on again. I hope it does before morning. Yet, when I stop and think about it, I would never have expected to have TV or even necessarily electricity at other places and times in Africa.
All day the sky looked as if it would pour rain at any minute. However, except for an occasional rogue drop, it remained dry until about 9:00 p.m. Then, it began to pour nonstop. John called from Nairobi and reported that there had been a lot of rain there as well. Maybe this is what they call the little rainy season. Whatever it is, the mosquito population seems to be increasing exponentially, and I am now using my last can of OFF! I should ask you to pray for the prey—me.
We had to get up early this morning since John was catching a bus at 7:30 a.m. for his trip to Nairobi. It seemed better to me to have John turn on all the lights as he dressed, ate breakfast, and did his last minute packing than to let him stumble and bang about in darkness. He wanted to be considerate and let me sleep for another hour, but I was fully awake by the second time he crashed into something. Anyway, I didn’t want to sleep through his leaving and not say good-bye. Ray came at 7:15, and just like that I was here alone.
Prior to this morning, I had bravely planned to set up a schedule full of activity and adventure. However, once John was off, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do except read, do some research on line, and think about napping. Ray returned later in the morning to tell me that Priskilla’s glasses had broken and needed to be replaced. Obviously, he needed some assistance in order to do that, so I helped him out, and then decided to stay here for lunch instead of treating myself to something in town. It’s great that I have never lost my love of chicken ramen.
Mama was sitting outside before noon, dressed all in white. She seemed to have people with her most of the time, so I didn’t go out to greet her until nearly 2:00 p.m. It was then that I learned that she was going to pay her respects for a neighbor who had died. When I asked if white was the color for mourning, she said no, that one could wear any color, but she thought white was nice and bright. Maybe I missed something there. Anyway, we didn’t have time to sort it all out, so don’t take this as a new insight into Masai culture.
Because of all the rain lately, our TV service has been very sporadic, and the electricity is very unreliable. This afternoon sometime the electricity went out, and six hours later it hasn’t come on again. I hope it does before morning. Yet, when I stop and think about it, I would never have expected to have TV or even necessarily electricity at other places and times in Africa.
All day the sky looked as if it would pour rain at any minute. However, except for an occasional rogue drop, it remained dry until about 9:00 p.m. Then, it began to pour nonstop. John called from Nairobi and reported that there had been a lot of rain there as well. Maybe this is what they call the little rainy season. Whatever it is, the mosquito population seems to be increasing exponentially, and I am now using my last can of OFF! I should ask you to pray for the prey—me.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Rain at Last
Arusha, March 3 - 4, 2018, Saturday & Sunday
Once it began raining on Friday, the showers kept coming. Having a metal roof makes the rain sound much stronger than it actually is, but I saw some large puddles for the first time this visit to Arusha. The farmers must be very relieved, as it has been dry here for about two months. Ray told us that last Sunday at church, they prayed for rain for the farmers, and it has come, so now he thinks they should pray for the taxi drivers. For us, the rain has caused power outages and a crash of the internet system here, but those are minor irritants. The cleaner air and cooler temperatures are big bonuses.
John was the speaker at church Sunday, so most of our Saturday was spent right at Kundayo, where John could focus on working on his sermon. I felt very successful in getting two red bucket loads of laundry done and making chili for dinner. It’s a relief to have such simple goals for a day. That’s possible because a worker comes in every morning to wash any dirty dishes, clean each room, make our bed, and leave us clean towels. If only this would happen back in Spokane!
The rain pounded on our roof almost all Saturday night. We were up and ready for church early because John had to meet with the others participating in the service. My review of the service was that John did very well, but the worship leader bumbled a couple of very important parts. One gets a continuum of ability in a lay-led congregation, but everyone is very generous in accepting what others do. I’m very supportive of not spending money on a big professional staff so the church can give over 50% of it’s offerings to groups who are active in social outreach in Arusha.
After church, we took a taxi out to Njiro mall, a place we used to frequent more in the past than we have this year. The best feature there is the big open air food court in the center, where waiters from as many as six or more restaurants converge on diners with their separate menus. One can order things from different restaurants, e.g., a main entree from one and a dessert from another. Usually, I order Indian food, but today, both John and I opted for Chinese. Then, we bought a loaf of freshly baked bread and a few other items from The Village Market, an outrageously stocked store with imported clotted cream and El Paso salsa, before taking another taxi back to Kundayo.
Once it began raining on Friday, the showers kept coming. Having a metal roof makes the rain sound much stronger than it actually is, but I saw some large puddles for the first time this visit to Arusha. The farmers must be very relieved, as it has been dry here for about two months. Ray told us that last Sunday at church, they prayed for rain for the farmers, and it has come, so now he thinks they should pray for the taxi drivers. For us, the rain has caused power outages and a crash of the internet system here, but those are minor irritants. The cleaner air and cooler temperatures are big bonuses.
John was the speaker at church Sunday, so most of our Saturday was spent right at Kundayo, where John could focus on working on his sermon. I felt very successful in getting two red bucket loads of laundry done and making chili for dinner. It’s a relief to have such simple goals for a day. That’s possible because a worker comes in every morning to wash any dirty dishes, clean each room, make our bed, and leave us clean towels. If only this would happen back in Spokane!
The rain pounded on our roof almost all Saturday night. We were up and ready for church early because John had to meet with the others participating in the service. My review of the service was that John did very well, but the worship leader bumbled a couple of very important parts. One gets a continuum of ability in a lay-led congregation, but everyone is very generous in accepting what others do. I’m very supportive of not spending money on a big professional staff so the church can give over 50% of it’s offerings to groups who are active in social outreach in Arusha.
After church, we took a taxi out to Njiro mall, a place we used to frequent more in the past than we have this year. The best feature there is the big open air food court in the center, where waiters from as many as six or more restaurants converge on diners with their separate menus. One can order things from different restaurants, e.g., a main entree from one and a dessert from another. Usually, I order Indian food, but today, both John and I opted for Chinese. Then, we bought a loaf of freshly baked bread and a few other items from The Village Market, an outrageously stocked store with imported clotted cream and El Paso salsa, before taking another taxi back to Kundayo.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Seminar with Mama
Arusha, March 2, 2018, Friday
Mama was right. Today is Friday, and it rained during the night and then again this evening. By the time we were up and about, the rain had stopped, and though the ground was wet, there was no mud—at least not at Kundayo. There was thunder from time to time during the day, but no more rain fell until about 9:00 p.m. The day was much cooler than they have been, so even the occasional power outages didn’t bother us much. The electricity has been more sporadic than usual this past week, but never off long enough for everything in our teeny tiny freezer compartment to melt.
As usual, John made a trek to the city center to buy bread, liquid dish soap, a frozen chicken, etc. He also made sure that he bought some samosas for his lunch as well. I don’t know how he will manage without them when he returns to Spokane. I had a big juicy peanut butter, tomato, and avocado sandwich for my lunch. I don’t know how I will manage without perfect, cheap avocados when I return to Spokane. Now that it is March, thoughts of returning to Spokane have new import for us.
Mama was out in her spot early today, and she was ready to continue the discussion of men and marriage which we had begun yesterday.I am ambivalent about what I should or shouldn’t report because a lot of what she said was extremely personal. She’s not your average Masai wife, that’s for sure. She was raised in town as the daughter of an entrepreneur, and got married at age 17. (I have yet to discover the details of the match and marriage.) She has always had her own money, so she and Mr. Kundayo own their property jointly, which gives her an unusual amount of power for a wife. We got into discussing names, and I found out her given name is Julianna. Just perfect for such a regal woman. Then, we discussed the choosing of names for children, and if I understood correctly, their custom is for the husband and wife to alternate between a name from the husband’s family and then the wife’s. Mama’s first child was a girl and was to be named Rachel after someone from Baba’s family. However, Mama didn’t like that person and changed Rachel to Lillian. In the same way, Martha (after Baba’s sister) became Nancy, and Wilson (Baba’s namesake) became Allen. Only Maso’s name was not changed. When I asked how she could do that, she said her husband didn’t pay attention when she filled out the government forms, so she wrote the names she wanted. That made me laugh so hard that Mama laughed and laughed, too. John came out to see what was going on, and stayed to hear what else we might get into. Mama provides me with an amazing view of reality in at least one modern, middle class Tanzanian family.
I had taken out a plate with cookies for a treat, and once those were gone, and we had more or less worn ourselves out talking and laughing, Mama excused herself saying she had to go to church. She attends the same big Lutheran church that Ray does, and he’s told us she’s the only one in the family who ever shows up. She must be pretty faithful, as she has a women’s group as well. Still she has a healthy respect for traditional magic, as I would too if I lived in her shoes. One of the nicest moments of the afternoon came when she told me that she likes it that I don’t judge or criticize cultural differences. How could I with such a fascinating woman?
Mama was right. Today is Friday, and it rained during the night and then again this evening. By the time we were up and about, the rain had stopped, and though the ground was wet, there was no mud—at least not at Kundayo. There was thunder from time to time during the day, but no more rain fell until about 9:00 p.m. The day was much cooler than they have been, so even the occasional power outages didn’t bother us much. The electricity has been more sporadic than usual this past week, but never off long enough for everything in our teeny tiny freezer compartment to melt.
As usual, John made a trek to the city center to buy bread, liquid dish soap, a frozen chicken, etc. He also made sure that he bought some samosas for his lunch as well. I don’t know how he will manage without them when he returns to Spokane. I had a big juicy peanut butter, tomato, and avocado sandwich for my lunch. I don’t know how I will manage without perfect, cheap avocados when I return to Spokane. Now that it is March, thoughts of returning to Spokane have new import for us.
Mama was out in her spot early today, and she was ready to continue the discussion of men and marriage which we had begun yesterday.I am ambivalent about what I should or shouldn’t report because a lot of what she said was extremely personal. She’s not your average Masai wife, that’s for sure. She was raised in town as the daughter of an entrepreneur, and got married at age 17. (I have yet to discover the details of the match and marriage.) She has always had her own money, so she and Mr. Kundayo own their property jointly, which gives her an unusual amount of power for a wife. We got into discussing names, and I found out her given name is Julianna. Just perfect for such a regal woman. Then, we discussed the choosing of names for children, and if I understood correctly, their custom is for the husband and wife to alternate between a name from the husband’s family and then the wife’s. Mama’s first child was a girl and was to be named Rachel after someone from Baba’s family. However, Mama didn’t like that person and changed Rachel to Lillian. In the same way, Martha (after Baba’s sister) became Nancy, and Wilson (Baba’s namesake) became Allen. Only Maso’s name was not changed. When I asked how she could do that, she said her husband didn’t pay attention when she filled out the government forms, so she wrote the names she wanted. That made me laugh so hard that Mama laughed and laughed, too. John came out to see what was going on, and stayed to hear what else we might get into. Mama provides me with an amazing view of reality in at least one modern, middle class Tanzanian family.
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| Mama does enjoy palmiers. |
I had taken out a plate with cookies for a treat, and once those were gone, and we had more or less worn ourselves out talking and laughing, Mama excused herself saying she had to go to church. She attends the same big Lutheran church that Ray does, and he’s told us she’s the only one in the family who ever shows up. She must be pretty faithful, as she has a women’s group as well. Still she has a healthy respect for traditional magic, as I would too if I lived in her shoes. One of the nicest moments of the afternoon came when she told me that she likes it that I don’t judge or criticize cultural differences. How could I with such a fascinating woman?
Moses
Arusha, March 1, 2018, Thursday
This was a special day, in which our former Whitworth student Moses Pulei came to visit us. Moses is one of the most complexly busy individuals I have ever known. He’s connected and to involved with international businesses and the governments of several African countries, most obviously Tanzania, Kenya, and South Sudan. He has recently extracted himself from negotiating millions of dollars in food aid for South Sudan since to do so would have meant he’d have to bump back 50% of the budget to Sudanese officials. For $500 million, that’s a huge chunk of money going to government sycophants instead of starving children.
Moses had said he’d arrive at 11:00, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen, and I was right. However, this time the delay was the fault of a piki-piki (motorcycle taxi) driver who ran into a cow and caused a big jam on the road coming into town. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt—not even the cow—and all was cleared up in just over an hour. So we had a couple hours to catch up with each other before going to lunch at Picasso’s. John has somehow brokered a connection between an American businessman and Moses for the sale of corn to be shipped to Kenya. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember Moses saying it would be 90,000 tons. How in the heck did John know someone who could do that?
John also would like Moses to set up a meeting for him with another former student, Alfred Mutua, who is now the governor of Machakos County, Kenya. Alfred has just announced that he will run for president in 2022, which is a very credible candidacy as he is extremely popular as a governor. (https://citizentv.co.ke/news/im-still-in-the-2022-presidential-race-says-governor-mutua-192218/) John plans it be in Nairobi for the first part of next week, and he’d like to see Alfred if possible. We’ll see.
Mama Kundayo reappeared and sent us a dish of chicken stew. I went out to talk with her and learned that she had spent Tuesday and Wednesday at a cousin’s funeral. Somehow that led Mama to her usual criticism of African men being unfaithful bastards. According to her, African men are no good because they have a main wife in town and then other “wives” and children in different villages. All the wives usually ignore each other because, if any jealousy or rivalry is shown, it could lead to poisoning or very bad witchcraft. When such a man dies, the legal, main wife inherits from him, and the other wives and children are left destitute. “No good,” says Mama. Papa Kundayo still lives in the family compound, but we never ever see him anymore, so maybe he has become persona non grata because of bad behavior.
While we were talking, Mama decided that John and I needed ugali to go with the chicken stew, so she yelled her order to the kitchen staff. That meant that John and I had a pretty complete meal. John steamed some broccoli, sliced an avocado, and we were ready to eat. For dessert, we had a perfect mango on vanilla ice cream. Life can be wonderful.
This was a special day, in which our former Whitworth student Moses Pulei came to visit us. Moses is one of the most complexly busy individuals I have ever known. He’s connected and to involved with international businesses and the governments of several African countries, most obviously Tanzania, Kenya, and South Sudan. He has recently extracted himself from negotiating millions of dollars in food aid for South Sudan since to do so would have meant he’d have to bump back 50% of the budget to Sudanese officials. For $500 million, that’s a huge chunk of money going to government sycophants instead of starving children.
Moses had said he’d arrive at 11:00, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen, and I was right. However, this time the delay was the fault of a piki-piki (motorcycle taxi) driver who ran into a cow and caused a big jam on the road coming into town. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt—not even the cow—and all was cleared up in just over an hour. So we had a couple hours to catch up with each other before going to lunch at Picasso’s. John has somehow brokered a connection between an American businessman and Moses for the sale of corn to be shipped to Kenya. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember Moses saying it would be 90,000 tons. How in the heck did John know someone who could do that?
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| Moses Pulei, Ph.D. |
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| Masai Moses choosing a goat for dinner. |
John also would like Moses to set up a meeting for him with another former student, Alfred Mutua, who is now the governor of Machakos County, Kenya. Alfred has just announced that he will run for president in 2022, which is a very credible candidacy as he is extremely popular as a governor. (https://citizentv.co.ke/news/im-still-in-the-2022-presidential-race-says-governor-mutua-192218/) John plans it be in Nairobi for the first part of next week, and he’d like to see Alfred if possible. We’ll see.
Mama Kundayo reappeared and sent us a dish of chicken stew. I went out to talk with her and learned that she had spent Tuesday and Wednesday at a cousin’s funeral. Somehow that led Mama to her usual criticism of African men being unfaithful bastards. According to her, African men are no good because they have a main wife in town and then other “wives” and children in different villages. All the wives usually ignore each other because, if any jealousy or rivalry is shown, it could lead to poisoning or very bad witchcraft. When such a man dies, the legal, main wife inherits from him, and the other wives and children are left destitute. “No good,” says Mama. Papa Kundayo still lives in the family compound, but we never ever see him anymore, so maybe he has become persona non grata because of bad behavior.
While we were talking, Mama decided that John and I needed ugali to go with the chicken stew, so she yelled her order to the kitchen staff. That meant that John and I had a pretty complete meal. John steamed some broccoli, sliced an avocado, and we were ready to eat. For dessert, we had a perfect mango on vanilla ice cream. Life can be wonderful.
Life Goes On
Arusha, February 26 - 28, 2018, Monday - Wednesday
There has been no rain for three weeks or more. Sometimes we hear thunder, and several times scattered raindrops have fallen for a minute or two, but an actual shower never falls. So, now everything is very, very dry, and a thin film of dust covers everything. Our rooms are cleaned each morning, and yet by afternoon, everything feels gritty. I dust off my computer often and wonder how much dirt shifts into its innards. A good downpour would feel wonderful. Mama told me that it will rain on Friday; we’ll see.
Mama has been a tad illusive. She hasn’t been out at her tree much at all this week. On Sunday evening, she sent us a plate of nice warm chapatis—many more than we could eat. Then, Monday evening she had her grandson Sidney bring us a couple ears of steamed and buttered corn. It’s very common to see women along the streets selling big ears of roasted corn, which is very hard and chewy, but I had never had the Tanzanian version of corn-on-the-cob before. It was like very overripe corn, but not as hard as the roasted ears. If a Tanzanian eats our version of corn-on-the-cob, he/she must think we forgot to let the corn ripen and there’s not much to chew.
Monday evening, Mama, one of her neighbors, and I were sitting over on the garden terrace, passing some time together. The friend spoke more English than Mama, so we managed to have some satisfactory conversation. Mostly, however, I just sat and watched three young women doing yoga on the lawn, while Mama and her friend spoke to each other in Swahili. Then, for some silly reason, I stood up, bent over and planted my hands full palm down on the concrete. Mama hooted, so the friend got up and tried to do the same, only she spread her legs far apart to do it. When I told her that she had to keep her legs together, she couldn’t do it, which made Mama collapse in laughter. I tried to explain that my shorter than proportional legs were my secret. They may not have understood, but Mama kept laughing. At that point, I offered my good-byes and left to make our dinner.
On Tuesday—just yesterday—John asked Ray to take us to Fifi’s for lunch, after which John wanted to run some errands while I stayed behind and read. When we first came to Arusha years ago, I avoided Fifi’s like the plague since it seemed the essence of all I found distasteful about the ex-pats in town: fancy food at high prices, lots of fancy coffee drinks, free wifi, and many culturally awkward wazungu students or backpackers trying to look cool and at ease. Eventually, I gave in because Fifi’s is so centrally located to all the places John needs to go when he does downtown business. I wonder if the place has changed ownership, however, because now many more of the customers are Tanzanian, and only once this year have I seen a large group of young white people there. Unfortunately, I don’t think their food is as good as it used to be, but they still make and sell fantastic bread.
John was having trouble loading more time on his Tanzanian phone and asked Emmanuel, one of the two duty clerks here, to help him. Having a staff like Emmanual and his counterpart, Beatrice, on call 24/7, is a a real asset for us. They act as wonderful concierges, and add to the family feel Kundayo has for us. Mazo and Mama have become like extended family, and the grandson, Sidney, adds another dimension to the community. He’s great at running errands for his grandmother, and I enjoy surprising him with gifts such as a headlamp or pack of gum.
Again this afternoon there was thunder and for a short minute or two some drops of rain pounded on our metal roof. However, once again no serious rain fell, and there wasn’t any cleaner or cooler air. I cannot understand how the mosquitoes manage to exist when it seems so dry now, but they are definitely on the prowl and always able to find me just as my layer of repellent wears off in the evening. So far, I have gone through 5 big aerosol cans of OFF! and have one and a half cans left. I hope that’s enough to keep me relatively bite free until we leave for Spokane.
There has been no rain for three weeks or more. Sometimes we hear thunder, and several times scattered raindrops have fallen for a minute or two, but an actual shower never falls. So, now everything is very, very dry, and a thin film of dust covers everything. Our rooms are cleaned each morning, and yet by afternoon, everything feels gritty. I dust off my computer often and wonder how much dirt shifts into its innards. A good downpour would feel wonderful. Mama told me that it will rain on Friday; we’ll see.
Mama has been a tad illusive. She hasn’t been out at her tree much at all this week. On Sunday evening, she sent us a plate of nice warm chapatis—many more than we could eat. Then, Monday evening she had her grandson Sidney bring us a couple ears of steamed and buttered corn. It’s very common to see women along the streets selling big ears of roasted corn, which is very hard and chewy, but I had never had the Tanzanian version of corn-on-the-cob before. It was like very overripe corn, but not as hard as the roasted ears. If a Tanzanian eats our version of corn-on-the-cob, he/she must think we forgot to let the corn ripen and there’s not much to chew.
Monday evening, Mama, one of her neighbors, and I were sitting over on the garden terrace, passing some time together. The friend spoke more English than Mama, so we managed to have some satisfactory conversation. Mostly, however, I just sat and watched three young women doing yoga on the lawn, while Mama and her friend spoke to each other in Swahili. Then, for some silly reason, I stood up, bent over and planted my hands full palm down on the concrete. Mama hooted, so the friend got up and tried to do the same, only she spread her legs far apart to do it. When I told her that she had to keep her legs together, she couldn’t do it, which made Mama collapse in laughter. I tried to explain that my shorter than proportional legs were my secret. They may not have understood, but Mama kept laughing. At that point, I offered my good-byes and left to make our dinner.
On Tuesday—just yesterday—John asked Ray to take us to Fifi’s for lunch, after which John wanted to run some errands while I stayed behind and read. When we first came to Arusha years ago, I avoided Fifi’s like the plague since it seemed the essence of all I found distasteful about the ex-pats in town: fancy food at high prices, lots of fancy coffee drinks, free wifi, and many culturally awkward wazungu students or backpackers trying to look cool and at ease. Eventually, I gave in because Fifi’s is so centrally located to all the places John needs to go when he does downtown business. I wonder if the place has changed ownership, however, because now many more of the customers are Tanzanian, and only once this year have I seen a large group of young white people there. Unfortunately, I don’t think their food is as good as it used to be, but they still make and sell fantastic bread.
John was having trouble loading more time on his Tanzanian phone and asked Emmanuel, one of the two duty clerks here, to help him. Having a staff like Emmanual and his counterpart, Beatrice, on call 24/7, is a a real asset for us. They act as wonderful concierges, and add to the family feel Kundayo has for us. Mazo and Mama have become like extended family, and the grandson, Sidney, adds another dimension to the community. He’s great at running errands for his grandmother, and I enjoy surprising him with gifts such as a headlamp or pack of gum.
Again this afternoon there was thunder and for a short minute or two some drops of rain pounded on our metal roof. However, once again no serious rain fell, and there wasn’t any cleaner or cooler air. I cannot understand how the mosquitoes manage to exist when it seems so dry now, but they are definitely on the prowl and always able to find me just as my layer of repellent wears off in the evening. So far, I have gone through 5 big aerosol cans of OFF! and have one and a half cans left. I hope that’s enough to keep me relatively bite free until we leave for Spokane.
Monday, February 26, 2018
In the Neighborhood
Views around the neighborhood today. John won't take photos of people.
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| We haven't had any rain for several weeks and need it badly now. |
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| One of our nicer neighborhood bars. |
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| The Adventist church is one of many churches behind Kundayo, and we see their well dressed members pass by every Saturday. |
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| There are small market stands all along the streets. |
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| Revivals are very popular, and often from late afternoon or early evening, dueling loudspeakers blare from several sides of Kundayo. |
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