Datoga Safari

January 27, 2018, Saturday

Disclaimer: This is a report of John’s short safari, not my observations of the day.

John connected with two Dutch men who have been in Tanzania seeing the sights together. They made plans to go past Manyara and near Ngorogoro Crater to visit the Datoga group.These people are pastoralists like the Masai but remain more reliant on older ways of life. They are known for smelting their own metal and creating arrows, which they trade to the Hadza, who are true hunter-gathers, for meat. John was fascinated by the bellows, the liquid metal and its quick cooling and formation into barbed arrowheads. Traditionally the men excavated ore for smelting, but these days, they simply melt down parts of broken faucets, doorknobs, etc.

Starting the hot fire with bellows

 Increasing the heat

 

The molten metal is poured into a mold greased with cow fat.

The ingot cools quickly.

Shaping begins with pounding and then filing.

The finished arrowhead.

The Datoga women demonstrated some of their home skills such as grinding maize with stones. I liked all the gourds they had hung up in their food and cooking area. They are similar to Masai in many ways, just more resistant to change and more modern ways.

 Grinding millet

 

On the return to Arusha, the men passed huge warehouses built to store onions and maize for export to neighboring countries. An individual or a group of two or three farmers may own their own warehouse and decide when prices are most advantageous for selling. This reminded John of the big potato warehouses the Hutterites near Spokane have.

Large warehouses for storing crops

Stored onions

 Unloading corn for storage

 

As they got closer to Arusha, the Dutch guys wanted to stop at a Masai boma near the highway. The men in the boma were obviously used to drop-in tourists and quickly assembled both women and men to dance. The boma was extremely clean with none of the piles of cow manure and sheep shit found in a regular farming boma. Still the Dutch guys got to see how a typical Masai house is constructed and compete in the jumping games with the young men. John sat in the car, as the cost was $15 per person, and he has seen all this in more authentic settings.

The rad eroded soil in this region.

John returned in time for dinner quite triumphant, bearing a nice watermelon he had bought along the road for about 25 cents. I had little to report about my day, as it was very quiet with lots of reading and a long afternoon nap. It’s good that we each enjoyed our very different days.

Outsiders

January 25 - 26, 2008, Thursday & Friday

John made his daily walk downtown this morning with the pretext of needing to get his shoes polished. This is rather comical for a man who never ever polishes his shoes at home and allows them to acquire a raw, scrubbed hide look. Under oath, I would swear that I have not seen him with his shoe shine kit for at least five years and probably much longer. Still, it gave him a reason—which he didn’t really need—to go downtown again and explore new places. I so envy his mobility.

When John returned, he brought me a fruit salad from the second, newer Fifi’s, which is just across the street from AfriCafe. This salad has to be one of the best bargains in Arusha: more than 4 cups of cubed mango, papaya, pineapple, watermelon, apples, and bananas for less than $2.75. Sometimes there are even grapes in the mix. We always eat a lot of fruit here, but it would take extra effort for us to assemble such a variety of fruits for a salad, so I’m happy to let Fifi’s do that work. This salad and the vegetable salad one can assemble at George’s are my two favorite dishes to order in Arusha.

My day was a quiet, ordinary one filled with reading, email, laundry, and a bit of MSNBC. I can only take a small dose of American news before I have to cleanse my brain by turning to Al-Jazeera and a reminder that there is much more to the world than the USA. So much is happening that we never hear about in the States. (Did you know that there is a severe sugar shortage in Ethiopia?) Sometimes I think that we are every bit as isolated and brainwashed as the North Koreans. We have a much better material life, of course, but our focus only on our country and its importance and our ignorance of the outside world are pretty parallel to Kim-Jong Un’s kingdom. 

Thank goodness, there was another women’s group meeting yesterday. This group is my main link to social reality and feminine support here. We met at Linda Jacobson’s, in her rather funky little colonial bungalow. I think they have lived there over 30 years now, and though her husband, Mark, is the top administrator at Arusha Lutheran Medical Center, their home has the well-used and eclectic air of a lake or beach cottage. Everyone sinks into the well-worn sofas and instantly relaxes there. That’s likely part of the reason our meeting didn’t end until about 2:30.

Again, as I looked around our group, I noted the variety of cultures and life experiences among us. We came from the States, Denmark, Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Switzerland, India, and perhaps the UK. (The maybe UK woman had to leave early to coach swimming at a nearby school, so I didn’t get to find out much about her.) After singing, we had time to catch up on news from sisters who now live elsewhere. There were emails from women now in Germany, China, and the USA who still feel connected and supported by this group. There is a special bond for many which comes from years of sharing the unique life of those who are expats and yet have come to think of Tanzania as their real home. They can’t fully go “home” again when they leave. Many of the African women from other countries share this feeling as well, and the Tanzanians have usually worked for NGOs and want to maintain a link to a culture and language in which they were immersed for years. In a way, we are all outsiders and find understanding with each other.

After a session of having to hear more about the grumbling Israelites stumbling through the wilderness, we got to some serious business. One of the women who has always been here since I arrived in 2012 and is a strong pillar in the group was recently told that she and her husband will be transferred to a different country. They are to leave March 1, which was a huge shock to everyone. This decision was made by a detached administrator in the States, who apparently does not realize how disruptive such a change will be for not just the couple moving but also for all the Tanzanians they have worked with for many years.  I‘d love to give a little sermon about “good missionaries,” who often do outstanding work in development and women’s issues, and the way in which they are often treated like impersonal chess pieces by their boards, but I need to maintain some anonymity here.

Then, another bomb hit.  Kristine from Switzerland expected to move to Nairobi in December, right after Christmas, so she and her husband could assume teaching positions at a private university there. However, for some reason their placement has been volleyed between several departments, and the paperwork they thought had been completed seems not to have been processed. So, they are still caught here in Arusha and are beginning to wonder if they actually do have jobs now. The thought of having to return to Switzerland without any jobs there either is very frightening for them. We expats were all quick to offer sympathy and express our displeasure with heartless bureaucrats who have caused such stress and trauma to our friends. The response from the African women present, on the other hand, was that these women caught in forced change needed to think of their husbands first and do what they could to support and encourage their mates. A bit of cultural difference perhaps?

Then we all enjoyed a fine lunch of magnificent pumpkin soup, tossed green salad, sliced cheese (a great luxury), homemade bread, and mango and watermelon slices. There was even pressed coffee instead of the ubiquitous instant. Since Linda serves as hostess to scores of visitors who show up to do short-term work at the hospital or come to visit the hospital which they help support, she has a horde of special gifts she shares: Today it was squares of Ghirardelli chocolate.

After we began dispersing, Atula and I had a bit of side conversation in which I found out that she is not Japanese as I thought she might be, but rather Mongolian, part of a people somehow included within the borders of India when the British drew country boundaries. She’s married to a Masai and has an adult daughter and son. The daughter married a man whose father is African and mother is Russian, so their cute little 4-year-old son, Pierre, is a real UN mixture.

This evening, Friday, I didn’t feel like making dinner or going out to eat, so John ran around the corner to our favorite cook shack and bought nyama choma (roasted meat) and chipsies for us. The cook takes a big chunk of grilled beef and whacks it into small bite-sized pieces, which are then dipped in a special tomato sauce—sort of like a salsa. This time the meat was more tender than it often is and the chipsies were crisp enough to be called real french fries.

Our favorite place for kuku and nyama choma

Oddly, Mama Kundayo was not outside either yesterday or this evening. I need to ask Mazo if she is well.

Fake Ray and Mama

January 24, 2018, Wednesday

So far, this week has been a crazy mess all because of Fake Ray. Well, and a bit because of Mama Kundayo. Real Ray wanted John to go with him back to the police to pursue justice, so those two spent a lot of Monday downtown, getting nothing much done. There is a detective assigned to this case, but he seemed very busy with other affairs and had no time to talk with Ray and John. However, he said he would come to Kundayo at 10:00 the next day, Tuesday, because he wanted to interview me as well.
That was fine with us.

Just before 10:00 on Tuesday, John and I went over to the garden terrace to be in place for the police visit. 10:00 came and passed, but being on time here is not the same as in Spokane. Still, when more than an hour had passed, John finally called Ray, who said maybe the detective could come at 1:00. By then, I was disgusted and said I wouldn’t be available at 1:00, but the detective could come again at 10:00 today, which he agreed he would. So, guess what happened today. The same no-show routine even though Ray told us that the detective was nearby in our neighborhood. John, of course, thinks the detective must have more important cases that take his time; I, of course, think he’s waiting for a bribe.

I felt held hostage these past two days, so by noon today, I was miffed enough to call an end to such foolishness and go to Fifi’s to escape the Kundayo compound and any police who might finally show up at 2:00 or 3:00. John and I had lunch, and then he went out on errands, while I sat with a café au lait (It was terrible!) and read until he returned. I also spoke with Leonica, a young woman who sells western style clothing made with African cloth in part of Fifi’s. (You can find her on Facebook at Afrileo Collections.) I would like to order some little outfits for Peri from her.

John didn’t return until around 5:00 p.m. so it was fairly late in the day until Ray got us back to Kundayo. Fortunately, the ride back was far smoother than our trip to Fifi’s, when in an effort to avoid a police stop, Ray drove all over on tiny little dirt back streets and even the wrong way on the double-carriage highway at least twice. Somehow we ended up near the Mount Meru Hotel, where Ray shot across all four lanes of the highway, scaring me nearly to death. I have never ever experienced such wild driving from him before! Even John admitted that he was a bit concerned about some of the maneuvers. Maybe Ray is taking a page from the boda-boda drivers who blatantly run red lights and drive next to and between cars whenever it suits them even right in front of police stops. Unless the police are also on motorcycles, they can’t catch the boda-bodas anyway. Rogers told me Sunday that now more people in Tanzania die each year from boda-boda accidents than from AIDS.

Next to the Mama Kundayo story for this week. I’ve laid low since not only do I not have many hours to sit and chat in our half understood English-Swahili pidgin, but I also feel uncomfortable about all the beverage “bribes.”  So, I didn’t sit with Mama on Monday or yesterday. However, yesterday at nearly 8:00 p.m. just after we had finished our dinner, she walked over to our apartment and sat down with us on our little front terrace area. Then, with John as a less than sufficient translator, we caught up on our latest news. Mama was having dreadful hip and back pain, so I gave her two of my Tylenol. Then, Mama called Beatrice, the clerk on duty, over to translate, and we began to talk about recipes. Mama’s chai with milk is the best I’ve ever had, and I wanted to know her secret. Suddenly, Mama wanted to know if I like mandazi, which of course I do. The next thing I knew, she had sent Beatrice to the kitchen to fetch about 8 freshly made mandazi for me. Then, Mama wanted to know if I liked Swahili food, like we had on Zanzibar. When I said I did, she sent Beatrice back to the kitchen to fetch some beef pilau and Swahili salad for me. What next? We had already eaten dinner, which featured the first ever macaroni and cheese I had ever made in Africa, but I knew I needed to eat some of these new food offerings, too. So, I did my best to eat what I could—John was not much help at all—and exclaim how good everything was although I feared this might encourage future food gifts. I remembered that last year we ended up having a special goat roasting. Who knows what might happen this year. I didn’t see Mama under her tree this afternoon. Dinner this evening will be leftovers from yesterday.

P.S.  Since I hadn’t seen Mama Kundayo this evening, I went out into the courtyard and asked Mazo how she was today. He said that she still had a lot of pain in her hip and back and had appreciated the pills I had given her last night. I wrote down what the medication was (generic Tylenol) because he wants to get some for her tomorrow. Less than 10 minutes later, Mazo was at our door with a container full of warm chapatis from Mama. She's definitely a very generous woman.

Another Weekend

January 21, 2018

Yesterday, John wanted to go to the big Central Market, a place that is a maze of vendors and full of colors and smells. Since it is difficult for me to maneuver in the market crush, I was dropped off at AfriCafe, another notorious expat watering hole. For less than $2, I could get a 12 oz. café au lait, which entitled me to a seat and over an hour of reading and people watching. Outside, there was a constant parade of vendors of all things, from belts to bananas. Occasionally, a mzungu would walk by or even a small group led by an African, but most of the passers by were Tanzanians trying to sell something. Inside, the clientele was a complete mix: several large African women; four neatly dressed Indian merchants; two very bored looking American girls; a group of hippie travelers, one with bright blue hair; six Tanzanian men in very modest attire sitting with an older white American woman whom they addressed as “Mama”; an older, tall American man dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and tight blue jeans—from Montana?; and me.  I’m sure there was an interesting story in each group. John returned from the market with a pineapple, avocados, and eggplants. After he had a glass of fresh mango juice, we came back to Kundayo for lunch and the rest of Saturday.

As always, we awoke this morning eager to discover what we would find at church and how the rest of the day would play out. John insists on having toast with mango jam at every breakfast. When the electricity is out, he toasts his bread over a gas burner on our cooker, and so far he has never burnt a single piece. Fortunately, making the main part of our breakfast, WheetaBix with banana slices, doesn’t rely on electricity. I checked the price for WheetaBix from Amazon and discovered it’s over twice as expensive as here, where it is imported for expats. Someone’s price gouging.

Making our daily toast

We were very surprised to get a call from Ray, who had been out of reach all week. He wanted to come and drive us to church as usual.  That gave us a very short time to catch up on some of the news from the funerals of the past week. First there was the funeral for his 22-year-old nephew who had been a medical student in Dar.  Then later in the week, there were several days of events for his uncle who had been hit on the highway near where we are. There was a family gathering here on Wednesday. That was followed on Thursday by a service at the nearby Lutheran church. Then the most important ceremonies took place from Friday through Saturday at the uncle’s original village near Moshi. Ray said that many, many people came, from Dar es Salaam, Arusha, and other places. Apparently, this uncle was well-known and was properly honored at his burial. I want to ask more questions later if I can.

Services at Arusha Community Church are scheduled to begin at 10:30, but we knew when we arrived at 10:25, we were very early. The music team was still practicing and the worship leader was doing mic tests. I’m not sure when exactly the service began, but the place looked awfully empty until nearly 20 minutes later, when it was finally jam packed. (I still can’t set my inner clock to African time.) Linda Jacobson was the piano accompanist; Rogers was the head usher; and a Mennonite, Paul Mosley, gave the message. Both John and I remarked how “Mennonite” the sermon was, as it was an exegesis of the text, Luke 6. No jokes, no extraneous stories, no general citing of nice Christian values, but rather a study of the text and it’s implications for us today. It was so very different from the 3-point Presbyterian sermons which last only 15 minutes and may or may not use a biblical text, but always have some opening story or worse yet, a joke. I remain Mennonite at heart.

Linda at the piano

Rogers and Terry engaged in conversation

It was communion Sunday, and once again, I was almost overwhelmed with the wonder of the diversity of the people sharing in this sacrament. For me, this is central to what I envision as heaven whether on earth or elsewhere. These ties of friendship and caring are also visible after the service, when we all linger outside over coffee or chai. I’ve never ever found a faith community like this in the States, but I hope they exist somewhere.

Margaret pouring some chai for me.

My homies and I: Mary (Tanzanian), Grace (Kenyan), Ruth and Margaret (Ugandan). Ruth is Margaret's severely autistic daughter and the reason Margaret began her remarkable school for special needs children, Step-by-Step Learning Center.

Two of the many children at ACC.

Lutheran friends, Joe and Deborah Troester, asked if we’d like to go somewhere with them for lunch. Of course, we agreed, as we had planned to eat out  anyway and don’t have a car.  They really wanted to eat at George’s, which was fine with us. We love the salads there. Joe and Deborah have spent most of their lives living abroad, in Chad, Cameroon, Central African Republic, and now Tanzania. Like most expats here, they have many interesting stories to tell, and it was after 3:00 p.m. until they drove us back to Kundayo.

The remainder of the day was uneventful except for a call to Rebecca in Florida. We ate leftovers from our lunch, and I watched an episode of “Endeavour” on YouTube. It was amazing that I got through the entire video without any of the usual 5-minute buffering breaks. Miracles can happen.

In the Neighborhood

January 19, 2018, Friday

One of the major problems with having internet access in Tanzania is that people like me think it should always work and work well.  This is never the case at Kundayo or even many of the other free wifi places in town. My attempts to work on Facebook or read and reply to email are almost always randomly impeded by drops in bandwidth or whatever it is that keeps the whirling wheel at bay. So far, I’ve tried to connect for video chats three times, and each time there have been a few jerky images and broken words before quick disconnection. It’s discouraging. Watching video is absolutely impossible because of buffering problems, and at times things are so slow that the images on my Facebook timeline don’t even load. I may resort to buying a plug-in “stick” (modem) to give me an AirTel connection, but even that service fluctuates in strength. Fortunately, email usually works very well, for which I am grateful.

The first things I did after breakfast was go over to check on the new tile floor in the dining area. The fundi had worked late to finish it. I found Emmanuel giving the floor its first mopping, and he was very pleased when I told him that I thought the new floor was really very nice. It’s so much better than the old maroon carpeting.

Emannuel mopping the new tile floor.

Threats of showers kept us close to home, but John really wanted to go to a nearby cafe he had discovered for lunch. So, I carried my new umbrella with me, and we walked down toward Phillip’s. When we entered the cafe, I was surprised both by how big its dining area was and the absence of any other customers. It turns out that it’s not a regular cafe but rather some sort of training center for restaurant workers and cooks—I think. The big sign above the door advertised fine dining, boxed lunches, special cakes, take-away meals, and party catering. Oddly, no one was there except a large man in a suit, sitting in a corner, and a nervous young man who spoke little English and said they had no menu. Apparently business hasn’t taken off yet.

John at the Not-Ready-Yet cafe.

We returned to Kundayo and ate grilled cheese sandwiches with sides of sliced tomatoes and mangos and bananas for dessert. One can find cheese here in some of the shops ex-pats frequent, but it is wildly expensive. Last year and this year, I bought packages of sliced cheese and packed them in our checked through luggage. Last year, this worked very well, and we had a nice supply of cheese for at least half of our stay.  This year, however, with the longer flight time and lay-over in Dubai, some of the cheese warmed enough to glue itself into big globs. Still, we can reconstruct slices well enough to enjoy grilled sandwiches.

One of the casualties of the new highway in front of Kundayo is the strip of grassy land which was along the old two-lane road. At the entrance of Kundayo Road there were flowers and a sign advertising the presence of the Kundayo Serviced Apartments. Now that area is completely bare and mostly dedicated to the frontage road which runs along the new highway. I don’t like the stark asphalt and dirt nor the puny vegetable and fruit stand and the boda-boda drivers (motorbike taxis) who congregate there now.

The old sign at the entrance to Kundayo Road.

The new entrance to Kundayo Road.

Mama Kundayo sat outside from 1:30 until after dark, but I just didn’t feel like hanging out since Mazo and his wife were with her most of the time.  Mazo’s wife, who used to have a full-time job with one of the telecommunications companies, spends her entire days here just sitting.  I don’t know exactly where in the family compound she and Mazo live, but all the housework, laundry, and cooking would be done by the workers here. She doesn’t go to market or even shopping as far as I can tell. I realize I may come close to her level of inactivity, but I do shop, cook, wash some of our laundry, and connect with friends. Plus, I read a lot, write my blog, and communicate on email and Facebook.  Also, I am more than twice her age. John thinks that maybe this is her idea of a perfect life. I cannot see how that is possible.

Mama Kundayo's costume du jour.

It always startles me when I am reminded that, in general, Tanzanians do not read books. They often buy newspapers, and many carry Bibles with them to church, but there in no habit of reading stories or books as we would. A couple of years ago, I visited a very good private school largely supported by American donors, who I guess thought it would be great to create a library for the students. So, a very nice little building was constructed, and books were donated and sent to Tanzania. Then after everything was in place, the door was locked, and no one ever uses the library for anything but a show piece for American guests. Two years ago, I wanted to visit each school attended by Ray’s children, and I carefully chose three basic books to give to each school for use in a chosen classroom. At all three schools, the principal or headmistress took the books and looked at them as if aliens had landed on their desks. At one of the schools, I returned from a tour of the grounds to find the headmistress herself struggling to read one of the books. I have little doubt that each school administrator took the books to his/her own home, where they are now show pieces. One of our former colleagues at Whitworth has been working hard to change this non-reading mindset, but I don’t know how she will ever make much progress.

At the end of the day, we noted that neither Elizabeth nor Moses had shown up to see us. Nor had either called or texted to say what was going on. We reheated the leftover beef stew and ordered mboga  (greens) from the kitchen for dinner, which was delicious as always. Our floor show was a troop of lizards running back and forth on the terrace wall catching mosquitoes.

Neighborhood cake shop

The new highway squeezes the driving school parking now.

Someone's small cart

Just Waiting

January 18, 2018, Thursday

The plants were dripping and there were puddles in parking area when we went outside this morning. It must have rained most of the night. I like the freshness of rain-washed air, but I do not appreciate the noticeable increase in mosquitoes. I use a lot of repellant, but the mosquitoes still manage to find some tiny space I have missed on my back or ankles. Because I wash my hands frequently, they are not protected by repellant and are also prime spaces for bites. This is the only thing I dislike about being in Tanzania, and it’s not onerous enough to keep me away.

After our usual breakfast of WheetaBix with bananas and toast with mango jam, we went over to the garden terrace to check our email and read. It was a big surprise to find fundi (workmen)  in the dining room tearing out the carpeting and laying tile. Mazo came by and told us that he was tired of trying to keep the carpet clean, so he decided to replace it with tile. This seems like a good decision to me since I don’t think carpets are practical in the tropics. Everything inside the restaurant was torn up and messy, so I couldn’t tell what the final effect will be, but I think it  may look much lighter in the room.

The fundi at work on the new tile floor

As I was trying to get some photos of the tile project, Mama Kundayo came driving in, back from her women’s Bible study. (She often comments that her Bible study group isn’t as good as mine because hers doesn’t have food.) I was surprised to catch her driving the car all by herself. I don’t remember ever seeing her without a driver before.  I didn’t know that she knew how to drive or ever imagine that she would do so even she could. She looked appropriately regal, so I took her picture.

Mama Looking especially regal

John was getting very jittery without someplace to go, so he caught a dala-dala into town to buy a loaf of bread. The clouds were very threatening again, so he took my red umbrella with him even though I thought he would look totally insane it he used it. Not long after he left, it rained again, but not for long. Apparently, John managed to avoid the rain by taking a taxi back to Kundayo, as both he and the umbrella returned dry. Earlier,I had chided him for paying 10,000 TZsch. for a taxi to buy a loaf of bread for 3,000 TZsch, so he also bought some hamburger at Meat King and some broccoli and bananas from his favorite market. Of course, the trip wasn’t as much about getting more food as it was about John getting out and about.

Our two friends Moses and Elizabeth both told us that they would come by to see us today or tomorrow, but we still have not heard a more exact ETA from either of them. This is not at all unusual here, but as more date and time obsessed Americans, we struggle with this vagueness. Are we to stay put here at Kundayo just waiting two days for visits which may or may not even happen?  Moses is particularly delinquent in keeping appointments. Elizabeth usually gives me a warning phone call just before she arrives. But, when no one called or appeared by 6:00 p.m., we gave up for the day with still some hope for tomorrow.

About 5:00 p.m. our time, we decided to make a video call to our little granddaughter Peri, who was just waking up to begin her day in Spokane. We have to be outside in order to get enough bars on the internet to access it. Then, just as we connected to Spokane, another torrential downpour with a strong wind blew rain onto our terrace drenching us and threatening our computers. After one disconnection, we were able to have a short time with Peri, who seemed a bit confused by her grandparents being on screen and asking her all sorts of silly baby questions. Maybe as we do this more often, she’ll catch on to what’s happening and interact more.

We have found a daycare for Peri if she comes to be with us.

Our choices for dinner were more of the Kenyan beef stew we had yesterday or an order of kuku na chipsie from the little cook shack around the corner. We both voted for the kuku along with the broccoli John bought on his foray downtown. Getting a good meal on the table seems like a great accomplishment here, and tonight’s triumph was enhanced by sharing a big brownie John had also bought at AfriCafe when he got bread there. It was brick hard, but oh so tasty.

Question:  If the average high temperature in Arusha during January is 84º, why was it only 71º at 4:00 p.m. today?

More Rain

January 17, 2018, Wednesday

Usually the really rainy months in Tanzania come after we leave in mid-March. However, this month has been unusual in the number of times we have had really heavy downpours. All morning, we saw heavy clouds gathering and then loud rumbles of thunder. John tries to get in a good walk every day, so after trekking several kilometers around the neighborhood without being caught in any rain, he went down to Phillip’s Corner, a landmark intersection near us, to buy some flour I wanted. When he returned, he had not only the flour but also two gifts for me: a red, flowered umbrella and a lovely yellow cutting board. He reported that the store at Phillip’s currently has a whole wall of kitchen utensils.  I need to get there soon to see what’s available before it’s all sold. I could certainly use a decent vegetable peeler.

John had barely gotten home when the rain hit. I’ve been in a few torrential downpours here, but this was the hardest rain I’ve ever seen in Arusha. And, it lasted for longer than usual.  Even after the very hard rain slowed down, it rained pretty steadily into the night. Naturally, Mama Kundayo couldn’t hold court under the big tree, which meant I didn’t have to come up with a show-and-tell on my computer or discuss Ray’s family or Donald Trump. Of course, it also meant I didn’t get a glass of red wine.

For dinner, we had a killer beef stew with Kenyan beef and one of John’s signature fruit salads of mangoes, pineapple, and bananas. If we were in Kenya, he would also add papaya, but they don’t seem to be very plentiful here. He could add watermelon or another kind of sweet melon, but he likes to stick with his basic three fruits. I love it very chilled with a dollop of yogurt on top.

Phillip's Corner and our closest grocery/variety store.

My surprise gifts

Sad Days

January 15 - 16, 2018, Monday & Tuesday

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day isn’t celebrated or even noted here in Tanzania. The Africans had to struggle against colonialism, not slavery, and today they are divided not by race but rather tribalism and economic status. Ray is very proud that his youngest daughter, Anita, goes to the same school as Mazo’s nephew, Sydney, but Mama Kundayo barely acknowledges that. The Mtuis have been laborers and taxi drivers, while the Kundayos have been landowners and elected politicians and all of the last two generations have been well educated. Anita may be as smart or even smarter than Sydney, but she will likely never have the same social advantages that he will.

We had a quiet Monday except for the intrusion of new tragedy. John had managed to speak with a Western Union helpline and actually traced Fake Ray to a town on the other side of Lake Victoria. He was hoping that Ray would check in as usual, and then the two of them would go to the police with this new information. However, when Ray came, he told us the very sad news that his uncle—his mother’s youngest brother—had been hit and killed by a car Saturday night as he was crossing the big double highway which runs by Kundayo now. There are well-marked crosswalks, but they are placed too far apart. People have always been used to just running back and forth across the road and still tend to do that now even with four lanes of traffic instead of two. Also, Ray’s uncle was out at night and may have been drinking—though we did not ask about that.

Poor Ray. The first week we were here, his 22-year-old nephew who was in medical and was a rising star of hope for the family suddenly died in Dar. The young man had had a severe headache for two days and then died. It’s not known if he had suffered an aneurysm or had cerebral malaria. It was a blow for the family and a time of grieving with a funeral which had to have been a financial burden. Now, the uncle, who was only 54 years old, is dead, and there is more shock, grief, and financial drain. Ray didn’t ask or even hint that we give him any money—he still feels terrible about Fake Ray—but I slipped him a small amount and sent some loose tea and sugar to his mother to help with hospitality for mourners. The funeral is to be Wednesday. We were invited but will not attend, as we met this man only once, and such events can go for hours and hours with mourners coming and going from the home. If there is a service at the church on Thursday, we may attend that.

The next morning, John decided that he needed to get to a bank and take care of some other errands. He suggested that I ride along into town and enjoy myself at Fifi’s, an expat hangout with nice food, gourmet coffee drinks, and ice cream. I always feel ashamed of myself when I go there even though there are always plenty of Tanzanians and other Africans there as well, using the free wifi while they nurse a coca-cola or Stoney. As it turned out, because Ray is not driving taxi this week, we didn’t find another driver and get to the cafe until it was time for lunch. So, we ordered: mishikaki (kebabs) for John and tilapia for me. After that, we had ice cream, which is probably why John chose Fifi’s.  Then John trotted off on his errands, and I sat and read until he returned. I love watching the people passing by on the street, which meant I got very little read.

Mishikaki, chips, and salad all for under $8.

I made a complete mess eating this fishie.

After all that exhausting taxi riding, eating, and people watching, I was ready for a nap when we got back to Kundayo. Then, when I got up, Mama Kundayo was waiting for me under her tree, I gave her the news about Ray’s uncle, and she thought I should call Ray right away and get more details. I was shocked that apparently here, people want to know everything about a death and think nothing of calling a grieving family and asking lots of questions. Mama even offered to let me use her phone! Eventually, we got past that idea and talked about some of my other friends here in Africa. Mama really loves a good story.

Sunday Specials

January 14, 2018, Sunday

Sunday is always a special day for us here in Arusha because we go to Arusha Community Church, an English medium church with members from all over the world. Naturally, this morning, we were anticipating seeing many good friends again and catching up with what has been going on since we were here last year. It seemed a very good omen when just minutes before we were to leave Kundayo, our electricity came back on.  We hope our meat wasn’t too defrosted to refreeze without much damage.

The church service is to start at 10:30, but as usual, many people showed up well after that. I was sad to see that quite a number of friends from past years are no longer in Arusha, as NGOs seem to be slimming down their operations and staffs and some missions are withdrawing European personnel for good. (I believe this is a very good thing, but I miss some people who were asked to return “home.”) Still, there were many familiar faces and warm greetings. The incredible diversity of this church was demonstrated by those who were in charge of the service this Sunday: the worship leader was Ethiopian; the music director was German; the person who read scripture was American; the piano player was Tanzanian; and the preacher for the day was Finnish. After the service, when we all gathered outside to have coffee and chai, we reconnected with friends, both expats and Africans. It felt especially good to me when three of my African friends—Tanzanian, Kenyan, and Ugandan—drew me into their circle for conversation. Also, a man with whom I have been friends since he learned of my love for rocks, came to greet me and let me know that his wife, who was almost killed in an auto accident over a year ago, is doing much better now. I still want to hold him to his promise to take me out Tanzanite mining.

Each Sunday someone brings a bouquet from their garden.

My friend Grace serving herself chai after the service

Two American friends asked if we wanted to go to lunch with them, which we did since they were going to George’s, one of our favorite places. The restaurant has enlarged its outdoor dining area and seemed busier than ever before. Soon it seemed as if almost everyone from church had transplanted themselves to George’s. We were introduced to some newly arrived expats, whom seemed quite sane and nice.  Then, we ordered one of George’s enormous salads and a pizza to share between us. Our friends did the same except they left anchovies and capers in their salad.

John, Sharon, and Terry at George's

I had an interesting time trying to figure out if the large group of Asian young adults also eating at George’s were Japanese or Korean. I wasn’t sitting close enough to listen to them. Finally because the women did not cover their mouths when they laughed, and they ate rather heartily, I decided they must be Korean. I know that both my Korean and Japanese friends will be peeved that I couldn’t immediately tell the group’s nationality by their appearance, but I couldn’t.

After our friends dropped us back at Kundayo, we had a quiet afternoon and evening of reading. We had plenty of leftovers for our evening meal, so we were completely lazy until bedtime.

Dead Cows and Darkness

January 12, 2018, Friday

It’s been atypically cool here for the past three days with highs in the low 70s and down into the 60s at night. I like the cooler temperatures, but the Tanzanians wear sweaters and heavy jackets to keep warm. The other evening, Mama Kundayo was wearing a leather jacket and over that a heavy shawl. When I joined her on the garden terrace for hot chai, she couldn’t believe I was just wearing a short-sleeved top as always. The truth is if I had brought a sweater with me, I probably would have put it on.

It rained on and off almost all day, so we stayed home. Ray came by in the morning to tell us more about what he wants the police to do to Fake Ray if they catch him. John had me send another email about a delay in paying Anita’s school fees (Not true, they are paid.), and Fake Ray replied almost immediately, saying I could send them next week. So, apparently John and Ray think they can set up a trap for Fake Ray and catch him. I have my doubts. Ray wants to beat him up, but he said to me, “I know you, Madam. You will forgive him.”  Forgiving will certainly be easier than getting the money back.

In the afternoon, my Masai friend, Elizabeth paid us a surprise visit. She looked very posh and had a lot to tell about her short-term assignment with the World Bank this past spring and her shop up on the Kenyan border. There was also a lot of family news to share. The Masai elders mediated the fight between Elizabeth’s father and the brother he had stabbed last year when they had fought over access to land. Of course, Elizabeth’s father was exonerated because the brother had put up fences, which are anathema to Masai. The brother had to give Elizabeth’s father a goat and a blanket, and all is now well. The younger sister, Ngaisi, for whom I tried to arrange hernia surgery  back in 2016, miscarried her baby, and now lives back in the family boma part of the time. Elizabeth’s mother had an ankle punctured by a stick when she was gathering wood, and now she has complications and a lot of pain. I couldn’t figure out exactly what the problem is, but since she had an x-ray at a hospital, the injury must have been serious.

However, the most earth-shaking news of all was the death of most of her father’s cattle. Masai accumulate cattle as a sign of wealth and importance, and while I don’t know the exact count, Elizabeth’s father had many cows and a huge special cross-breed bull, of which he was extremely proud. Because of the drought which lasted from early last year until this New Year’s Eve, there wasn’t enough grazing food for the cattle. So, even though the young warriors would go up in the mountain forests to strip leaves off trees to carry home for feed, cattle began dying very rapidly. Eventually, the very special big bull died, too, and Elizabeth said her father “lost his mind.” I don’t know what mental state he is in now, but certainly the loss of his cattle and a bull worth more than 1 million Tsch. would seriously affect him. Ironically, with the rains since New Year’s, there is now flooding in the Longido area, and the water came up almost to Elizabeth’s family boma.

Cows return to the boma late, so milking takes place after dark.

It was getting too late to serve only tea and cookies, so we shared the chicken vegetable soup I had made for lunch, and John introduced Elizabeth to her first grilled cheese sandwich. She liked the soup, but the cheese sandwich was a bit too strange for her. Elizabeth said she will return again next week, and then I think we will order kuku na chipsie from the little shop around the corner.

Later in the afternoon, just after I had plugged in my computer for recharging, the power went off, and did not come back on. We are very fortunate that two years ago, Mazo gave us a new stove with two electric and two gas burners, so we can always cook. I only needed the two gas burners to make us a fine spaghetti dinner last evening. Life is great with good friends and food even if our showers are cold again.

It's always good to have a backup headlamp.

 

Uphill

January 11. 2018, Thursday

Nothing very interesting happened yesterday, and my greatest accomplishments were squishing the dirt out of John’s socks in a 5-gallon bucket with a toilet plunger and making an excellent chicken stew to serve with the couscous I had brought from the States. The discovery that the cutting board I had left here had walked away was disconcerting. A metal cookie sheet is just not a good substitute when cutting slippery chicken. Still, that’s a pretty petty concern in context.

Perhaps my greatest pleasure of the day was listening to the calls to prayer in both the morning and evening. It’s such a peaceful way to mark the passing of the day.

Today, however, I had to get up earlier than usual to get ready to attend my beloved women’s Bible study group. Ray drove me to the Impala Hotel, which is the pick up point for those of us who do not have a car. Within minutes, I met Ruth, newly from Denmark, and then Debra came in her Land Rover. Once Grace and Margaret arrived, we all piled into Debra’s vehicle and took off for Atula’s house, which I discovered was up on a very steep side of one of the tall hills—almost mini-mountains—around Arusha.

Once we turned off that main road, we were on some of the worst dirt tracks I have ever been on in Tanzania. We got very lost and ended up quizzing anyone we saw about which road we should take. Finally, we asked a group of boda-boda drivers (scooter taxis) where to go, and they knew the way. From there the drive seemed almost vertical and everyone kept urging Debra not to stop or falter. Finally, we reached a leveled parking place and after climbing several banks of steps, we arrived at Atula’s house. We were first greeted by a wild monkey, then a Masai guard, and finally by Atula and a dachshund named Daisy.

Atula, who is Asian—maybe Japanese—and her husband have lived in this house for three years now, so she is still working on her garden. To me it already looked like a plant paradise with pots of orchards, various succulents, epiphytes, and many other plants all over her terrace and inside the house. The view from the upper terrace was stunning, but because today was cloudy and misty, I couldn’t get a decent photo of it. It was easy to see why they had chosen this building site, though I cannot figure out how they handle the daily driving, especially in rainy season.

A partial view from Atula's

One of Atula's succulents

As usual, we all had a good half hour of chit-chat while waiting for others to come. I caught up on what had happened during the months since I was last here: more harassment by the government and a worsening economy. Now, people are so “hungry” for money that there are all sorts of new schemes to cheat people. Men carrying official looking IDs and papers show up to claim there are fees for cutting down a tree, for building a new wall, for burying waste, etc. The cut tree actually resulted in four separate visits by different “officials;” one group was in hard hats and boots, and another one was carrying guns. The only way to handle all of this is to insist you will pay at the office in Arusha and get a receipt. Of course when guns are involved, it’s a risk to stick to your position.

To me the most interesting scam going on now is paying people to pray for one’s concerns be they health, wealth, marriage, etc. At first I was quite incredulous wondering how someone could convince others that they were holy enough to be more effective in their prayers and thus deserving of payment. But, then I thought of all the AmericanTV evangelists who have done exactly the same thing to all their faithful followers for years. I guess cons work the same everywhere.

Once our ringleader, Linda, arrived. We had to settle down and look at the book of Exodus. I was nonplussed that we were actually gong to spend an hour studying a biblical text since there was so much other valuable material to cover. Such as, since Nakumatt, the only real grocery store in town, has closed where do the women shop for groceries now? How has the exodus of businesses from Tanzania effected the various NGOs? What are the best routes to take to avoid police stops? How are Carol, Angela, Rosemarie, and others who have left Tanzania doing back in their home countries after living most of their lives in Africa?  Will Linda and Margaret get their work visas renewed? Where is Debra going this weekend? Do they think I might get my money back from that email scammer? However, for some reason, Linda was really into the Israelites escape from Egypt, so I spent an hour listening to a very simplistic, non-critical explanation of the Exodus, all the time thinking how pained my Hebrew scholar older brother would be were he present. At least my teeth didn’t ache.

Then, it was back to real life and sharing of who knew what about whatever. My time here would be so much more difficult were it not for the very practical knowledge and information I gather from these women. I now know where to shop for groceries, which are very reasonably priced. I found out that Miriam’s husband is( dying and learned where their new home is. Linda told me that there is an excellent Danish orthopedist at Arusha Lutheran Medical Center this month, who could stabilize my ankle were it to collapse soon. (There are two other orthopedists there more or less permanently, so I wouldn’t be all on my own to handle a break.) Margaret said that a team of physiotherapists from Northwestern University had come last summer to work with her special needs students, and the engineer husband of the team leader had been able to fill the gully which separated her school from the main road. And, Linda reported that government officials still show up monthly threatening to close the hospital unless they are paid $11 million dollars in back taxes. These women refer to themselves as a sisterhood and today proved once again how true that is.

Atula broke the rule about serving only simple refreshments after a meeting. She had set up a feast of cooked white beans (maharage), grilled vegetables, potato salad (with corn in it), mango salad (with cilantro), rice, a very light chicken stew, an incredible bundt cake (tasty but not sweet), and three kinds of cookies. We also had a choice of two kinds of water, one with lemon grass and the other with cucumber and lemon slices, and tea or fruit juices. It was all incredibly delicious. Finally, we gathered up our shawls and bags and readied ourselves to hurtle down the mountain.


Once I got back to Kundayo, I was eager to report everything to John, who had stayed in all day. Mama Kundayo was sitting outside waiting to talk with me, but before I finished telling John all I had learned, it started to rain, and she disappeared. Later, I decided to go to the garden terrace, where the internet is strongest, and there Mama and Mazo’s new wife were drinking hot chai. They offered me some chia too, so we spent about an hour chatting, with Shera (sp?) acting as translator.

Meanwhile, John was making our dinner: Russian sausages, boiled potatoes, sautéed zucchini, and a perfect sliced avocado and tomatoes. Life is very good here.

The Mtui Family

January 9, 2018, Tuesday

Even though I felt exhausted, I did not sleep well. There were no monkeys playing on the roof, no loud traffic noise, no drunks yelling in the lane, yet I still kept waking up and checking the time. It’s going to take longer than two days here to reset my inner clock and keep me alert during the day and asleep all night.

It was actually exciting to have my first breakfast of WheetaBix and sliced banana this year. I really, really love this cereal and wish we could find it easily at home. Also, while this bunch of tiny yellow bananas looks normally white when peeled, they are light orange inside. Unlike the one-taste-fits-all bananas we get at home, the different types we can buy here have distinctly different flavors. I’ve never had an orange inside banana before and not only do I like its appearance but also its mild sweet taste. I hope I can find them again.

Soon after breakfast Ray came to take John downtown to get our Tanzanian phones set up and operational. Once again, Ray reviewed the trauma of the stolen school fees and said that he, his wife, and children all cried and cried last night when they realized how perilously close they had come to not having any school this term. Even his mother cried and now wants us to come for lunch some day soon. I get a bit knotted up inside with all the fuss and gratitude, but I remind myself that for this particular family, there would be no chance for any of the children to get a decent education and have the opportunity to climb out of poverty if our paths had not crossed way back in 2012. Ray told John he keeps asking himself, “Why my family?” and there is no answer other than I saw a very bright little girl who was not in school and a father who never asked for any favors, and I thought that while I could not change the world, I could help improve life for one family. My faith in Ray has never been shaken; he’s a wonderful father and husband and totally trustworthy.

Ray and Honorina with their children

While John was gone, I sat on the terrace and lost track of time. Being unhooked from all the drama—both personal and political—back home is the best possible restorative for the soul. However, before I realized how much time had passed, John was back, and it was time for lunch. I put away the meat John had bought at Meat King and was glad to see the beautiful fresh green beans and carrots he had gotten from a street vendor.

Around 3:30, Ray and his entire family came for a short visit. The children were all dressed up for school. Anita had gone to school here in town today, and Ray was going to drive Priskilla out to her boarding school after they left us.  Tomorrow, Goodluck will take a bus to his boarding school. So after greetings and hugs, I ordered soft drinks for all. We took photos in the garden, and then all the Mtuis loaded back in Ray’s taxi and left to begin a new school term.

Priskilla and Anita in 2012

The three Mtui children 2018

 By then, Mama Kundayo was sitting out in her place under the big tree, so I went to sit with her, and as promised took my computer so I could show her photos of my family, garden, and the snow back in Spokane. This afternoon, instead of red wine, she plied me with pomegranate juice made from fruit in the garden here.  After only an hour and a half, a very senior neighbor came to visit, so I offered my good-byes and slipped back home to help finish dinner. John had gotten some of the green beans ready to cook, and while I handled that task, he walked down the street to our favorite outdoor cafe and bought Kuku na Chipsie, our favorite meal in Tanzania. The chicken, while small, is always succulent with a tangy smokey taste, and the chips are always limp and deliciously oily. The green beans were amazing and a  very wholesome counterbalance to the chipsies. It was a fine end to a day without any drama or trauma.

Mama, the Queen of Kundayo

Big Losses

January 8, 2018, Monday

It was such a relief to have a nearly normal night’s sleep and wake up in a nice, quiet tropical retreat. We ordered breakfast out on the garden terrace and took our time enjoying the beauty of the lawn, trees, and flowers while I had my scrambled eggs and toast and John his Spanish omelet. We both had a fruit plate of perfect mango, watermelon, and papaya slices. I savored the ubiquitous AfriCafe instant coffee, which preceded Starbucks’ VIA and, in my opinion, tastes better. John had tea with jam on his toast, and all was very right with our world.

Once breakfast was over, we migrated about 15 feet on the terrace to the sofa and chairs setup for visiting or reading. John chose to read and I to work on my email. All of a sudden Ray, our good friend whose children I am trying to get through school, showed up and our perfect world went berserk. Ray was super ebullient and expected me to give him the nearly $2000 he needed to pay today for the school fees for his three children, Priskilla (14), Goodluck (12), and Anita (8).  I, on the other hand, was shocked almost speechless because I had already sent him the money in mid-December. We had at least 15 minutes of going back and forth about what had or hadn’t happened and I showed him the emails I had gotten from him and the ones I had sent him with the Western Union numbers he needed to claim the money. Ray immediately picked up that someone had hacked into one of our email accounts and swindled me. As he said, “But, no madam that is not an email from me. Look, the English is too good.” So, because of both my innate trust of Ray and my failure to recognize that someone might have usurped his account, I had sent the fees to some crook. Ray and John think they are going to the police to follow up on this because the crook would have had to present some official looking identification documents to get the money out of Western Union.

Poor Ray was in tears. I was so discombobulated with fatigue and disbelief that I just didn’t feel much at all. Instead, I focused on how to handle the very pressing problem of three children who would be unable to start school tomorrow unless their fees were paid today. John and I always bring some US dollars with us because there are times when payment for services or certain items needs to be made in dollars. I got out all the dollars I could from my stash (I kept $50 for the taxi fare back to the airport in March.) and John did the same. Between us, we had just enough to give Ray, who took off to the bank to place payments in each of the three school accounts. Obviously, we’ll discuss this whole fiasco more soon. However, as John pointed out we did save $1000 on our tickets by flying through Dubai, so our loss isn’t as great as it could have been.

The great School Fee Swindle kept us awake and perky all morning, and we decided to keep ourselves awake by taking a taxi out to Njiro, a nearby suburb, to the shopping center there. Do not think of a shopping center at home, but rather a partially vacant clump of small shops and restaurants with a courtyard in the center. (We sometimes treat ourselves with the noon meal on Sundays since the Indian food in particular is superb.) Today, John ordered Indian food, and I ordered a Greek salad from an Australian restaurant. After lunch we entered the super expensive grocery store where one can buy lemon curd straight from England and made a few modest purchases to tide us over for a day or so. We were forced to do our shopping at the Village Market because the only real supermarket in Arusha, Nakumat, has closed down and vanished. Now, I will have to go from one little store to another searching for items, and my menus will depend on what I can discover on some dark shelf in a crowded little shop.

After we returned from Njiro, we were able to move from the temporary apartment  in which we were first placed into the apartment we normally stay in. There are advantages and disadvantages to both places, but all in all, I like the bathroom better in our regular place because the shower is not right on top of the toilet, and it has a microwave. Mazo also put in a new TV box for us so that we can now get MSNBC and BBC instead of just FOX News, Chinese channels, Bollywood programming, and several hundred Swahili channels carrying everything from bizarre soap operas to health-and-wealth evangelists. Hearing the news from home is not particularly edifying, but it helps us keep up with the questions the Tanzanians ask us. They already know all about Fire and Fury, for example.

Around 6:00 p.m. I went outside to see if Mama Kundayo was waiting for a visit, and indeed she was. In fact, she had been waiting since 5:00 and was afraid maybe I would not show up. We moved to our regular spot under the big tree at the side of the parking area, and began what turned out to be a nearly 3-hour catch up session. She insisted on ordering me a glass of red wine and later sent her grandson Sydney down the lane to buy us some ears of freshly roasted corn. So, we gnawed on good, strong corn, and discussed our families and politics as we always do. Some of the time, Beatrice, the worker on call this evening, came and interpreted for us, but there were times when we just made do with mixed English-Swahili and motions. Eventually, John and Mazo came to join us and took over our conversation with a raucous debate on whose country had the worst president.

John and I decided we didn’t need dinner after all the corn, so we each just ate a banana and then made a few calls to the States on our Magic Jack, which worked perfectly tonight. It was then that I suddenly realized I had not seen my camera since we arrived at Kundayo. We had completely emptied our suitcases this afternoon when we moved into our apartment and re-organized ourselves. The camera had been packed in my carry on bag, which never left my sight except when we were having breakfast in Dubai. That is absolutely the only place I was physically separate from it for anytime at all. Proving a theft seems impossible, so I think I’m ending a day which started with a huge loss with another big loss. Tomorrow has to be a better day!