Arusha, Sunday, January 15, 2017
This was the day I had been waiting for since I landed. Ray was scheduled to pick us up at 10:00 and drive us to Arusha Community Church, a place I love for the incredible mix of people who attend services there. From the moment we arrived, we were greeted by friends we hadn’t seen since last spring and exchanging news about who had returned to their countries, who had just come back from Christmas break, and who was absent because of illness or family issues. The saddest news for me was that my favorite people, Rosemarie and Edward Charles, have retired and gone to Canada. I knew they were considering that, but I thought they would still be here now, and I was looking forward to being with Rosemarie again and learning still more about her incredible life from her birth in a Congo internment camp during WWII through her years in Botswana and elsewhere. Maybe I’ll just go to Canada to see her there.
However, others I have grown to love were there, and I found out that the women’s group will be meeting this coming Thursday. I can hardly wait! There will be so much to hear about who is doing what and which members need our help. During my layover in Amsterdam, I was seated next to an elderly woman who was accompanied by a middle-aged couple. I found out that the woman had lived in Tanzania for decades and three of her four children were born here. She had been back in Idaho for 6 years, and after her husband died last year, her children decided to bring her back to Tanzania to be with them. Imagine my surprise when at church, I looked across the aisle and there she was again: Elaine Peterson, a legend of sorts here. Most likely, we will meet again on Thursday.
During the time for newcomers to introduce themselves, an older, very tall, rangy woman stood and announced she was Margaret, a vet working with livestock in a very remote place about two and a half hours drive out of Arusha. After the service, I introduced myself to her and told her I had many questions about goats because I might be buying a pair soon. She was obviously a real character and told me all sorts of facts I should have written down. Later, the friend who had invited us to go out to lunch with her also invited Margaret, so we had a lot more time to chat then. Margaret had managed to put herself through vet school as a single mother in Oklahoma. She was convinced that God was calling her to mission work, but that never panned out until she retired a few years ago and managed to hook up with an NGO working in Tanzania. I have a feeling she is self-supporting, so she is literally paying to live out in the most rudimentary conditions with absolutely no one else to talk with in English. No wonder she is willing to put in 5 hours of rough driving in order to attend church at least once a month.
There were several incredible “small world” moments. The first was when we were introduced to the young couple sitting behind us and realized that the young man, Tarek, is the son of very close friends we had in Evanston during John’s graduate studies at Northwestern. Tarek immediately took selfies to send back to his parents. He and his wife, Laura, who is a dentist, have been in Arusha for nine months and will be returning to the States soon. They also joined us for lunch, so we caught up even more with events since we were in Evanston.
The second “small world” moment occurred when Tarek mentioned that a man we have known here for several years is the brother of John’s second cousin’s husband. Don’t laugh. This is important Mennonite connection information. I’ve often said that there is no place on earth where two Mennonites can meet and not find some connection between them. So finding out that John’s mother’s cousin John’s daughter was married to Wayne’s brother was a big deal.
Our friend Sharon took us to George’s Tavern, a place where we had never been before. We sat outside on the veranda and enjoyed a beautiful setting. I, of course, choked when I saw the prices, e.g., 18,000 TZSch for a pizza, but John brought me back to my senses by pointing out that is less than $9. So, I ordered a lovely pizza with ham, mushrooms, olives, and green peppers, and John had a build-it-yourself salad with a Greek theme. Not only was the food delicious, but the portions were ridiculously huge. John’s salad was in a bowl almost a large as the one I use with my KitchenAide mixer, and Papa Murphey would have classified my pizza as large. We brought home more than half of our servings and had two more meals. As John made sure to tell me that was all for less than $18 with drinks included.
I’m peeved that John didn’t take his camera with us, as mine is too big and hunky to take to church. As always the flowers were beautiful and the banners creative and colorful. Perhaps we can get some of the photos that Tarek and Sharon took and share them later. It was a marvelously good day, even better than what I had anticipated.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Arusha, Saturday, January 14, 2017
We are both still struggling with debilitating jet lag, which has seemed to become worse as we age. John fights falling asleep any time he sits down, and I struggle with being unable to sleep either during the night or day. Either way, we misspeak, misread, and just plain fall to stay focused. I’m hoping this will all be behind us by the middle of the coming week.
This morning, we had our beloved Wheetabix and sliced banana breakfast, as well as some mango jam on toast. Then we sat outside and pretended we were working on email and other computer activities while we were really just zoning out and enjoying the garden terrace. Around 10:00, I reminded John that Ray had mentioned that he’d like to look at some more refrigerators, so we called him and were soon on our way downtown again. It soon became obvious that Ray wanted a refrigerator delivered before 1:00 p.m. because his two oldest children, Priskilla and Good Luck, were leaving for their boarding schools in the afternoon, and he wanted them to see their mother’s surprise before they left.
Ray had another appliance store he wanted to check out, and while it had a really lovely little refrigerator within our budget, John did a quick check and found out that the brand, Boss, was faulted for compressor problems. So, we returned to Benson’s, and after a bit of opening and shutting doors and comparing freezer compartment sizes, chose a nice little Westinghouse with a 2-year guarantee and free delivery. Ray was so proud as the workers took the refrigerator out and loaded it on their truck. He gave directions to his house, and we all took off for the delivery.
The shiny bubble of happiness was soon partially deflated by a policeman who stopped Ray and yelled at him about his taillights. Maybe Ray was in violation, but the policeman was very, very aggressive and rude and seemed set on embarrassing Ray in front of the wazungus (us). When a bystander made a comment of some sort, the policeman leapt toward him, throttled him round the throat, and shook him angrily. At that point, I had had enough, so I got out of the car—John was in a shop and couldn’t stop me—and walked toward the policeman and said, “You are not being polite.” Tanzanians place a high value on politeness and respect, so I just kept saying, “You are not being polite” over and over until he left. Poor Ray was incredibly upset. I gave him the 30,000 TZsch he needed for the fine (less than $15), and we drove off. Shaming people is a way of showing power in this culture, and it is dreadful how hurtful it can be.
When we finally got to Ray’s house, the delivery truck was already parked in front waiting for us. You need to envision a row of small shops with very narrow dirt walkways in between which lead back to a scramble of cement brick “houses” with outside spaces for laundry and cooking here and there. Ray’s house was an extremely small unit in a sort of quadraplex. In the big front room, which was perhaps 12’ x 12’, there were bunk beds along one wall, a China cabinet on the opposite wall which also had a window, and then a sofa and three large overstuffed chairs crammed around a coffee table in the middle. As is always the case in respectable households, there were decorative doilies on the backs of the sofa and chairs. While Ray is not at the bottom economically, his poverty always pains me. Think of a family of five living in two very small rooms that the landlord does not maintain, and still maintaining their dignity and hope for a better life in the future.
Anyway, the men carried the refrigerator down between the buildings and placed it just inside the door of the main room. News travels instantly, and soon an aunt and her best friend showed up to observe the big event, We sat with bottles of ceremonial soft drinks on the coffee table, visiting while we waited for Ray’s wife to return from her errands and discover the big surprise. Poor Honorine. She went into shock, and Ray kept having to tell her what was happening. Then, one of the aunties told us that the electricity had been disconnected from all the homes in Ray’s neighborhood because the landlords haven’t paid their bills. I was poised to shriek and ask what good a refrigerator would be without electricity when Ray told us that it would be carried to a nearby house of a neighbor/friend who has power. The coalition of assistance among the poor always touches me. After we took some photos, most of which did not turn out well, Ray drove us back to Kundayo. As we got out of the car, I leaned up to Ray and told him that no matter what the policeman had said, I knew he was a very good man. He took my hand and kissed it.
I felt overwhelmed for the rest of the day. Why do I deserve such riches while people like Ray and his family live in such minimal circumstances? I’m sure that Ray didn’t fully realize that giving the refrigerator gave me as much joy as Honorine felt in getting it. It was a moment of euphoria for all of us. I look forward to learning how she and her women’s cooperative continue to find ways to build more economic power.
Later in the afternoon, the parents of a former Whitworth student’s host family dropped by. The former student, Kate Sowers, had given us some small gifts to pass on to them, so while they and John chatted, I burrowed under our bed to find where I had put things. Finally, I discovered where all had been secreted—Gosh, I am good at hiding things!—and passed on the presents. I loved having another small moment of sharing affection between those of us who have been fortunate enough to become friends with some of the remarkable people here in Tanzania.
We are both still struggling with debilitating jet lag, which has seemed to become worse as we age. John fights falling asleep any time he sits down, and I struggle with being unable to sleep either during the night or day. Either way, we misspeak, misread, and just plain fall to stay focused. I’m hoping this will all be behind us by the middle of the coming week.
This morning, we had our beloved Wheetabix and sliced banana breakfast, as well as some mango jam on toast. Then we sat outside and pretended we were working on email and other computer activities while we were really just zoning out and enjoying the garden terrace. Around 10:00, I reminded John that Ray had mentioned that he’d like to look at some more refrigerators, so we called him and were soon on our way downtown again. It soon became obvious that Ray wanted a refrigerator delivered before 1:00 p.m. because his two oldest children, Priskilla and Good Luck, were leaving for their boarding schools in the afternoon, and he wanted them to see their mother’s surprise before they left.
Ray had another appliance store he wanted to check out, and while it had a really lovely little refrigerator within our budget, John did a quick check and found out that the brand, Boss, was faulted for compressor problems. So, we returned to Benson’s, and after a bit of opening and shutting doors and comparing freezer compartment sizes, chose a nice little Westinghouse with a 2-year guarantee and free delivery. Ray was so proud as the workers took the refrigerator out and loaded it on their truck. He gave directions to his house, and we all took off for the delivery.
The shiny bubble of happiness was soon partially deflated by a policeman who stopped Ray and yelled at him about his taillights. Maybe Ray was in violation, but the policeman was very, very aggressive and rude and seemed set on embarrassing Ray in front of the wazungus (us). When a bystander made a comment of some sort, the policeman leapt toward him, throttled him round the throat, and shook him angrily. At that point, I had had enough, so I got out of the car—John was in a shop and couldn’t stop me—and walked toward the policeman and said, “You are not being polite.” Tanzanians place a high value on politeness and respect, so I just kept saying, “You are not being polite” over and over until he left. Poor Ray was incredibly upset. I gave him the 30,000 TZsch he needed for the fine (less than $15), and we drove off. Shaming people is a way of showing power in this culture, and it is dreadful how hurtful it can be.
When we finally got to Ray’s house, the delivery truck was already parked in front waiting for us. You need to envision a row of small shops with very narrow dirt walkways in between which lead back to a scramble of cement brick “houses” with outside spaces for laundry and cooking here and there. Ray’s house was an extremely small unit in a sort of quadraplex. In the big front room, which was perhaps 12’ x 12’, there were bunk beds along one wall, a China cabinet on the opposite wall which also had a window, and then a sofa and three large overstuffed chairs crammed around a coffee table in the middle. As is always the case in respectable households, there were decorative doilies on the backs of the sofa and chairs. While Ray is not at the bottom economically, his poverty always pains me. Think of a family of five living in two very small rooms that the landlord does not maintain, and still maintaining their dignity and hope for a better life in the future.
Anyway, the men carried the refrigerator down between the buildings and placed it just inside the door of the main room. News travels instantly, and soon an aunt and her best friend showed up to observe the big event, We sat with bottles of ceremonial soft drinks on the coffee table, visiting while we waited for Ray’s wife to return from her errands and discover the big surprise. Poor Honorine. She went into shock, and Ray kept having to tell her what was happening. Then, one of the aunties told us that the electricity had been disconnected from all the homes in Ray’s neighborhood because the landlords haven’t paid their bills. I was poised to shriek and ask what good a refrigerator would be without electricity when Ray told us that it would be carried to a nearby house of a neighbor/friend who has power. The coalition of assistance among the poor always touches me. After we took some photos, most of which did not turn out well, Ray drove us back to Kundayo. As we got out of the car, I leaned up to Ray and told him that no matter what the policeman had said, I knew he was a very good man. He took my hand and kissed it.
I felt overwhelmed for the rest of the day. Why do I deserve such riches while people like Ray and his family live in such minimal circumstances? I’m sure that Ray didn’t fully realize that giving the refrigerator gave me as much joy as Honorine felt in getting it. It was a moment of euphoria for all of us. I look forward to learning how she and her women’s cooperative continue to find ways to build more economic power.
Later in the afternoon, the parents of a former Whitworth student’s host family dropped by. The former student, Kate Sowers, had given us some small gifts to pass on to them, so while they and John chatted, I burrowed under our bed to find where I had put things. Finally, I discovered where all had been secreted—Gosh, I am good at hiding things!—and passed on the presents. I loved having another small moment of sharing affection between those of us who have been fortunate enough to become friends with some of the remarkable people here in Tanzania.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Arusha, Friday, January 13, 2017
John arrived late last night, tired but very happy to have made it here so quickly. he dumped his suitcases on the floor, took a shower, and went to bed immediately. I stayed up a while longer so I could watch the special ceremony for Joe Biden at the White House. It was so moving to watch Mr. Biden when President Obama announced that he was giving Biden the Medal of Freedom with Distinction. Of all the possible moments I could see on American TV this week, this ceremony was the very best one. It gave me a moment of pride as an American to see such a good, humble public servant honored in this way as well as a feeling of sorrow that the majority of this next wave of politicians in D.C. have no such devotion to the nation’s common good.
Yesterday evening, while I was reading out on our front veranda, Mama Kundayo, the matriarch of this compound, came floating through the dark to greet me and spend some time visiting. She is one of the most elegant, queenly African women ever, so I felt greatly honored by her presence. She had brought one of her sons along to translate for her, as she knows very little English. They wanted to know all about our election process and Trump’s election, and asked questions which demonstrated that they pay very close attention to American political news. They were concerned about the Russian meddling in our political process and kept wondering why Americans, who claim to be for honesty and democracy, would vote for such an obvious liar and charlatan, I could only try to explain possible reasons for those who supported Trump, but nothing I posited made any sense to them. They know firsthand about crazy dictators such as Idi Amin, and it was more than they could imagine that Americans would vote for a person like Trump.
We woke up this morning just before 8:00 a.m. (9:00 p.m. Spokane time) and had breakfast out on the garden terrace. Mason, the son who operates the apartment compound came by to greet John, and then they got into a discussion of what has been happening politically here in Tanzania. Apparently, the president has now begun jailing opposition MPs and making absurd purchases and investments which are actually unconstitutional. NGOs are beginning to pull out (Good riddance to many of them!), businesses are suffering, and, because the EU has withdrawn development funds and the USA pulled its Millennium Challenge grant, taxes on common Tanzanians have been increased and pension funds plundered to make up the difference. In Maso’s words, “This guy is crazy”! So politics here aren’t all that much better—or worse—than ours at home. It all makes me think of a gospel song people sang during my childhood:
This world is not my home,
I’m just a’passing through.
My treasures are laid up,
somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me
from Heaven’s open door,
And I can’t feel at home
in this world anymore.
After breakfast and after John had spent some time on email, Ray came to take us downtown to do some shopping and errands. One of our first needs is always for new SIM cards for the phones we use here. Airtel, the company we have always used in the past, isn’t so reliable anymore, so we got Tigo cards this time. We’ll see how this works. We also went to the big shopping store Nakumatt for groceries and household items. Prices seem much higher than last year, and I refused to pay the equivalent of $3 for a can of diced tomatoes or $7 for a medium container of yogurt. Most disappointing was that the selection of herbs was so puny. Usually, I can get a huge variety of spices and herbs at very good prices, but not today. I was tempted to buy a bottle of garlic shampoo, something I had never imaged I would ever see, but it too was quite overpriced. After Nakumatt, we went to the big market for tomatoes, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, carrots and potatoes. Ray and John did the shopping while I sat in the car and watched the tailors on the sidewalk run their peddle-powered Singer sewing machines. They use no patterns and yet turn out incredibly well made clothing. Our last stop was at the one and only Meat King, where we bought some hamburger, stew meat, chicken parts, and butter. The beef here is excellent and a good bargain for us, but I won’t even mention what we had to pay for butter. Apparently, butter hasn’t been making it into the country lately for unknown reasons.
I had brought Ray a hair clipper so he can do his own family’s haircuts. Honorine will also get a BIG surprise very soon. She doesn’t know that Ray and I have conspired to buy her a small refrigerator. John and Ray already began some comparison shopping at Nakumatt and Benson’s this morning, and they’ll probably look at another store or two tomorrow. Honorine belongs to a women’s business co-op, in which the members pool part of their earnings to help each other invest and earn more. With a refrigerator, Honorine will add selling ice cream to the candy and other treats she already sells to school children. Ray says she will be extremely excited. What fun that will be.
While we were parked outside of Benson’s, Arusha’s best electronics and appliance store, a very loud boisterous crowd came pouring down the street. At first I thought it was some sort of political rally or protest, but it soon became apparent that a thief had been caught and the crowd was viciously beating him. A few years ago, in a similar situation in Dar es Salaam, the crowd proceeded to necklace the thief and burn him to death right in front of the big World Vision offices. I was so incensed that none of the WV personnel had tried to intervene that I vowed to do so if I were ever present at a similar event. However, just as I was thinking about exactly what to say, Ray came back to the car and told me it was okay and I should stay put. John had gone closer to see exactly what was happening and reported that police were present, so we knew at least the man would not be killed though badly beaten. I’m still wrestling with my conscience, however. Perhaps the intervention of an enraged, elderly, white lady screaming, “Stop! Jesus forgave a thief”! might have had some beneficial effect.
Driving in and out of Kundayo is a real challenge, as everything is dug up and extremely rough because of the road construction on Moshi Road, the main highway from Dar es Salaam to Kenya. There is now no way I will ever be able to walk to Phillip’s Corner, our nearest grocery store. There are no lane markers or any discernible lanes in some places, so I have n idea how Ray knew where it was safe to drive. Maybe he didn’t, and we were just lucky. The dust is horrendous!
My stomach began complaining on the flight to Amsterdam, so I’ve been mainly on a bland diet of tea, toast, and, for lunch today, ramen noodles. Soon after 4:00, we went over to the garden terrace to connect with wifi and have our first late afternoon beverages. John always orders Stoney Tangawise, and since there was no Passion Fruit Fanta, I went with Bitter Lemon. Ray came back with a recharging cord—or should I say cords?—for my phone since somehow the original cord had gone missing since last year.
The dueling public address systems began soon after 4:00, and not only were two pentecostal churches vying for the loudest music but there was also a van driving around blaring out some sort of political announcement. It was a aural over seasoned stew. (At least the usual early holy risers haven’t been heard from at 5:00 a.m. yet.) At 6:00 p.m. we ordered dinner from the kitchen: chicken peanut stew and greens, rice for me, and ugali (manioc goop) for John. As usual we were told our food would be ready in 45 minutes, and also as usual, Emmanuel showed up with it more than an hour and a half later. It’s nice when life is so predictable.
John arrived late last night, tired but very happy to have made it here so quickly. he dumped his suitcases on the floor, took a shower, and went to bed immediately. I stayed up a while longer so I could watch the special ceremony for Joe Biden at the White House. It was so moving to watch Mr. Biden when President Obama announced that he was giving Biden the Medal of Freedom with Distinction. Of all the possible moments I could see on American TV this week, this ceremony was the very best one. It gave me a moment of pride as an American to see such a good, humble public servant honored in this way as well as a feeling of sorrow that the majority of this next wave of politicians in D.C. have no such devotion to the nation’s common good.
Yesterday evening, while I was reading out on our front veranda, Mama Kundayo, the matriarch of this compound, came floating through the dark to greet me and spend some time visiting. She is one of the most elegant, queenly African women ever, so I felt greatly honored by her presence. She had brought one of her sons along to translate for her, as she knows very little English. They wanted to know all about our election process and Trump’s election, and asked questions which demonstrated that they pay very close attention to American political news. They were concerned about the Russian meddling in our political process and kept wondering why Americans, who claim to be for honesty and democracy, would vote for such an obvious liar and charlatan, I could only try to explain possible reasons for those who supported Trump, but nothing I posited made any sense to them. They know firsthand about crazy dictators such as Idi Amin, and it was more than they could imagine that Americans would vote for a person like Trump.
We woke up this morning just before 8:00 a.m. (9:00 p.m. Spokane time) and had breakfast out on the garden terrace. Mason, the son who operates the apartment compound came by to greet John, and then they got into a discussion of what has been happening politically here in Tanzania. Apparently, the president has now begun jailing opposition MPs and making absurd purchases and investments which are actually unconstitutional. NGOs are beginning to pull out (Good riddance to many of them!), businesses are suffering, and, because the EU has withdrawn development funds and the USA pulled its Millennium Challenge grant, taxes on common Tanzanians have been increased and pension funds plundered to make up the difference. In Maso’s words, “This guy is crazy”! So politics here aren’t all that much better—or worse—than ours at home. It all makes me think of a gospel song people sang during my childhood:
This world is not my home,
I’m just a’passing through.
My treasures are laid up,
somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me
from Heaven’s open door,
And I can’t feel at home
in this world anymore.
After breakfast and after John had spent some time on email, Ray came to take us downtown to do some shopping and errands. One of our first needs is always for new SIM cards for the phones we use here. Airtel, the company we have always used in the past, isn’t so reliable anymore, so we got Tigo cards this time. We’ll see how this works. We also went to the big shopping store Nakumatt for groceries and household items. Prices seem much higher than last year, and I refused to pay the equivalent of $3 for a can of diced tomatoes or $7 for a medium container of yogurt. Most disappointing was that the selection of herbs was so puny. Usually, I can get a huge variety of spices and herbs at very good prices, but not today. I was tempted to buy a bottle of garlic shampoo, something I had never imaged I would ever see, but it too was quite overpriced. After Nakumatt, we went to the big market for tomatoes, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, carrots and potatoes. Ray and John did the shopping while I sat in the car and watched the tailors on the sidewalk run their peddle-powered Singer sewing machines. They use no patterns and yet turn out incredibly well made clothing. Our last stop was at the one and only Meat King, where we bought some hamburger, stew meat, chicken parts, and butter. The beef here is excellent and a good bargain for us, but I won’t even mention what we had to pay for butter. Apparently, butter hasn’t been making it into the country lately for unknown reasons.
I had brought Ray a hair clipper so he can do his own family’s haircuts. Honorine will also get a BIG surprise very soon. She doesn’t know that Ray and I have conspired to buy her a small refrigerator. John and Ray already began some comparison shopping at Nakumatt and Benson’s this morning, and they’ll probably look at another store or two tomorrow. Honorine belongs to a women’s business co-op, in which the members pool part of their earnings to help each other invest and earn more. With a refrigerator, Honorine will add selling ice cream to the candy and other treats she already sells to school children. Ray says she will be extremely excited. What fun that will be.
While we were parked outside of Benson’s, Arusha’s best electronics and appliance store, a very loud boisterous crowd came pouring down the street. At first I thought it was some sort of political rally or protest, but it soon became apparent that a thief had been caught and the crowd was viciously beating him. A few years ago, in a similar situation in Dar es Salaam, the crowd proceeded to necklace the thief and burn him to death right in front of the big World Vision offices. I was so incensed that none of the WV personnel had tried to intervene that I vowed to do so if I were ever present at a similar event. However, just as I was thinking about exactly what to say, Ray came back to the car and told me it was okay and I should stay put. John had gone closer to see exactly what was happening and reported that police were present, so we knew at least the man would not be killed though badly beaten. I’m still wrestling with my conscience, however. Perhaps the intervention of an enraged, elderly, white lady screaming, “Stop! Jesus forgave a thief”! might have had some beneficial effect.
Driving in and out of Kundayo is a real challenge, as everything is dug up and extremely rough because of the road construction on Moshi Road, the main highway from Dar es Salaam to Kenya. There is now no way I will ever be able to walk to Phillip’s Corner, our nearest grocery store. There are no lane markers or any discernible lanes in some places, so I have n idea how Ray knew where it was safe to drive. Maybe he didn’t, and we were just lucky. The dust is horrendous!
My stomach began complaining on the flight to Amsterdam, so I’ve been mainly on a bland diet of tea, toast, and, for lunch today, ramen noodles. Soon after 4:00, we went over to the garden terrace to connect with wifi and have our first late afternoon beverages. John always orders Stoney Tangawise, and since there was no Passion Fruit Fanta, I went with Bitter Lemon. Ray came back with a recharging cord—or should I say cords?—for my phone since somehow the original cord had gone missing since last year.
The dueling public address systems began soon after 4:00, and not only were two pentecostal churches vying for the loudest music but there was also a van driving around blaring out some sort of political announcement. It was a aural over seasoned stew. (At least the usual early holy risers haven’t been heard from at 5:00 a.m. yet.) At 6:00 p.m. we ordered dinner from the kitchen: chicken peanut stew and greens, rice for me, and ugali (manioc goop) for John. As usual we were told our food would be ready in 45 minutes, and also as usual, Emmanuel showed up with it more than an hour and a half later. It’s nice when life is so predictable.
 |
| This is the usual sign at the corner where one turns onto Kundayo Road. |
 |
| This is what it looks like now at the entrance to Kundayo Road. |
 |
| This is the Moshi Highway going toward Phillip's Corner. |
Friday, January 13, 2017
Back in Arusha, 2017
Arusha, Thursday, January 12, 2017
This has not been our usual trip from Spokane to Arusha. For some reason, I simply did not monitor my packing as carefully as usual and made no lists of what I had packed in which suitcase. So, I soon began to think of items I had undoubtedly left behind, e.g., tennis shoes, a glasses repair kit, extra plastic containers, and on and on. I did pack enough clothing this time and plenty of insect repellent, so we’ll be fine. I may even be able to buy some of the “luxury” items I’d like at Nakumatt later this week.
Because of the heavy show in Spokane, we had Luke drive us out to the Ramada Inn at the airport so we would be sure to make out flight Tuesday morning at 9:20 a,m, That all went well, and we had plenty of time the next morning to get ready, have a nice breakfast, and get to the airport far ahead of time—which turned out to be absolutely crucial. John had never heard of the rule that one must have at least 6 months of validity left on a passport to travel to Tanzania, as well as many other countries. In all our years of flying all over, we had never heard of this, and since John had only exactly 5 months left on his passport, Delta would not check him in to Arusha even though they had supposedly checked his passport when they sold us our tickets. John went all banty rooster berserk for awhile, and called up the Delta chain of command to no avail. He could not understand why they had sold him a ticket they clearly knew they would not honor. To make his dilemma all the more maddening, he could not find his phone and had to rely on the kindness of the Delta counter crew to make his calls. Things only got worse, when one of the security men told John to leave his carry on luggage with his daughter (me), while he returned to check in his big suitcase, which he had been told would be “pink ticketed” at the gate and carried on. More erroneous directions from Delta.
Finally, we decided that I would fly all the way by myself, and John would go as far as Seattle and then apply for an expedited passport there. So, after, some repacking and checking in separately, we were off. John went with me to my gate in Seattle and then left for downtown and the immigration office. My flight to Amsterdam, while tedious, was the usual: reading and eating an unusual amount of snacks and meals. I lost count. My seatmate was a young man from Hawaii who was flying to Nuremberg to lead a course on how to maintain Striker vehicles for the Army. He had been in Iraq but is now a private contractor and makes much more money. We talked about the privatization of the military and how while it avoids the problems that come with recruiting or a draft, it costs the taxpayers much more. I was surprised that he also expressed concern about what might happen under the new administration.
During the hours I was in air, John had rushed to downtown Seattle to find the immigration office and see how to get an expedited passport so he could be on a plane on Wednesday. Fortunately, this process did not take endless hours though it did cost a pretty penny. Better yet, as the security staff was searching John’s luggage before he entered the offices, they found his missing cell phone, right in his shaving kit, where any man would stow his phone. Once, John got his new passport, he called Rob and Carol Wilson, friends in Seattle, to see if they would rescue him for the night. Of course they did, so it was almost as if John was rewarded for messing up our day so amazingly.
No one does better with disabled services than the KLM staff at Amsterdam, and they aren’t even allowed to take tips. Their professionalism and diligence always impress me. So, I had no problem at all getting from my arrival to departure gates. Once on the plane again (Why do we say “the plane”?), I found I was fortunate fortune enough to be in a row of three seats with no one in the middle. Better yet, my seat mate was a retired elementary school principal from Massachusetts, who was going on a 12-day African safari. She was lovely, and we soon found out that we were both distressed about Trump, against charter schools, and concerned about the inequity among public school budgets. Also, it was good for me to be with someone who was obviously very excited about going to game parks since I have become so weary and jaded about them.
We arrived at the Kilimanjaro International Airport soon after 9:00 p.m. which meant it was
7:00 or 8:00 a.m. (I still haven’t figured this all out again) in Spokane. Then, the long, sweaty visa process began. Since we no longer have valid multiple-entry visas, I had to get in the long line for a new tourist visa. All one has to do is fill out a simple form and pay $100, but the waiting seemed never ending. I spent my time in line chatting with a young French couple who were coming to Arusha to climb Mount Meru, not Kilimanjaro. Mount Meru is right behind us here in Arusha, and while it is not at high at Kilimanjaro, it is reputed to be more difficult to climb.
Finally, we reached window #1, paid our $100 (a crisp new bill is necessary), and then were told to go to window #2. What? I could see no reason for another wait in line, but there was nothing else to do. Slowly we progressed to the window, and the man there took our photo and put a sticker visa form in our passports and told us to go to window #3. Good grief! By this time I was dripping in sweat and likely smelling like a septic tank cleaner. The wait for window #3 was shorter than at the first two, so after the man there looked all through our passports, as had the previous two, and then stamped them, we were free to go retrieve our luggage. I had my carry-on and an additional two big, very heavy suitcases, but as usual, a nice young man helped me get the big ones onto a luggage cart, and I was set to leave. But wait! We now had to go through a scanner before we exited. This machine had never been operational any other time we’ve come through this airport and should have been used for scanning incoming luggage, not outgoing. I was knew I could not sling my luggage up on the table, so I beckoned over a young Tanzanian airport worker and told him I’d give him $5 if he lifted up my suitcases for me. He was super happy to both lift them up, put them through the scanner, and then reload my cart. I was super happy to have that handled so well. And, no one paid any attention to what did or didn’t go through the scanner anyway. I decided that all those windows and the scanner must be part of some new employment program since almost none of it had any other possible purpose.
In spite of the long, hot wait in lines and the ridiculous scanner procedure, I still love this airport, as the Tanzanians are uniformly polite, well-intentioned, and honest. More remarkable for an African airport, we never have to worry about our luggage being rummaged through or stolen before we retrieve it. For me the airport sets the tone for our stay in Arusha: One should never expect everything to work quickly, but in general everyone does their best and means well.
Ray and his wife and children were waiting for me outside. It was wonderful to see them again, and there were greetings and hugs all around. Anita and Good Luck hung on to me, and Priskilla presented me with an elaborate arrangement of roses. Of course, they were very surprised that John was not with me, but Ray will go back to the airport to get him tonight. On the ride into Arusha, I caught up on the children’s school activities and the general political and economic situation for the common people in Tanzania. Ray’s perspective is that the President is doing his best to clean up corruption and reform many agencies, but it is slow going again entrenched bureaucracy. Economically, things are tight for the general citizens, while the wealthy are doing very well. I told Ray that this is much the same in America, too. Ray then expressed his condolences for the Trump election. People here cannot figure out why America, the supposed land of equality and democracy, would elect such an obvious liar and charlatan. They are concerned about how this will affect the global economy and international relations.
It was very late when we arrived at Kundayo. The highway project the Chinese have been working on for several years has now reached its absolutely most disruptive stage right at the entrance of Kundayo Road, so driving in was like navigating an obstacle course. It was probably good that it was too dark for me to see the full extent of the chaos. I have no idea how we are going to walk out to the main road and catch Dolla-dollas or walk down to the road to Phillips Corner and the Impala Hotel. I’ll leave all that for John to figure out once he is here.
Maso was waiting for me, but there was no welcome by the staff as there has been in the past. (I sense that there may be some downsizing of the staff, as I found out at breakfast that Agape, my favorite staff member, is no longer here.) I was so addled by the time I got into our apartment that I couldn’t figure out what I was doing and mulled through all my suitcases with no particular plan in mind. Finally, I quit whatever I was doing, took a shower, and went to bed soon after 3:00 a.m,. I slept until nearly 9:00 and then got up, dressed and went for my complimentary breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, fruit juice, and coffee.
I tried to connect to wifi during breakfast without any success, so I couldn’t let John know that I have arrived successfully. I’ll try again soon, but something is not functioning correctly at the moment. I was miraculously able to figure out the TV remotes correctly and now have MSNC on. I’ve just learned that Donald Trump wouldn’t have had carnal relations in Russia because he is a “germaphobe.” I am very happy to be out of country at the moment.
We have once again been placed in Apartment S, the same one we were in last year. I prefer the apartment next door, apartment W, but John thinks the steps up to the bathroom are too dangerous for me to use. This apartment does have the advantage of having a table and chairs on the front terrace, which is great for visits, so I’m satisfied with this placement. However, this year, the always minimal kitchen and cooking utensils are more minimal than ever. Since things had been fairly decent last year, I didn’t bring some items such as a funnel or extra plastic containers, which are not here at all this year. We have only two plates, three drinking glasses, and several mismatched bowls, plus a small skillet and two small cooking pans. As alway I brought a can opener, vegetable peeler, and assorted spoons, knives and forks from the thrift shop, but I did not bring a funnel, small plunger (for laundry), and a good paring knife, all of which I need to operate well. We’ll have to see what we can find in town.
I am now so fuzzy headed I need to stop writing and find some other way for staying awake during the day here while it’s night back in Spokane.
This has not been our usual trip from Spokane to Arusha. For some reason, I simply did not monitor my packing as carefully as usual and made no lists of what I had packed in which suitcase. So, I soon began to think of items I had undoubtedly left behind, e.g., tennis shoes, a glasses repair kit, extra plastic containers, and on and on. I did pack enough clothing this time and plenty of insect repellent, so we’ll be fine. I may even be able to buy some of the “luxury” items I’d like at Nakumatt later this week.
Because of the heavy show in Spokane, we had Luke drive us out to the Ramada Inn at the airport so we would be sure to make out flight Tuesday morning at 9:20 a,m, That all went well, and we had plenty of time the next morning to get ready, have a nice breakfast, and get to the airport far ahead of time—which turned out to be absolutely crucial. John had never heard of the rule that one must have at least 6 months of validity left on a passport to travel to Tanzania, as well as many other countries. In all our years of flying all over, we had never heard of this, and since John had only exactly 5 months left on his passport, Delta would not check him in to Arusha even though they had supposedly checked his passport when they sold us our tickets. John went all banty rooster berserk for awhile, and called up the Delta chain of command to no avail. He could not understand why they had sold him a ticket they clearly knew they would not honor. To make his dilemma all the more maddening, he could not find his phone and had to rely on the kindness of the Delta counter crew to make his calls. Things only got worse, when one of the security men told John to leave his carry on luggage with his daughter (me), while he returned to check in his big suitcase, which he had been told would be “pink ticketed” at the gate and carried on. More erroneous directions from Delta.
Finally, we decided that I would fly all the way by myself, and John would go as far as Seattle and then apply for an expedited passport there. So, after, some repacking and checking in separately, we were off. John went with me to my gate in Seattle and then left for downtown and the immigration office. My flight to Amsterdam, while tedious, was the usual: reading and eating an unusual amount of snacks and meals. I lost count. My seatmate was a young man from Hawaii who was flying to Nuremberg to lead a course on how to maintain Striker vehicles for the Army. He had been in Iraq but is now a private contractor and makes much more money. We talked about the privatization of the military and how while it avoids the problems that come with recruiting or a draft, it costs the taxpayers much more. I was surprised that he also expressed concern about what might happen under the new administration.
During the hours I was in air, John had rushed to downtown Seattle to find the immigration office and see how to get an expedited passport so he could be on a plane on Wednesday. Fortunately, this process did not take endless hours though it did cost a pretty penny. Better yet, as the security staff was searching John’s luggage before he entered the offices, they found his missing cell phone, right in his shaving kit, where any man would stow his phone. Once, John got his new passport, he called Rob and Carol Wilson, friends in Seattle, to see if they would rescue him for the night. Of course they did, so it was almost as if John was rewarded for messing up our day so amazingly.
No one does better with disabled services than the KLM staff at Amsterdam, and they aren’t even allowed to take tips. Their professionalism and diligence always impress me. So, I had no problem at all getting from my arrival to departure gates. Once on the plane again (Why do we say “the plane”?), I found I was fortunate fortune enough to be in a row of three seats with no one in the middle. Better yet, my seat mate was a retired elementary school principal from Massachusetts, who was going on a 12-day African safari. She was lovely, and we soon found out that we were both distressed about Trump, against charter schools, and concerned about the inequity among public school budgets. Also, it was good for me to be with someone who was obviously very excited about going to game parks since I have become so weary and jaded about them.
We arrived at the Kilimanjaro International Airport soon after 9:00 p.m. which meant it was
7:00 or 8:00 a.m. (I still haven’t figured this all out again) in Spokane. Then, the long, sweaty visa process began. Since we no longer have valid multiple-entry visas, I had to get in the long line for a new tourist visa. All one has to do is fill out a simple form and pay $100, but the waiting seemed never ending. I spent my time in line chatting with a young French couple who were coming to Arusha to climb Mount Meru, not Kilimanjaro. Mount Meru is right behind us here in Arusha, and while it is not at high at Kilimanjaro, it is reputed to be more difficult to climb.
Finally, we reached window #1, paid our $100 (a crisp new bill is necessary), and then were told to go to window #2. What? I could see no reason for another wait in line, but there was nothing else to do. Slowly we progressed to the window, and the man there took our photo and put a sticker visa form in our passports and told us to go to window #3. Good grief! By this time I was dripping in sweat and likely smelling like a septic tank cleaner. The wait for window #3 was shorter than at the first two, so after the man there looked all through our passports, as had the previous two, and then stamped them, we were free to go retrieve our luggage. I had my carry-on and an additional two big, very heavy suitcases, but as usual, a nice young man helped me get the big ones onto a luggage cart, and I was set to leave. But wait! We now had to go through a scanner before we exited. This machine had never been operational any other time we’ve come through this airport and should have been used for scanning incoming luggage, not outgoing. I was knew I could not sling my luggage up on the table, so I beckoned over a young Tanzanian airport worker and told him I’d give him $5 if he lifted up my suitcases for me. He was super happy to both lift them up, put them through the scanner, and then reload my cart. I was super happy to have that handled so well. And, no one paid any attention to what did or didn’t go through the scanner anyway. I decided that all those windows and the scanner must be part of some new employment program since almost none of it had any other possible purpose.
In spite of the long, hot wait in lines and the ridiculous scanner procedure, I still love this airport, as the Tanzanians are uniformly polite, well-intentioned, and honest. More remarkable for an African airport, we never have to worry about our luggage being rummaged through or stolen before we retrieve it. For me the airport sets the tone for our stay in Arusha: One should never expect everything to work quickly, but in general everyone does their best and means well.
Ray and his wife and children were waiting for me outside. It was wonderful to see them again, and there were greetings and hugs all around. Anita and Good Luck hung on to me, and Priskilla presented me with an elaborate arrangement of roses. Of course, they were very surprised that John was not with me, but Ray will go back to the airport to get him tonight. On the ride into Arusha, I caught up on the children’s school activities and the general political and economic situation for the common people in Tanzania. Ray’s perspective is that the President is doing his best to clean up corruption and reform many agencies, but it is slow going again entrenched bureaucracy. Economically, things are tight for the general citizens, while the wealthy are doing very well. I told Ray that this is much the same in America, too. Ray then expressed his condolences for the Trump election. People here cannot figure out why America, the supposed land of equality and democracy, would elect such an obvious liar and charlatan. They are concerned about how this will affect the global economy and international relations.
It was very late when we arrived at Kundayo. The highway project the Chinese have been working on for several years has now reached its absolutely most disruptive stage right at the entrance of Kundayo Road, so driving in was like navigating an obstacle course. It was probably good that it was too dark for me to see the full extent of the chaos. I have no idea how we are going to walk out to the main road and catch Dolla-dollas or walk down to the road to Phillips Corner and the Impala Hotel. I’ll leave all that for John to figure out once he is here.
Maso was waiting for me, but there was no welcome by the staff as there has been in the past. (I sense that there may be some downsizing of the staff, as I found out at breakfast that Agape, my favorite staff member, is no longer here.) I was so addled by the time I got into our apartment that I couldn’t figure out what I was doing and mulled through all my suitcases with no particular plan in mind. Finally, I quit whatever I was doing, took a shower, and went to bed soon after 3:00 a.m,. I slept until nearly 9:00 and then got up, dressed and went for my complimentary breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, fruit juice, and coffee.
I tried to connect to wifi during breakfast without any success, so I couldn’t let John know that I have arrived successfully. I’ll try again soon, but something is not functioning correctly at the moment. I was miraculously able to figure out the TV remotes correctly and now have MSNC on. I’ve just learned that Donald Trump wouldn’t have had carnal relations in Russia because he is a “germaphobe.” I am very happy to be out of country at the moment.
We have once again been placed in Apartment S, the same one we were in last year. I prefer the apartment next door, apartment W, but John thinks the steps up to the bathroom are too dangerous for me to use. This apartment does have the advantage of having a table and chairs on the front terrace, which is great for visits, so I’m satisfied with this placement. However, this year, the always minimal kitchen and cooking utensils are more minimal than ever. Since things had been fairly decent last year, I didn’t bring some items such as a funnel or extra plastic containers, which are not here at all this year. We have only two plates, three drinking glasses, and several mismatched bowls, plus a small skillet and two small cooking pans. As alway I brought a can opener, vegetable peeler, and assorted spoons, knives and forks from the thrift shop, but I did not bring a funnel, small plunger (for laundry), and a good paring knife, all of which I need to operate well. We’ll have to see what we can find in town.
I am now so fuzzy headed I need to stop writing and find some other way for staying awake during the day here while it’s night back in Spokane.
Monday, December 28, 2015
I left off blogging in 2014 while I was far out in Hehe land. The experiences there were so vivid and overwhelming that I simply could not find time and focus to report them at that time. So, to sum up the program of 2014, I'll simply say that John traveled by bus from Dar to Mafinga so he too could visit in Madisi for a few days, and then we both returned to Dar in an unforgettable 9-hour bus ride. In Dar, we stayed in a modest hotel in the Asian section of the city, where I could live in air-conditioned comfort and enjoy the wonderful shops and restaurants in the blocks near us. We became addicted to Summy's grilled chicken and ate it as often as was sane.
Our one long field trip was a weekend in Bagamoyo, where for me the best event was visiting the place where the African porters brought David Livingstone's body so it could be sent back to England.
On May 7, we all flew back to the States and quickly reverted to being Americans again.
Now it is January 2015, and John and I are again in Arusha, staying in our usual apartment at Kundayo and doing whatever pleases us. It's a different experience without students, but I love the sense of being at home once more.
Our one long field trip was a weekend in Bagamoyo, where for me the best event was visiting the place where the African porters brought David Livingstone's body so it could be sent back to England.
On May 7, we all flew back to the States and quickly reverted to being Americans again.
Now it is January 2015, and John and I are again in Arusha, staying in our usual apartment at Kundayo and doing whatever pleases us. It's a different experience without students, but I love the sense of being at home once more.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Whirlwind Weeks - Part 2
Oblivious of the drama the others were experiencing, I rode on with the Vintons until we reached Morogoro soon after 4:00 p.m. and checked into the 4U Executive Hotel, a nice new Tanzanian establishment, with clean room, hot water, and most importantly air conditioning. After a brief shower and change of clothes, we all went to dinner at a very nice Indian-owned resort hotel, which Steve said had great food for reasonable prices--and he was correct. Nothing I saw in Morogoro seemed very interesting and it was quite hot and dusty. Of course, I didn't really get to explore as we were only there to eat dinner, stay the night, and then continue on or journey.
While eating dinner, we saw some TV news about a bridge being flooded or washed out, and at first Steve thought it might be a bridge that was on our way. However, it turned out that the problem was near Dar, and, in fact, a British woman who was also eating her dinner told us that she had been told not to bother trying to get to Dar to make her scheduled flight home that night. Still, I did not connect this with the bus full of students traveling to Dar.
The next morning, after a less than ample breakfast at our hotel, we continued on toward Iringa, Mafinga, and places beyond. The day was bright and sunny for much of the time, and we seemed to make good time. For lunch, we stopped at a huddle of shops, cafes and toilets where passenger buses make rest stops. Such places intrigue me because they offer such a strange variety of wares for purchase, but they also scare me sh------ because they offer rows of squat toilets, which for me are almost insurmountable obstacles. If I lower too far, I risk never rising again or falling down on a far less than hygienic floor, and if I don't lower enough, I risk peeing all over my underwear and clothes. I always pray that there will be a big 5-gallon bucket of water in the stall since that is just enough of a hold for me to make it down and up successfully. Then, of course, there is the need to always, always carry a wad of TP in one's pocket or bra.
Susan or Steve bought a packet of samosas, which we then ate as we drove on toward Iringa and the escarpment we would have to climb before reaching the southern highlands. I have always wanted to visit Iringa and was hoping we would stop there for a meal or a bit of shopping. However, Steve was intent on making good time on the road, and since the road bypassed the town center of Iringa, I saw very little of it as we whizzed by. Somewhere along the route, the highway cut right through Ruaha National Park, and we saw giraffes, zebras, gazelles, baboons, and lots of elephants as we passed by. (I may be confused about sequence here and if so, I will try to correct this all later.) The drive up and up the escarpment was very dramatic both for the views and the dangers. Big trucks came rumbling around blind curves, and Steve's attempts to pass trucks going up the inclines seemed like a gamble each time. We saw one large tanker which had gone off the edge and was barely hanging on above the drop to the bottom far down the mountainside. I was so dazed by this time, that nothing untoward seemed to faze me.
 |
| One of the typical stretches on our main road. |
 |
| Tea Fields |
 |
| Forest area and branches of the droopy pines that are raised for lumber. |
 |
| Susan surveying the mud in front of the school's administration building. |
 |
| The main family living area. |
 |
| Checking with Mama Lillian to see how the mid-day meal is progressing. |
 |
| Preparing supper in the dark. |
 |
| Janelle using power from the solar battery to make cake frosting. |
 | |
| Here I am holding a flashlight so Janelle can see what she is doing. |
 |
| The view out over the roofs of the teachers' houses. |
 |
| Inside the courtyard: The administration building sits at the end of a huge horseshoe of classrooms. |
 |
| A partial view of the school from the next hilltop. |
 |
| Hehe Houses |
 |
| Janelle at her local Walmart. |
 |
| Pouring gasoline into bottles for sale. |
 |
| Filling up at the local gas station. |
 |
| Out in the field with Susan. |
 |
| Every morning a mother with a sick child was waiting for Susan. |
It was a total contrast in lives to sit comfortably with Mama Chris in her kitchen, watching her cook the chicken stew and feed her two boys, Chris and Junior. Immanual is the second Tanzanian in the partnership that founded and now heads Village schools, and Mama Chris and I had had a great English conversation the afternoon before. Like Godfrey and Mama Grace, this couple lives in one of the very nice houses that had been built for staff and their families. I felt very honored to be invited to join them for dinner and had a wonderful time until I was taken back to the Vintons' house for the rest of the night.
[Like Kenyans, Tanzanians identify mothers by the names of their first children, so I am Mama Rebecca here, or if someone does not know me, they would address me as "Bibi" since I am an older woman.]
Sunday, May 4, 2014
A Glimpse of Chagga Land
Before I continue on with the saga of my trip with the Vintons to Madisi Secondary School and the struggle of the others to cross over into Dar, I thought you might be interested in seeing a few photos of the area the Chagga call home. It's on the slopes of Kilimanjaro, where water is plentiful and the flora is lush and green. The Teshas arranged many of the details for this visit and act as the overall hosts during the week.
During the day, the students had some lectures and discussions of their readings as well as a visit to a local dispensary, a morning in the fields, and hiking. The evenings, however, were for pounding coffee, listening to stories, and dancing--lots of dancing.
 |
| The view from the terrace of the guesthouse where everyone stayed |
 |
| Green, green Chaggaland. |
 |
| Baba Tesha and the local parish priest. |
 |
| Mama Tesha serving dinner to the group at her house. |
 |
| Mama and Baba Tesha, who live in Arusha but, like many urban Tanzanians, still maintain a family shamba (small farm) in Baba's home village. |
 |
| Preparing to spend the morning in the fields, |
 |
| Students hoeing in the banana grove. The Chagga said they had never seen wazungu work like this before. |
 |
| Out on a hike. You can see how steep the terrain is. |
 |
| John at a local waterfall. |
 |
| Students climbing behind the falls--of course. |
 |
| Enjoying a break along the way. |
 |
| A common local sight, women washing clothes in a stream. |
 |
| The ritual of pounding coffee. The Chagga have grown coffee for many years but are now changing to other crops as disease and low prices make coffee less profitable for them. |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)