The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Our First Three Weeks of Vacation in Tanzania

It’s noon. We sit on plastic Pepsi chairs under a thatched banda on Matema beach, overlooking mountains and Lake Malawi (or Lake Nyasa, depending on which map you’re using). We are alone, apart from two women washing their clothes on the shore, and a Tanzanian family with two older wazungu enjoying the sun and swimming. It is while sitting on the edge of Africa’s third largest lake that we have found time to reflect on our first three weeks of vacation in Tanzania. There have been many moments when we have said, “We have to blog about this.” In this blog, you will find highlights of the five places we have visited, from the commercial capital of Dar es Salaam to Tanzania’s Southern Highlands. 

 

Dar es Salaam: Kunduchi Water Park and the Cinema at Mlimani City mall

We spent our time in Dar enjoying activities you can’t find anywhere else in Tanzania. We discovered Dar is a highly accessible city, with our friend Simeon, a student at the University of Dar and the son of one of our partners in Karagwe, showing us the way. The bus system will get you where you want to go for only 300 shillings, or about 20 cents.

I had planned to see The Hunger Games with my good friend Laura Kocsis once I returned to the states, but when I saw the show times at Mlimani City mall in Dar, I jumped at the opportunity. After paying only 8,000 shillings, or five bucks, we sat in the air-conditioned theatre and enjoyed the movie. The theatre was complete with a popcorn machine, comfy seats, and 3-D glasses. After seeing the movie with Simeon and a tourist from Israel named Shy, we all ate ice cream.

Later that week, after a disappointing visit to a low tide shore filled with dangerous sea urchins, we traveled north to Kunduchi Water Park, hesitant about what we would find. We found an empty park with pools, slides, a lazy river, and a water play place for kids. We paid 7,000 shillings per person and were happy with what we found. After arguing a bit with the staff to turn on all of the slides and keep them on, we had a great time. We stayed for four hours soaking up the water and running up the stairs to go down the slides again and again. Throughout the day, no more than 10 other people entered the park. Tourist season must be huge; otherwise I’m sure the park could not keep its doors open.

We left our YWCA hostel in Dar after a week, and traveled south to Iringa.

 

Iringa: the “Cheeseburger,” Volunteering at Neema Crafts, Football, and Conversations with Missionaries

There are a few restaurants in Iringa where tourists can get good food which differs from the typical Swahili fare of rice, ugali, beans, and meat. One of these places is called Lulu’s. Lulu’s, we came to find out, is one of two restaurants open for dinner. This discovery was unfortunate after our unpleasant first experience, where we openly argued with the manager. Paul ordered a cheeseburger with chips. They brought out a bun with cheese, lettuce, and tomato for Paul. My plate arrived 15 minutes later, and the server quickly answered, “Yes” when asked whether Paul’s burger patty was coming. We assumed they were still cooking it (silly us). After I finished my food, and Paul ate his chips, Paul went up to the counter and clarified with the staff that he expected meat with his cheeseburger. They realized he wanted a “cheese beef burger,” which wasn’t an option on the menu. They brought the cheese beef burger five minutes later, and Paul ate it. The server had not taken away the original cheeseburger, so Paul consumed it, not wanting it to go to waste. We walked to the counter to pay, and were unhappy to see both the cheese and cheese beef burger on the receipt. The manager argued that Paul ate the cheeseburger and was satisfied by it, so he had to pay for it. I explained his dissatisfaction with wasting anything, but she adamantly argued that she needed to show her boss either the uneaten bun or 2,000 shillings. We did not want to pay for their mistakes (i.e. - giving Paul the wrong burger and not taking away the old one if it was to be saved.) She tried to tell us Tanzania is different from where we are from, and Paul was quick to reply that he has ordered many a cheeseburger in various parts of Tanzania and has enjoyed meat every time. I gave her the 2,000 shillings after several minutes of arguing. But, I ended the conversation calmly by saying, “Sure, you can show your boss that you now have the 2,000 shillings, but you should also tell him that you had two very unhappy customers leave the restaurant tonight.” She returned the money and said good night. Paul was happy to take it and go. I reflected about the attitudes we have encountered here concerning customer service which differ from those at home. In the States, the service sector is customer-friendly and the customer is usually understood to be right. There have been many instances here where a problem with the service or among the staff is argued to be the customer’s problem. But, at least we’ll always have a crazy story of the cheeseburger with no burger.

Fortunately, we did not leave Iringa with this experience on our minds. We met the current directors of Neema Crafts, a large non-profit organization which provides handicraft-making skills to disabled Tanzanians and thereby gives them a steady job and decent source of income. The directors are Ben and Katy, a young Anglican missionary couple from the UK. Ben invited us to a volleyball game at a local farm, and we were pleasantly surprised to find a group of wazungu residents of Iringa, and healthy dogs who loved to be pet. It was a welcome respite. Ben asked if anyone wanted to volunteer at Neema, and Paul and I took him up on his offer. We spent the week scraping paint, sanding walls, and applying fresh coats of paint. They were refinishing the kitchen and café. The café workers were all deaf, and so we learned some Swahili sign language and spoke very clearly so our mouths could be read. I stole away a few mornings in order to work on job applications, and was able to complete a couple. Ben and Katy welcomed us into their home, which was awesome. We saved on accommodation, and were happy to eat dinners and stay with them. They cooked stir fry and chili for us, and we cooked burritos and bought wine and cheese for them one night.

We had simple but delicious lunches all week in the park. We ate peanut butter sandwiches, cups of yogurt, and a different fruit every day. We rotated between fresh papaya, pineapple, and bananas. You can’t do much better than a fresh, ripe papaya, one of my favorites of Tanzania.

One of Paul’s favorites is the football. He has embraced the international sport, I think, to compensate for the lack of NHL, NBA, NFL, and MLB action here. He bought himself an Arsenal jersey, to support the team he saw play when he was in England, and can strike up conversations with virtually any man based on the topic. During our time in Iringa we were fortunate to watch two important games in the world of football. 

We watched Manchester City claim their first English Premier League title in over 40 years as they scored two goals in the final 5 minutes of the game.   It was an epic end to a season of many ups and downs and we watched it surrounded by fans of Man City and Man U.  Arsenal finished the season in 3rd place securing a Champions League berth for next season, so Paul was content with the results.

The UEFA Champions League Championship between Bayern Munich and Chelsea was the bigger of the two games.  Paul was rooting for Chelsea, another English Premier League team that won in dramatic fashion on penalties.  Bayern Munich outplayed Chelsea the entire game but it seemed that fate was driving the Blues to victory.  Despite the recent playoff dismissals of the Flyers and the Sixers, Paul has been able to stay entertained abroad.

The last highlight from Iringa was the guests Ben and Katy hosted one night after we worked at Neema all day. Amethyst and Andrew: an American missionary couple based in Goma on the eastern side of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). We were happy to meet them and listen to what they had to say, as Goma has been in the headlines for years now for the extreme violence, rebel warfare, and IDP (internally displaced persons) population. Amethyst was quick to say the situation is not as bad as the headlines make it out to be, but later told us a story of a former child soldier threatening to kill them in a public meeting. Their faith and courage to go into such a dangerous place was inspiring. Many missionary organizations will not allow people in Goma right now, and soldiers and UN peace-keeping forces are common. 75% of women have been raped as rape has been a tool of war in recent years in Eastern Congo. But, Amethyst and Andrew hold on to the hope and promises of God, and believe Goma is where they are called to serve. They were in Iringa taking Swahili lessons, after realizing that knowing Swahili would support their work. We all ate together and enjoyed conversation after dinner. Ben broke in and ended the night around 11pm, when we were deep in theological discussions concerning salvation and eschatology.

Iringa had treated us well, but after staying for a little over a week, we moved on to Mbeya.

 

Mbeya: ESPN and HBO with a Side of Flies, Great Food, and Fried Bananas at the Market

We stayed at the Holiday Lodge and Restaurant in Mbeya, a place I had seen on a tourist forum online as inexpensive but good. We were happy to find a big room with a nice big bed, our own bathroom with a shower and hot water, and to top it all off a television with the most channels we have ever seen in East Africa. Paul watched ESPN and I caught the tail end of a Project Runway show. We watched a Krueger movie, and I got excited for Halloween back in the States. We were a short ten minute walk into town, and were really happy to have found the place (I patted myself on the back for research well done.) But then, night came. We stayed two nights, and each night, we woke to hear dogs fighting. At least six dogs would fight for hours in the compound right next to ours, and we lay awake, unable to sleep. The next morning, we sat down for chai (tea, but used commonly to mean breakfast) only to discover that only tea and bread came with the room. And, their dining room was full of flies. Dozens of them flew all over the tables and in and out of the kitchen window. On little sleep, it was enough to drive us crazy.  

Mbeya made it up to us after dinner the following evening. After an okay dinner in town, we walked home wanting to buy a papaya at the market for breakfast the next morning.  Not expecting success because it was after dark, we glanced up to the market only to be warmly welcomed by people admonishing us to join them. We entered the market to find men sitting in a circle with a mama roasting bananas over a charcoal fire. They quickly put bananas in our hands, and said they were happy to see wazungu in their neighborhood. The men were waiting for the truck shipment of pineapple which had gotten stuck in an accident and was three hours late. Paul accepted the offer of an avocado, and the mama immediately plucked one from a surrounding table, ripped it open with her hands, and gave him half. We ate the sweet bananas, crunchy on the outside and warm and moist on the inside. We exchanged some small conversation with our new friends, but the truck arrived shortly afterwards and they were off to work. We walked away happy with the sweet taste of bananas and good feeling from their warm welcome still lingering.

Before traveling to Tukuyu and Matema Beach, we had one last dinner. I decided we should check out a place with a half-hidden sign promising pizza and burgers. I’m always doubtful of pizza here— the cheese never tastes right to me. But we took a chance and found a bare room with a glass case full of old-looking cake. We were pleasantly surprised to discover the upstairs with a trendy atmosphere and lots of young people. I ordered the tropical chicken pizza with pineapple and Paul ordered a double cheese burger (this time, it came with meat). When the food arrived and we began, I could not stop talking about how good it was. After a lot of rice and beans and chips and chicken, this dinner was amazing. So good in fact that I sat down and wrote a note to the owner complimenting the food. We were happy we had stumbled upon it. Ever since that meal, we’ve been comparing every wazungu meal with it, never quite as satisfied. The place is called Metro Cuisine. After finishing our burger and pizza, we walked into town to find more chocolate-banana shakes, which we had discovered the night before. A wonderful mix of natural and fake tastes, the shakes are amazing at Sombrero. Whenever I find some food that is reminiscent of home and tastes great, I soak it up like a well needed rest after a long journey. In this situation, it was the good stuff we needed before embarking on a long safari to Tukuyu and Matema, which would prove to be a challenging five days.

 

Tukuyu: An Overly-Ambitious Excursion with Awesome Rewards

We traveled to Tukuyu having heard of some cool tourist attractions including a waterfall, gorge, hanging bridge, natural bridge, and great hiking. We stayed at Bongo Camping where the staff gave us the resident rates (half the price) after we showed our residency permits, and set up a nice big tent in their grassy compound for us. They also provided us with mattresses and blankets. There was no toilet paper or hot water, but the tent was great and the main guy who stayed during the evenings would pop in a season of 24 every time we sat to make our dinner (naturally, we were both hooked on Jack Bauer).  

We set up an excursion with Rungwe Tea and Tours, an initiative of a cooperative joining 15,000 small-scale tea farmers in the district. Our coordinator, David, spoke very good English and was great in helping us figure out which activity we wanted to do. Paul wanted some hiking and I wanted to see the waterfall. We planned with David to bike to and from Kaporogwe waterfall and hike down to the hanging bridge from the same point. He warned us that it was a tough ride, but do-able. I thought of the biking I did in Pittsburgh and all of the squats and lunges I did in Karagwe this past semester and was confident. Can you tell what’s going to happen?

It’s a two hour bike ride from Tukuyu town down to the waterfall. We were provided with cheap Chinese bikes with baskets in the front. I was glad to have good breaks during the teeth-chattering-skull-jolting-know-I’m-going-to-fall downhill ride. Neither of us fell and it was a nice ride past various villages on dirt roads with children yelling Mzungu! Mzungu! and chasing after us. We were on the tourist path less traveled. Once we arrived, we could hear the waterfall and ditched our bikes. But instead of approaching the waterfall, we walked the other way and descended for 45 minutes down a steep rocky hillside along a narrow winding path. We took our time, careful not to slide down the hill. Once we arrived, we found a 30-meter long, Indiana-Jones-like bridge with seemingly little to it. A river flowed 20 meters below. Our guide, Christopher, tells us the bridge was built by the Germans in the early 20th century. I asked why anyone would build a bridge here; after the bike ride and hike, it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. He explained they were looking for minerals. The bridge was made with strong thick cables and wooden planks, some hanging by one end. Each side is completely open with a single cable running the length of the bridge. Paul gingerly walked across, stopping at one point to test the bridge’s bounciness. I cross, holding on to a cable the whole time and freaking myself out in the middle when I look down. One of our guides is too afraid to cross, but we watch an old man with a briefcase cross like he does this every day, with a bounce in his step, not holding on at all. We realize this is one of the few ways people can cross the river, and some do it regularly.

We ascended quicker than we descended; it’s not nearly as scary to go up as it is to go down, even though it’s more difficult. It’s a short walk to the waterfall, and the scene is beautiful. We walk through a line of water falling down the rock face into a recess behind the waterfall, and eat a great lunch we packed ourselves of peanut butter and sweet bananas on chapatti. After taking lots of pictures, we grab our bikes and start to ride back. We quickly realize how difficult it will be to ascend to Tukuyu with Chinese bikes without gears.

I’m proud to speed up a few hills in fast spurts on my bike, but I’m not an endurance athlete and the trip back is an epic fail. My body is exhausted and I can barely hop on and ride the flat parts by midway. I refuse the help of one of our guides, but after a while the more experienced guide knowingly takes my bike from me. Paul and our guides take turns pushing my bike, in addition to their own, up each hill. I try to focus on each step, rather than on how far we have left to go. I develop a cramp above my right knee and watch it spasm like there’s an alien under my skin. Once we arrive at the main road after almost three hours of riding and pushing our bikes up hills, I accept the ultimate defeat of hailing a cab to take me and my bike the last 2-3 miles uphill to town. I’m surprised when Paul walks in the hotel just 10 minutes afterwards. He had pounded out the last stretch in record time, our guides commenting, “Wow, you have strength!” If they only knew that’s how he finishes almost every race he runs.

We were happy to be finished, and spent the next couple of days trying to rest our bodies. My feet and legs ache for days afterward. After one more night at Bongo Camping, we decide to head to Matema beach to relax.

 

Matema: The Journey from Hell   

I had heard from a Peace Corps volunteer in Iringa that the trip to Matema was pretty rough, but worth it if we had two days to stay there. Only 90 kilometers, or 54 miles, lies between Tukuyu and Matema. How bad could it be? I had read and heard that the Lutheran Center was a good, inexpensive place to stay. With this information we were on our way.

We began our journey at a leisurely pace, leaving Bongo Camp Site around 9am. Once we arrived in Tukuyu town, we were told to catch a coaster on the road. We bought warm, delicious mandazi from a mama walking down the sidewalk, and caught our coaster with them wrapped tightly in newspaper. After negotiating some seats for ourselves, we settled in for the ride.   

After an hour and a half, we arrive in Kiyela to find two daladalas ready to leave for Matema. A Tanzanian man laughed with me when I said the daladala was “gari mbovu,” a rotten vehicle. The vehicle was literally rotting, at certain points we could see through the floor. Paul and I had to slump over the whole time, as our heads continually hit the ceiling with each bump we hit on the unpaved road. We ride for two hours in this daladala, stopping every 5-10 minutes to load and unload passengers. The conductor instructs Paul to squeeze over so more people can enter the daladala and he refuses. His legs are long, and even my short legs don’t prevent my knees from pushing against the metal of the seat ahead. We tilt dangerously close toward many ditches filled with water, and all I can think of is the most common cause of death for expats in Africa: car accidents. I find myself praying ardently that we arrive safely and envision my plan of action if we were to tip. Finally, we make a stop where all of the passengers get out, but I see no signs of Matema or the beach.

Our drivers tell us to get out, and point to a large, open-air cargo truck and my blood boils as I realize their intention. He gives 2,000 shillings to the truck driver and promises we won’t have to pay more, but all I can say is that he lied to us when he said they would take us to Matema. People around us laugh, and I snap back in Swahili asking why they are laughing. Miserable, we throw our bags on the back of the truck and climb on. We wait for 45 minutes while people stare, laugh, and speak in their mother tongue about us. Boxes of soap, biscuits, bundles of bananas, canvas bags of flour, rice, and sugar, and personal loads tied with kitenge are hurled in the back with us and packed in no particular order. The owners of the precious cargo continually yell at the packer to put their stuff as far back as possible to prevent it from falling out during the ride. 25-30 people board with us, planks are set up over some of the cargo, and I grab a seat on one, while Paul makes himself comfortable amongst the cargo.

We seem to stop after every kilometer to let people board from the side of the road, each with their load. Throughout the ride passengers yell at us to stop sitting and standing on their cargo, though we are only sitting where we were told and have literally nowhere else to put our bodies. “You will crush the biscuits! Ah, the soap! My tomatoes!” We try unsuccessfully to move the cargo around, only to find another layer of fragile boxes beneath. At one point the plank I am sitting on falls on unsuspecting passengers sitting underneath it. I pop up quickly to find two women have been hit on the head and shoulders. The truck stops and everyone is sympathetic. People continue to complain about us on their boxes and bundles. We are at the end of our ropes, and I yell “Tuache!” or “Leave us alone,” while Paul, exhausted and annoyed uses sarcasm and just responds with “Pole sana biskuti,” or “I’m very sorry, biscuits!”

We finally arrive in Matema, after an hour and half ride on the truck. There is no disembarking from the truck the way we got on. Paul gets out onto the roof of the truck’s cab and jumps the 10 feet to the ground. I throw our book bags and duffel bag over the top, climb onto the cab, and hang over the edge, where Paul catches and slowly lowers me to the ground. We leave our fellow passengers, grumbling, at least happy to have arrived at our final destination. We discover Matema is a tiny town, but we easily walk to the Lutheran Center… only to find that they have recently increased their prices, and they have no food in the advertised restaurant because there was a big group of guests the previous week. The staff snickers at me when I ask where we can find some good food in town. A friendly young staff person, Martha, shows us a place to eat where we get rice and beans and some beef for 3,500 shillings or $2.20 total. We decide we need some alcohol and find a dark bar where we drink a couple beers each while watching music videos.

After our relaxing afternoon on the beach the next day, soaking up the sound of the waves, we find a place along the shore where we can find something other than rice and beans and fish. We have dinner and spend way too much on a single slab of lasagna for Paul and an uncooked pizza for me. To be fair, I was surprised there was anything geared toward wazungu in town, but was still very disappointed after having the great pizza in Mbeya. We left Matema after only two nights with a bad taste in our mouths.

After traveling the 120 kilometers in six hours (yes that’s an average of 12 miles an hour) back to Mbeya, we are now settled for the next three nights while we wait to take the Tazara train down to Zambia. We have heard great things and have high expectations for Livingstone Town and Victoria Falls. Until next time… Cheers!

Stone Town, Zanzibar

              Long have we waited for the right inspiration to write our next blog post. Our inspiration came into sight as we arrived in Stone Town. With only 24 hours to take in a city rich in history and culture, we set out on foot to explore. We remembered our last visit as hot, dirty, and full of scavenging cats with a few interesting sights such as the seafood market where we watched vendors cut up the day’s catch and unsuccessfully keep the flies away. This time, we went the opposite direction and had a map as a guide. After passing the main port and walking along the ocean, we ventured into the heart of Stone Town and quickly were lost in the narrow, winding alleyways complete with heavy wooden doors carved in Arab décor, hundreds of shops with various wares, and people of varying mixtures of African and Arab ethnicities. The swahili language is the main unifying factor among Zanzibar’s diverse population.

                Winding through the city on foot, we glance and are welcomed into many touristy shops with all the typical original-looking products. We politely tell some vendors who care to listen that we aren’t interested in buying anything today, but we will return another time. All are pleasantly surprised to hear wazungu speaking Swahili. Numerous galleries and shops flaunt beautiful paintings, which are vibrant with color and depict safari animals, the famous alleyways and doors of Stone Town, Masaii people, and beaches of Zanzibar. We stop and gaze at many imagining how we would decorate a room, or our entire house, around this one painting.  In the end, we’re happy we haven’t bought anything, but will return another day to face the choice again.

                After a half day of walking through Stone Town, we meet with the group at Mercury’s Restaurant set right on the Indian Ocean. We have eaten here before, and are anxious to relive the experience. The ambience is perfect with African fabric, or kitenge, decorating the ceiling and tables and oil lamps providing just enough light. We order various continental meals. I order the chicken fajitas, Zanzibar style. At first, I’m disappointed to find the chicken in a saucy soup, but the food was fantastic. The chicken was great and I had guacamole and a spicy mango salsa on the side. So good. And with food this good, and a group of eight, you would expect a bill of at least $100, but on the contrary, we paid only $11 per person. Now that’s a great meal.

                Afterwards, we walked to Forodani Gardens which comes alive every evening at 6pm with vendors barbequing the day’s catch. We had come for one purpose: Zanzibar Pizzas. Made with thin crepes, nutella, and either banana or mango, these delicious desserts are prepared and grilled right in front of you. The nutella melts on the inside and afterwards, the pizza is drizzled with chocolate syrup, cut into pieces and served with a toothpick. Everyone decided to order another after having one. Paul suggested a contest to see who could eat the most. Declining his challenge, we browsed around and walked back to our hotel.

                The next day, we were halted by pouring rain and waited in our hotel foyer to venture out again. We came to Zanzibar during the long rainy season, which doesn’t end until June. Tourists typically stay away during this time, and many hotels and restaurants were closed until the high season. Walking out of our hotel, we navigated our way through unpaved paths muddled with small lakes of dirty water. We decided to get an early lunch and then go into one of the museums. We visited two upscale restaurants we had seen the day before to find prices outside of our budget and one dining room filled with the sound of a man hammering above. We were on edge after an old man hassled us to use him as a tour guide, and wouldn’t stop following us until I directly told him in Swahili and English to leave us. Frustrated after finding new places that were closed until July, we started following signs for La Verna Italian Restaurant. Zanzibar has a very large Italian population, so we figured the food would be great. Alas, the signs led us nowhere and left us standing in intersections of narrow alleyways trying to decide the best way to go. After winding through stone town for a while, we stumbled across a simple hole in the wall place called Al Jabri, which featured its lunch foods in a glass case. Vegetables, white rice, spiced rice called pilau, masala rice, beef, liver, and chicken with prauns on the way made us sit down. We each got a plate and after ten minutes, the prauns were ready and I was given a small dish of them. Small, with a delicious sauce, and cooked to perfection, I couldn’t stop talking about these prauns. We watched BBC news in English, and the amiable-looking Indian owner asked us how we knew Swahili and what had brought us to Zanzibar. I complimented the food and he told us to feel at home and come again. Our meals were 10,000/= total, or about $6. Great value for some great food.

Some female Asian tourists finished their meals and I gawked at their short shorts as they walked out. Zanzibar is dominated by a conservative Muslim population where every woman has her head covered, and knees and shoulders are never shown. Even on the mainland, you’ll only find Tanzanian women showing their knees in urban areas. After such a long time in Tanzania, short shorts and a tank top feel like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras.  

                Stone Town left us wanting more. We are happy to know we will return with another group in July. We left Stone Town and ferried to Dar es Salaam, where we are staying in a very nice hotel. Paul and I dropped off our students at the airport last night, and it feels weird to not have them with us. This semester was great, due mostly to an awesome group of students. We have learned a lot in the process.

                Now we are looking forward to our seven week break from work where we have the opportunity to explore a little bit. We’ll be visiting the Southern Highlands of Tanzania and Zambia. We’re excited to be inspired again!

Living Life, Internationally

Written on Saturday, March 17th. We have since returned safely to Kayanga from Bukoba, and are ready for the second half of the semester.

There are those moments in life when your body is tired, but there is a great opportunity to go out and live a little. Most of the time, I let my body win out and retire early to read a book. Last night, this option was tempting. I could have lain down after a long day of traveling to Bukoba, swimming in a waterfall, crawling in a cave full of bats, and running around a white sand beach. But, I decided to live a little more.

Yesterday, we were told by our tour guide that there would be a bonfire on the beach starting at 9pm. The students were intrigued, especially after hearing that homemade banana beer might make an appearance. Exhaustion and the luring appeal of a comfortable bed stole many of them to sleep early, but Paul, four students, and I decided to go. Joyce, one of the students, was already planning her escape on the way there wondering if it was safe to walk back on her own.

When we arrived we found a small bonfire of bamboo in the middle of the Lake Victoria beach and its chilly sand. There were maybe eight Tanzanians sitting around it speaking in Swahili/Kihaya/Kinyambo. Kihaya is the local language of the Haya tribe, and is very similar to Kinyambo, the mother-tongue spoken back home in Kayanga. We headed to the bar and decided to split a banana spirit (much more official-looking than what we had in mind) and mix it with Fanta Orange. They had only one glass, so we passed the elixir back and forth between us and the conversation started flowing. Another mzungu joined us, a middle-aged man with long raggedy hair. He started speaking Spanish with our student, Juan (from Puerto Rico). We were happy to see Juan in his element; his old roommate John told us this was Juan’s I’m-as-happy-as-a-kid-in-a-candy store moment.

Meanwhile, Joyce had started a conversation with a Tanzanian man in Swahili. As I sat in the middle of Spanish-speaking Juan and Swahili-speaking Joyce, I stared at the fire and dug my feet in the sand thinking of this cosmopolitan bonfire. Juan’s friend had an Italian passport, but hailed from nowhere. Fluent in Italian, Spanish, French, English, and Portuguese, he knew few Swahili words and said there was no more room left in his brain for another language. He was writing a book about traveling without any money (I remain skeptical and doubt I’ll see this book on the shelves). Joyce was talking with a man who had a third grade education, but of course knew Swahili, Kihaya, Luganda (the predominant language of Uganda), and Kinyambo. I drifted in and out of listening to their conversation. Joyce spent thirty minutes trying to convince him of his intelligence and argued that God was not the reason for the economic disparities between Tanzanians and wazungu. He and the mzungu without origin passed a joint between them. The Swahili word for marijuana (bangi) was one of the few words the mzungu had managed to fit in his brain.

Four languages around one bonfire. I wondered… If I had understood the enormity of the world earlier, would I have taken my required language classes more seriously? I feel woefully inadequate when I’m surrounded by people who know at least three languages. But, you argue, English is the best language! It’s global, spoken by many people, and by most Americans. Sure, we are given very few incentives to learn other languages in the States, given our large country with one language and two big oceans to separate us from much of the rest of the world. This must be one of the reasons few Americans choose to leave our borders. It’s difficult to learn a new language, especially as one becomes older, and can be very uncomfortable to be in a place where people can speak without you understanding…. Where was I going with this?

I just know that last night was cool. Surrounded by many languages, I was reminded of the huge expanse of the world. Recently, I posed a question to my Dad. Paul and I have been discussing (arguing?) about where we should do our extended layover on the way home. Egypt or London? Paul wants to be in London during the Summer Olympics, but I want to see the pyramids. I welcomed my father to this discussion and he said, “Caitlin, go to London. Do something normal for once.” Indeed, while many of my friends have been to Europe, I have not yet spent time there, other than in short layovers on my way to east Africa or the States. But, we’re talking about the pyramids! Ah, sijui, I don’t know. I know that even after Paul and I get jobs in the States, I hope to continue traveling and choosing to go to bonfires rather than retire early to read. I always want to be reminded of the vastness of the world and the diversity of people and languages it affords.

Reality Checks

Our lives in Karagwe are generally peaceful and carefree. Yes, we have to manage relationships with our NGO partners in Swahili and handle the regular sicknesses which pop up among our students, but our stress levels are minimal compared to life in the States. We have actually just said goodbye to Amizade’s site director for Brazil named Nathan, who has been helping us for the past month. The beautiful view from Misha Guest House where we live and the warm and friendly greetings we receive from every Tanzanian around us help us feel at home here. But recently we have experienced some reality checks which put this experience in perspective and remind us that we are a minority living in a country different than our own. In order to cushion the impact of these stories, I want to couch them between some of the overwhelmingly positive experiences we have also been having.

               

To begin, the group of students we have this semester is awesome. We have two Boren scholars who have been studying Swahili intensively for 6 months, including a semester in Stone Town, Zanzibar. To say the least, they are keeping me on my toes with my language skills. These students have fostered a sense of self-determination in the group, and our students have really taken their learning in their own hands. They take initiative to venture outside of our guest house, they are rapidly learning Swahili, and a few have even set up their own language partners outside of their Swahili class. We have had spontaneous dance parties, creative cards made for people with birthdays, and exciting games of catch phrase and charades (the fish bowl game). The positive group dynamic is making my life and job easier and full of laughs.  My experience here has become more fulfilling also because of more time spent with local community members.

I have been more intentional this semester about staying in contact with the language and local people. I finally got over the nervousness I had about joining the church choir. Last semester, Paul and I began attending the Lutheran Church in Kayanga regularly. They have four choirs, and I always loved when the Vijana Kwaya (Choir of Young People) sang and danced. Their songs are always accompanied by a series of choreographed dance moves, with each member giving a little of their own interpretation. I asked to join after the first week back this semester, and they have warmly welcomed me. Now, I attend practice at church three times a week for about an hour and a half each time, and we perform at either the 7am or 10am service every Sunday. I enjoy being part of this group because it forces me to practice listening, speaking, and singing in Swahili and I have made many more friends in the community.  Every practice is opened and closed with a sung/spoken prayer and I am taken back to my LSM (Lutheran Student Movement) days when I was surrounded by people sharing the same faith in college. My participation sometimes leads to frustration as I am not yet fluent and there are many things which are said which I don’t understand. But, this is the nature of learning a new language.

These positive experiences have been punctuated with two situations where I have felt disconcerted about this place. About a week ago, the group was finishing dinner at Misha (a few of us had already walked up to the main building) when we heard a loud and frightened scream. We looked outside and I went outside remembering that earlier some drunken customers had been treating Diana, the bar girl, poorly. I walked a few steps to the kitchen to find Diana sobbing behind the locked door which she had just closed. All of the Misha workers were standing and looking, trying to understand what happened. There was a visibly drunk man outside of the kitchen yelling and holding a receipt, obviously angry. Over the next hour it was discovered that after a disagreement occurred regarding the receipt, this drunken man beat Diana pretty badly, and she ran and locked herself in the kitchen with the angry customer following after her. Our amiable old security guard was getting the story from the customer and asking Diana for the correct change through the door, while I was asking whether someone was going to call the police. The police were called and were on their way when the drunken customer left with his friends. The manager of Misha, Jessica, and Diana walked the short way (ten minutes) to the police station to file a report. Jessica ‘s husband, Bernard, helped mitigate the situation and told us not to worry. A friend of ours who regularly stays at Misha named Steven, sat down with Paul and me to apologize for his friend’s behavior and assure us that he would never return. Come to find out the angry customer is a vehicle inspector, and works with the police. I have heard that he had to pay Diana a penalty of 90,000 shillings (about $57 and almost two month’s salary for Diana). I have also heard that she was writing down false prices for his beers on the receipt but charging him the real price in order to pocket the rest. To understand the whole real story is difficult anywhere, but especially in a place with a different culture and language.

The more recent disturbing situation happened this past Thursday. While I was walking back to Misha from choir practice, a six-year-old girl ran up to me and told me to come. She said something about Gaddafi and said clearly in Swahili, “Ninyi Wamarikani mtakufa hapa,” which means ‘You Americans will die here.’ I was taken aback and left her. After I returned to Misha, Paul returned from a run, and after I told him about the weird comment he said the same thing happened to him. While he was running, a man on the back of a piki-piki (motorcycle), said in English “They will kill you. They will kill you,” while pointing at Paul. These comments struck us as odd as we have never heard anything like this before here. We told our executive director in Pittsburgh, and since then have been telling all of our Tanzanian friends about the comments and asking if they are aware of anti-American sentiments. Our friends and partners have reassured us of our safety and have told us some Tanzanians here might have anti-American feelings, but would not act on them. I put in a report at the police office, and our friends have begun to ask around for further information.

We have turned this situation into a good learning opportunity for ourselves and our students. Our home in Karagwe is very close to Uganda, where Gaddafi built the biggest mosque in East Africa. There were many positive feelings towards Gaddafi as a symbol of Pan-Africanism and of unity among Muslims. Many people point to America as the main culprit in the killing of Gaddafi and this has led to some bitter feelings. This incident has occurred at an opportune time; we will be taking this week in my class to read and discuss, The Eagle’s Shadow: Why America Fascinates and Infuriates the Rest of the World,  written by Mark Hertsgaard. Getting this outside perspective of America makes us better global citizens, and helps us to understand why many people in the world view our country as imperialistic. With that being said, we are staying vigilant and do not feel unsafe in anyway. The spirits among the students are still high and we are still making jokes about Paul’s ever-farting butthole and Egbert’s entertaining way of talking to inanimate objects in Swahili (he apologizes to fruit before cutting and serving it to us).

     

Yesterday, we traveled to Chonyonyo, a village where one of our partner organizations is slowly building a girls’ boarding school. Amizade provides funding for water tanks each year, and we are able to help construct one as a group this semester. Water tanks are a sustainable solution for the limited accessibility of clean water here in Karagwe because there are two separate rainy seasons. Buildings are fitted with iron sheeting and a gutter system and the water is guided into a water tank where it can be drawn from in drier times. We had a really good time working alongside some MAVUNO laborers carrying large stones, breaking up the stones, mixing cement, and helping to build the inside wall of the water tank. The students are anxious to return next week.

           

Karagwe, and particularly Misha Guest House, have provided a peaceful home for us in Tanzania. Paul and I are happy to be here and continue building relationships with our friends. We have begun thinking about where we will go and what we will do after this (our contract ends at the end of July) and will probably start a job search soon. Until then, nitaendelea kujifunza zaidi Swahili, na nitafurahi kuwa na marafiki yetu. I will continue to learn more Swahili and will be happy to be with our friends.

Visiting Old Friends and Family in Kiwangala and Kajjansi

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

When I first took this position of site director in Karagwe for Amizade, I was excited to know that I would be based very close to where I spent my first experience in Africa, Masaka town in Uganda. During the summer of 2008, with the help of the Stein scholarship from Susquehanna University, I participated in an internship with an organization called the Foundation for Sustainable Development. We had one week of orientation in Masaka, and then I spent eight weeks in a small village called Kiwangala living with a host family and working at a small microfinance bank. During that time, I created strong bonds with my family and my co-workers and I have been fortunate enough to visit them after that first summer. 

Paul and I left Kayanga, Tanzania early yesterday morning to travel to Kiwangala. After five modes of transport, we arrived in the early afternoon. We first walked to the bank to see my old co-workers and surprise them. They were so excited to see me back. It’s not every day that a mzungu who once lived here, returns to visit. Visiting with Andy and Jon at the bank proved to be a pretty big ego-boost. Evidently, there was another mzungu who lived with my same host family and worked at the bank, and she did not try to integrate or social with people at all. Andy said they never spent time together outside of work, and one day he asked that she share her biscuits and she said, “No, this is my food.” Lol, I cannot imagine. Hajji (my host father) told me she would sit in her room and eat biscuits alone for dinner. I guess it’s easy to look great next to that example.

We planned to meet Andy at 7pm to enjoy some beer and snacks later that day, and then we continued on to home. Hajji met us in the town center with his new motorcycle and gave each of us rides to his home. Abu, the young boy who was my host brother, ran out of the compound when I arrived and jumped up to give me a hug. Hajjet (my host mother) also came out with open arms and welcomed me into her home. It was good to be back. We sat and talked a while, giving updates of our families and countries. Paul and I gave them the donation we collected from the guests at our wedding and some matching funds from Paul’s church, St. John’s Lutheran Church in Center Square, PA. All in all it was $800, which is a large amount of money for this family. I am hoping it supports Abu as he starts secondary school. 

Since we have arrived in Kiwangala, I have reflected about being back and comparing my first experience in Africa to our job in Kayanga with Amizade. When I completed my internship in Kiwangala, I thought I was done with Africa. I told myself, “I am definitely not one of those people who come and fall in love with the continent.” And yet, I have returned twice since then. I began my relationship with Africa wanting to take the path less traveled and somehow change the world. Since obtaining a Masters in International Development, my view has become much more grounded and I have started to focus more on how I can change attitudes back home than change lives abroad. I like Amizade’s approach of focusing on intercultural exchange, sustainable development, service-learning, and global citizenship. I also really enjoy teaching. We will see where we go from here. After re-visiting my past in Uganda, it makes me wonder where we will be four years.

Kiwangala and Hajji’s house are so much different than Kayanga and Misha Guest house where we are living now. Kayanga is rural, but it is a growing town where modernity is slowly creeping in and people are visiting from many far places. Kiwangala is much more traditional and isolated, where many children run around the town center without shoes and women and children kneel to show respect to elders. Women wearing trousers are not in Kiwangala. Hajji’s house has no running water, and so whenever we use water here we know that is more time Abu (my host brother who is now 14) must spend fetching water at the nearby borehole (well). Hajji has gotten electricity in his house recently, but last night there was a power outage all over town, and we did not have electricity until right before bed. In Kayanga, we have our food catered from a local restaurant and tell Egbert when we would like to eat. Last night, we did not eat dinner until 11:30pm after we had all bathed. As much as home stays are good for an authentic experience, I am enjoying staying in a guest house where we are on our own schedule. But, this is a good reminder that most of the people we meet and greet even in Kayanga do not have electricity or running water. You wouldn’t think so, but it is easy to live here and not know and understand the daily struggles of people if you do not nurture relationships with local people. I will take measures this semester that ensure that I create relationships and struggle to understand the lives, complete with joys and struggles, of the people living around us in Karagwe. 

Saturday, February 4, 2012

                

Once Paul and I arrived in Kampala, we continued our journey on to a small ‘suburb’ called Kajjansi, located between Kampala and Entebbe. Some of the Bbosa family now resides in this more urban setting, along with Daula and Nazifa, whom I lived with in Kiwangala back in 2008. I was excited to visit them and meet their Mom and aunts for the first time. Our visit really highlighted for me the pros and cons to urban vs. rural living in East Africa. Daula and Nazifah moved to Kajjansi to live with their mother instead of their grandparents in order to attend a good secondary school, and go to university in the city. Their mother and aunt own a medium-sized shop where they primarily sell Western-style clothes. The family lives on a busy street with congested traffic sputtering exhaust fumes continually outside their door. They live behind the shop in cramped quarters where they cook dinner in the same place where they are to sleep, making the room very hot. What a change. We traveled directly to Kajjansi from Kiwangala, and the differences were startling. Kiwangala may have very sporadic electricity and no running water, but there is room to breathe and exhaust doesn’t fill the air. It was easy to see the trade-offs necessary for people who travel to The City for better opportunities. Now that we are in Kampala, Uganda’s capitol, while we wait to pick up our students on the 7^th, Paul and I are anxious to get back to our more easy-going rural home of Karagwe.

Our First Week Back in East Africa

After arriving in Entebbe on Friday the 20^th Caitlin and I spent 2 nights in Kampala Uganda before we made our way south to the Karagwe district of Tanzania.  Our journey to Karagwe began on Sunday morning at 6:15 a.m. which is when we awoke and packed our bags.  We had called for a taxi the night before to arrive by 7 a.m. so we could beat any traffic and to secure a ticket for an earlier bus.  Once we arrived at the bus park at 7:15 we got on a bus and felt good that all of our luggage could be stored securely under the bus in the cargo chambers and above us in the overhead compartments.  

Not having had breakfast yet, I went to the closest gas station convenient store to fetch the most important meal of the day.  Yogurt, cookies, marble pound cake, and juice boxes would suffice.  Caitlin and I began to wait patiently for the bus to fill which could take a long time but we were content with the fact that we got good seats.  Little did we know that our wait would be 3.5 hours because our bus had an issue with one of the rear tires.   In hindsight we might have gotten on a completely different bus, however no one else on our bus was doing so and our luggage was already stowed so we waited until a new bus arrived. Once it did everyone of course got up at the same time and was rushing to the new bus for a good seat and we just stayed put and said oh well  Once again we are reminded to roll with the punches in regards to African travel; Hamna Shida, (No Worries)

Our week in Karagwe was spent meeting with community partners and visiting friends in Kayanga town.  We have also completed our final preparations for when the students arrive in 10 days.  We are very pleased with our productivity and we are looking forward to picking up the students in Entebbe Uganda.  We are very happy to be back and we have been welcomed back by our friends and community partners. 

One of the more gratifying moments in my life occurred when we were walking into town for dinner on Sunday night.  Running toward us in his running gear was our 16 year old friend Fahimu.  Last fall Fahimu started running with me after showing an interest.  Since we left Karagwe in November he has been running 4-5 times a week and has really enjoyed it.  He has already set some goals and I have been working with him on a month to month schedule in order to meet those goals.  We meet at 5:30 most evenings and he follows me wherever I go.  Currently he attends Kayanga Secondary School where I will resume English instruction in February.

Our next order of business is to travel to Masaka on Monday to visit Caitlin’s family with whom she spent the summer of 2008.  Caitlin has been anxiously awaiting this reunion since she hasn’t seen her family in over 18 months.  On the other hand I am concerned with the running conditions in and around Masaka since this will be my first visit to the area, and of course I am also excited to meet the family!  Masaka is located approximately 70 kilometers from the Tanzania and Uganda border.  After our visit to Masaka we will go to Entebbe to pick up our colleague Nathan Darity.  Nathan will be joining Caitlin and I for the first 4-5 weeks of the semester.  After picking up Nathan we will have several days to venture around Kampala before the arrival of the students on the 7^th of February.

As we prepared for this semester we reflected a bit on last semester in order to learn from our mistakes and get the most out of the entire experience.  Being back on the ground has reminded us of some of the complexities of living and working in Karagwe.    When we left Karagwe in late November we didn’t really contemplate the possibility of much change within our little bubble in East Africa.  However, some things have and are changing.  Change is something that occurs and we have to learn to work with the changes. 

One of the changes that have occurred here is our friend Deodatus (the cook at the guest house) no longer is employed there.  Fortunately he came to visit us once he got word that we returned.  He apparently has gone home to farm and has no intention to return to the guest house for work.  Caitlin and I were disappointed to get this news but we understand that he has to do what’s best for him.  Kayanga town is a place where people live and die and sometimes we forget that when we are temporary.  

~Paul

London/Heathrow Airport- In Transit to Uganda

London- 8:17am- Jan 20, 2012

As I sit somewhere in the center of the London-Heathrow airport, I have mixed feelings about what I see in the context of where I’m going. The floors are squeaky clean, the top-line stores are flashy with pictures of alluring models making you want whatever they’re selling, people from all over the world are stuck in this limbo… some rushing bright eyed to their first flight, many around me are waiting for their second or third flight, tired and ready to leave this place where a British woman’s voice makes announcements every 3-5 minutes (at least it’s with a British accent). 

Paul’s trying to kill pigs in Angry Birds and is not as successful as hoped… “Those lucky bastards.”

Social class differences are glaring during international travel. Our British Airways flight (which was not very good, I want KLM (Delta) next time) had three classes of seats. The first class was complete with chairs that lay down to a horizontal position, with thicker blankets, and remote-controlled individual screens. The second class had fewer chairs squeezed across the width of the plane, and lots of leg room. And then our third class, where seats are small, leg room is minimal, but each person still has an individual screen (albeit not working most of the flight). While I walk through the Philadelphia and London airports, I see luxurious, exclusive ‘galleries’ where wealthy frequent travelers have big comfy chairs and assumedly escape from the British woman’s voice making announcements.

I am walking around with a very heavy book bag which instantly irritates me (maybe it’s the two hours of sleep I’ve gotten when my body thinks it’s 3:30am), when almost everyone else is easily walking with a roller carry-on gliding behind them. I think, why didn’t I use my roller carry-on? Oh, that’s right, because a book bag makes more sense for where we are going… rural Tanzania. It will be a long time until I am surrounded by this kind of atmosphere again: the clean, sanitized nature of everything, the posh advertisements, the wealth.

Why does this bother me? This environment is much like where I grew up in the United States. It bothers me because I am surrounded by things telling me I could be richer, and I should want to be. If I had more money, I could buy that purse the beautiful model is trying to sell. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I am going to a place where people can only dream of the luxuries I am afforded. I fly on international flights with televisions for everyone. I am able to fly home for six weeks and do close to nothing while I visit family and friends. I have a loving husband who has been awesome enough to share a position with me in rural Tanzania for a year. I’m typing this blog post on a relatively new netbook, while Paul plays Angry Birds on my newly acquired iPod Touch.

Will I always be this Debbie-Downer now that I realize how wealthy I am along with all of my friends and family? It’s better to have this understanding of relative wealth and poverty than to go through life never seeing different parts of the world where people live drastically different lives. The next seven months will be spent serving out the rest of our one year contract with Amizade. Most of that time will be in Karagwe, Tanzania. This time will be challenging, but it’s the difficult periods of life that lead to the most personal growth. And, it must be good for the soul to get away from this life of wealth, and live more simply for a while.  I look forward to this next semester, and hope to integrate into our local community and learn some things that will help me keep the simple life perspective even after my time ends in Karagwe. Here we go!

Update: We landed in Uganda around 10pm last night and arrived at Backpackers Hostel at midnight. We hope to continue our journey to Karagwe today, if not tomorrow.