why did the kuku cross the road?

possibly to escape my wretched driving.

Hash

A5 says Karibu!

Occupy Moshi??

greetings from Kilimanjaro International Airport = "have a beer."

from KIA to moshi there is a about a 30-40 minute drive. traffic is usually very quiet at that time of night. after all, there are no street lights on any of the roads, so driving at night can be very dangerous. normally, it is yet another extension of the gentle introduction of life in moshi.

not this time. half way from home we found ourselves in a long line of lorries. Carol, our wonderful project driver who helps us get back from the airport, negotiated along stalled trucks, looking for a way around the traffic. as we got closer it became clear that there was more going on here than a simple accident or traffic jam. villagers were streaming in all directions.

that's when we learned of the riot. a RIOT! in moshi!! i have just left NYC and the "occupy" movements in the states, to be smack dab in the middle of a riot in africa? unbelievable.

police came and shot guns in the air and canisters of something, and everyone started running.... but we finally made it home.

1) pull suitcase in door. 2) open a Kili.

theatre in the "third world"

much to my own surprise, we did indeed perform godspell friday evening.  i never thought it would come together and wasn't particularly sad about that.  but when push came to shove, the date was announced and advertised all over town.  seeing my posters along side painted mbuzi (walls that advertise goat), Celtell signs, the ubiquitous coke signs, and "massage" numbers, was rather hilarious.

it has been a little while since i've performed out in small town regional theatre, but the experience of performing in africa brought back fond memories...

all the matatas (problems) were really rolled up in to the biggest one:  at around 2pm the electricity went out for over half the entire town.  we tried to call the power company. no answer. we called everyone we knew who have good relations with the power company. nothing.  but, this is africa, the power always comes back.  4:00 we thought.... at 4:20 our neighbor said, oh it will be on at 5... 5:30... one of the performers tells us 6 it will definitely be on... SIGH we finally get in touch with the power company! 7 we will have power in town, they promise. 

the performance is set for 730 start. we show up, arrange the seating, check on the restaurant providing bar services... all the time wearing miner's headlamps in the pitch black.  desperately, we rig up the generator to contact from one building to ours and everyone cheers.  we turn on the amps and the mics, triumphantly. the whole system blows and we are in total darkness.  as the audience starts arriving, we are collecting as many flashlights as we can and even directed a land rover to shine its lights through the open doors. finally, using fishing line we get the generator working again.

by cutting all our stage lights for one small flood fluorescent, we managed to turn on only one amp and one mic.

the audience was full and we were awesome.  well, sort of.  for Moshi, were a phenomenon to be reckoned with.  elliot's we beseech thee rocked the house, shelly's recorder was perfect, and russel stole the show with his line "someone's got to be oppressed!" shouted in full Aussie glory.  i even hit my high A in bless the lord.  of course the generator died just when jesus died on the cross, but amazingly the power returned and the stage lights and all the equipment kicked on with the reprise of prepare ye the way of the lord. TIA

thank god we didn't put it off, because really, what better way to perform in africa?  and, despite all the requests, there will be no encore performance. and i mean it. :p 

leave em in the dark and wanting more.

not the expert

 from the air:

olympians

olympians

my fav flower, i wish i could rub the smell all over me:

i ran the marathon path all by my lonesome this weekend!  john is extremely busy trying to finish a new grant application before the 11th and unfortunately needed to skip the long run this weekend.  i drug myself out of bed, tossed on some clothes, had some litchi juice, and had at it.  though i was a bit slower during the first half, i am impressed that i actually kept running without anyone waiting for me.

in general, one should not run alone here, especially on the rural paths john and i usually take. one of my office drivers-an african-was running alone and 3 men jumped from the bushes and held him up with a knife.  also, unfortunately, rape is quite common though completely unreported. and, i have learned from my friends that live here, having sex with white girls is a huge prize, so to speak. ew.

i know i am a bit foolish. i used to laugh in undergrad when my friends would talk about the "dangers" of durham and-completely stupidly-would go running around east campus in the coolness of dark. but i do try to keep my head here.  i only run a couple of very public places alone and never through the cornfields where people can jump out or to the river alone-an area where women are attacked all the top. and mostly i run with someone else and even that only in daylight. 

so, i was a bit hesitant to run the marathon path.  it is very long, beginning through the urban area with too many cars and people and goats, then going way out into the coffee plantations, finally all the way to the Kilimanjaro gate we finished our climb at.  though much of that is rather desolate, it is a paved road with occasional cars and women carrying their bananas into town. 

in those long runs, the hardest part for me is actually the return.  though the way out is almost all uphill and the way back downhill-the run is so long that going "down" makes little difference.  i have never been much of a runner and certainly never long distance, so to run 8 or so miles only to have to run 8 more to get home is awful.  (especially on this route- as you get closer to the kili gate the rains usually start, soaking you through so all your chaffing clothes are a joy) so i wasn't particularly looking forward to it.

just after i turned, a man appeared from no where and started running after me. hearing the feet gave me a bit of a heart attack as i doubted  i'd be able to outrun someone intent on catching me at this point.  i didn't have much time to consider it though, two heartbeats and he was right next to me. hamna shida (it is nothing) this beautiful, tall man was at my side. he was decked out in actual running shoes and light running pants and jacket. through my toddler proficient kiswahili and his broken english, he told me he is "a runner. that is my job." he wanted to know why i ran if it is not my job.  i tried to explain that i am an actress and so it is sort of my job.  ah, he said, "you run to maintain your shape."  that's right.  :)  he trains at least 6 days a week doing this incredibly huge circle through moshi, to the rural district, past the mountain gate and back to him home.  it takes him and his friends 45 minutes, but "we are not ashamed." i was somewhat confused, thinking 45 minutes is nothing, but he assured me it should only take them 39 minutes. 

he ran with me, inadvertently encouraging me to pick up my speed, the entire way back.  it was great. not only was he very nice, but returning through the urban area can be very hazardous at that time of day.  i felt like i was in the middle of that olympics visa commercial, where the random african man misses his bus then runs all the way to town as the people in the bus laugh at wave.

yelp. i look like a runner.
 

my cousin, the masaai

oh say can you see

last night we had a party for meghan and travis to celebrate their year spent in moshi-their 3rd yr in medical school. we ordered their going away gifts before leaving for paragliding in arusha and yet managed to have nothing completed when we asked for them tuesday morning. TITS. This Is Tanzania Shit. (much more appropriate than the more common TIA, This Is Africa) the day turned into just about everything that makes one crazy about africa. trojan viruses on all the computers at work, unbearably slow internet, these promised gift orders that were blithely forgotten, even down to the obviously "kichaa" (mad) man who chased me down and even into my office, grabbing my arm- convinced we are getting married and he is going to take me to his uncle's land.

but after all that, the party was lovely. of the 60 people invited, only 26 rsvped, and 64 showed up. TITS.

today, Independence Day... I love july 4ths abroad. i feel much more patriotic surrounded by expats.

after some all american volley ball after work, Truck/Andrew had a big shebang at his house. of the crowd, only about 5 of us were americans. but the germans and dutch had hung balloons, and andrew's aussie roommate David was making "hamburgers". when we cut the cocoa flavored brownie cake one of the europeans made to look like a flag, the five of us made a rousing chorus of the anthem- much to everyone else's horror.

human food, good to know

it took two of us several hours to make zucchini bread from scratch. pole. ("poh-ley" sorry)

to market to market

you don't see a lot of wazungu at the Kibilaroni market. it used to be quite dangerous, packed to the gills with people selling everything from 2nd hand clothing to live chickens. now much of the market has been cleared out and all the used clothing vendors have gone. they've moved to a new area of town, leaving the market for vegetables, spices, and dried samaki-fish. the fish is so smelly. stacks and stacks of dried, fried, and fresh fish of all shapes and sizes. there is the palm sized fried fish, the huge pyramids of snack sized barely bigger than your thumbnail, the nasty curled thing that almost looks like a giant cinnamon bun, and of course the enormous fresh tilapia and king fish glaring at you from their glazed eyes.

dala dala

 

for 250 TS (about .25 US) you can ride in the luxurious public transportation via the "dala dala." these are vans meant to sit anywhere from 12-15 people that literally carry between 20-25 people on a slow day. once 5 or 6 people have crammed in each row, they start filling the aisle, standing, pressed body to body. for a little extra room you might hang your torso out the window while your legs are pinned inside. only a handful of mzungu partake, despite being such an oddity, you may still find yourself holding someone's baby while its mama wedges into an "open" spot. if there seems to be too much breathing room, the driver will pull over and the assistant- that man hanging outside the door as it zooms around- will shout at passers by to get in. at some point a hand appears under your nose full of coins- who it belongs to in the throng is hard to say- and jingles for you to add your fare. for a little extra shilling, the assistant will strap on whatever you want to the van--produce, a mattress, a load of sticks...
there doesn't seem to be any particular map or path they follow, so unless you are particularly adventurous, best to get out whenever the people near you do and hope you can walk to your destination.

Kalulu the Hare

from my english teaching tools:

KALULU AND HYENA AND THE POT OF FAT

Kalulu the Hare and Hyena were friends, and they lived together in the same village.
One day Hare said to Hyena, "Hyena, we are not eating well. We are not eating enough fat. We must eat more fat."
Hyena said, "We have not enough fat to eat."
Hare said, "I know a way of getting fat."
Hyena said, "How will you get fat, Kalulu?"
Kalulu said, "There is a cart which comes along this road, and the men have pots of fat in the cart. I will lie down on the road. The men will see me and they will think that I am dead. They will put me into the cart, meaning to eat me when they get home."

"Yes, yes!" said Hyena, "but how shall we get the fat?"
"I will throw a pot out of the cart on to the road," said Hare.
"Yes, yes!" said Hyena, "that is good!"
Then Hare and Hyena went to a place on the road and Hare lay down on the road. He looked as if he was dead.
Then the cart came along the road. And one of the men in the cart said, "Ho! Ho! Ho! Stop! There is a dead hare lying on the road."
"What will you do with it?" the other man said.
"We will put the hare in the cart," said the man. "We will take the hare home and cook it and eat it."
Then the man took Kalulu and threw him into the cart. The cart went on.

Kalulu looked at all the things in the cart. He found a big pot of fat. He threw the pot out on to the road. The men did not see Hare throw the pot of fat out of the cart. Then Hare jumped out of the cart and the cart went on.
Hyena thought, "I will lie down on the road too. I will get another pot of fat." So Hyena lay down on the road and the cart came along.
"Ho! Ho! Ho! Stop!" cried one of the men. "There is a hyena lying on the road."
"Is it dead?" said the other man in the cart. "Is it really dead?"
"I do not know," said the other man, and he hit Hyena with his big stick.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" cried Hyena, and he ran away.

Then Hare came, bringing his pot of fat and they sat down to eat the fat.
Now Kalulu did not want Hyena to eat much fat. Kalulu wanted to eat all the fat himself. So he said to Hyena, "Oh, Hyena, if you eat much fat you will be ill."
"No, Kalulu," said Hyena, "I shall not be ill."
And Hare said, "If you go to sleep and when you wake there is fat in your mouth, you are ill. You are ill because you have eaten too much fat."

Then Hyena went to sleep. Kalulu put a big piece of fat in Hyena's mouth.
After some time Hyena woke up. And when he found the big piece of fat in his mouth he said, "I am ill, Kalulu. I am very ill. I will not eat any more fat."
So Kalulu ate all the fat himself. And he laughed --and laughed --and laughed.

TSP Orphanage, Tanzania

if you had never played with blocks, would you know what a triangle is? would you know how to place them side by side rotate them to make a square, a parallelogram? or would the shape hang, a mystery?
yesterday i wouldn't have thought twice. but today, as i watched 9, 10, 11 yr olds puzzle over such "games" i felt a desperate need to... what?
one little boy, as he played each game- copying hand gesture patterns, matching shapes and colors, recalling a list, completing picture patterns- he would look over to me, the slightly exotic white girl in the rural sugar plantation's orphanage, and smile impishly, his eyes twinkling for praise. but then the second half of the test, 3 pages of questions- "do you play well with others? yes, no, sometimes?" ..."do you have friends?"... "do you sleep well?" "do you have bad dreams?"... "do you remember your parents?" ....
the ki swahili would wash over me, a gentle murmur, barely over a whisper. with no idea what question they were on, i watched child after child turn to stone. the eyes of my flirting imp grew vacant, his body a pliant statue, like time itself had grown so slow i couldn't perceive it. and when the first betraying tear welled on his dark lashes, finally spilling down his cheek, the spell remained unbroken.
when we had finished with him, he left without a backward glance. no more smiles or secrets for me. forgotten, as i should be.

i am not hardened for such work.

from moshi to dar

tanzania!

today i measured little mtoto (children)s heads, weighed them, and took their heights. we had to track them down at their schools first. just arriving at the school in both a car and with a mzungu (white person) is cause for uproar in the rural area we were at. how anyone finds anything out in the bannana forests is beyond me. there are no street names or signs and you can't see beyond more than a few feet anydirection. the roads are filled with deep crevices--really can't call the monstrosities "potholes"-- and are only wide enough for one car at a time. so when a car comes from the other direction you have to pull up on the side. thank goodness for the driver- hired specifically by Kiwakkuki (the AIDS community site) for driving.

after we found the little girl here at her school we drove through the forest with her to find her home to speak to her mother and measure one of her brothers. she held her little sister with pride, showed me her coo coos (chickens), laughed at my complete lack of swahili (and her lack of english), and held my hand back to the car.