July 28th and July 29th

Sorry that these aren't exactly on time. I'm doing my best to keep up with writing here, but with my personal handwritten journal, Letters to Alma, and acedemic journal for my professor, and entire blocks of time that we are no where near power let alone a computer, I fear I've fallen a bit behind. So the next few posts will be an attempt to catch up and fill all of you in on the wondrous things I'm taking part in.

On the morning of the 28th, we departed from TCDC to go to the Aang Serian office in Arusha. (Aang Serian is the NGO that is helping to promote/preserve cultural identity within areas that are struggling to do so.) There, they have a music program that allows young artists from the Arusha area to come and record their music. It was very loud and to the non-Swahili speaking ear sounded very Western. But after having the music translated for us, it became quite clear that these messages are nothing like what American hip-hop artists or rappers are singing about in their music.

This organization is run by two young men – and I kid you not when I tell you that there names are Freddy and Eddy. Eddy, or Edmund, helps recruit the young artists (or MCs as they called themselves) from the Arusha area. DIRA, as the program is called, equips the artists with a recoding studio, performing venues, the ability to distribute their cds, and a place to hang out, freestyle, get together, to talk about their music. Many of the songs have a very Western sound, like I said before, but the messages are distinctly Tanzanian/East African. One is about the political unrest in Kenya, and how the brunt of the pain and death fell on the shoulders of mothers and children. Another was about the frustration among young men and women, how hard it is for them to make a living, so they have to resort to moving away from their families to try and survive in the cities. Another was about the anger that artists have with the music industry, how so much of the profits go to the store selling the cd, or to the record company, so it becomes impossible for the MCs to make a living on their music even if it is good enough.

The office is housed right behind a giant mosque on Nairobi Street in downtown Arusha. Do the neighbors complain about the bass thumping and the baggy-jeaned youths that are hanging around the place? Not at all. The message of the music, the intent of the program, and the fact that none of the young people do drugs of any kind helps a lot. In fact, DIRA runs workshops and programs with young people in the area who are susceptible to getting involved with drugs, solely for the purpose of showing that there are other options for those hundreds of unemployed 20-year-olds.

After this introduction to the DIRA operation, we piled into our cars are drove four hours to the Ngorongoro crater. Well, we were actually staying just outside of the crater in a small village called Karatu. The Ngorongoro crater is the largest non-filled-in volcanic crater in the world. Very cool, very scary drive up there, though. Instead of trying to convey the coolness of it all, I’ll just post some pictures with brief explanations (but not right now, because the internet is slow). Basically, there are lions, cheetahs, wildebeests, zebra, cape buffalo, elephants, rhino, hyenas, servals, ostriches, hippos, Thompson and Grant gazelles, baboons, warthogs, and dozens of beautiful varieties of birds.

Sorry about the delay - here are some of the pictures!!!

July 27th (Day 5)

Hello folks. I'm cooped up with a pretty bad cold and a low grade fever, so while the group is off at church and home-visits, I'm here, listening to monkeys wrestle, and journaling.

Yesterday, we went to Peace House, a school specifically for children orphaned mainly by HIV/Aid. Only two of the dorms are full at this point, with approximately 200 children, half boys, half girls. Gina, the woman who gave us a tour, was very enthusiastic, telling us about the sources of funds, which had to be numerous, as the facility costs almost $50,000 every month. She showed us the girls dorm, leaving Chris outside, which was equipped with bunk beds, showers, sinks for washing, bathrooms, and an undeveloped courtyard that in future months, the children will get to help plan, plant, and care for. There is room for about 200 more students, but the other dorms are not yet finished. The children range from age 14 up to 18, as many start school late or never at all. Classes are taught in English, though lessons are explained in Kiswahili to those who do not speak any English upon entering the school. At this point in the conversation, Gina expressed her frustration with the fact that many students still use Kiswahili to socialize and chatter amongst themselves. She would like for English to be the primary language used consistently throughout Peace House. Here, I raised my eyebrow a bit at her attitude, and after talking to others on the ride to the Maasi village, I found I was not the only one who thought her comments where a bit ethnocentric. As she was talking about possibly forbidding the children to speak their tribal languages (usually their first) and Kiswahili, I instantly thought of Native American children, who, after being brought to schools, were forbidden to speak their native tongue with one another – if they did so, they were beaten. Granted, there is absolutely no corporal punishment at Peace House, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth.

From Peace House, we made our way up a long and very bumpy road to a small Maasi town called Monduli. The more we drove, the harsher the environment seemed. While at the Peace House, there were lush gardens, enormous green fronds of banana trees, and lots of other vegetation. But as we drove, the land turned dusty and dry, and vegetation became primarily varieties of cactus. We stopped in Monduli and bought water for the day, and Mama Lori treated us to some excellent biscuits that are popular treats in the area – coconut and chocolate. We continued driving, and as we drove further and further up the mountain to reach Monduli Juu ( juu meaning up, thus the village was Upper Monduli), the land once again turned green. Azizi, our charming driver, told us that there are panthers that live in these forests, though we saw none. Even with our skillful driver, the ride up the mountain was very bumpy, and very rough. We reached to top of the road, and the scene was spectacular. Fields of bright colored flowers, the blue and red clad Maasi villagers, and the brightness of the Maasi women’s jewelry starkly contrasted the tan and dusty color of the dry lake bed that made up most to their cattles grazing area.

We hoped out of the vans, and made our way up to Gemma’s home. She is a friend of Mama Lori’s, and originally from Great Britian. She moved to Maasiland about 5 years ago, and she and her husband have two small, adorable daughters. Gemma introduced us to our guide, Ben, a young Maasi warrior who spoke quite good English. He led us back down out of the village, out see the watering holes that they use for there drinking and washing water. Cattle do not drink here, as the paths were narrow and only wide enough for person. The first watering hole that we saw was quite small, Ben said it was about 4 feet deep, and it looked to be only about 8 feet wide at the widest point. It was almost completely covered in algae, which we watch a man brush away with his hand before filling his jugs. Along the path to the next hole, a Maasi elder stopped and greeted us, a ug on his back. He jokingly asked us to carry it, then, seeing that Mama Lori had her bright pink camera out, asked for her to take a picture of him. She did so, then walked over to show it to him on the small screen. He peered at it as she told him that she would be back in Monduli Juu in January, and that she would bring him a copy of the picture for him to keep. He nodded, and asked her to please not forget. We stepped out of the way as he continued walking back up the hill to the village, once again shouldering his water jug.

We reached the second watering hole, this one at the base of an enormous tree. Many years, and a lot of erosion had exposed the trees huge roots, and one could see that the watering hole used to be much much high than it is now. Yarrow and I saw a half dozen little frogs on the edge of it, which darted away as we walked down to get a better look. The water was not covered in algae, but instead was a murky white, like white paint after it has separated. We could see plant debris and garbage just below the surface. This was the most used watering hole, as the path was wide enough to bring donkeys down with multiple barrels tied to its back. As were climbing back up the path, an older woman stopped us and said something in Maasi to Ben, who laughed, and said, “She wants you to take her picture, Mama Lori.” So once again, the camera came out. The woman motioned to the rest of the group, and as the other students brought out their cameras, Ben laughed and walked over to the woman, putting his arm around her shoulders and smiling for the camera. It was a beautiful contrast – the seriousness of the woman’s face along side the large grin of the young warrior.

We continued walking, though our group spread out a bit. Ben was very soft-spoken, and only the three or four closest to him could hear his various comments about the area and the different plants. As we walked, the landscape opened up to a large field where cattle was grazing and two young boys were looking after them, walking along side of us, arm in arm, laughing. We could not understand them, as they were speaking Maasi, but it was one of those moments when I just knew they were talking about us, the silly wzungu (white people). We passed a number of women and children walking to the market – one of them an older blind woman whose grandson was helping her along. We reached the boma (a smaller Maasi village) on the other of the field, and walking just inside of it. A group of children, seemingly appearing from nowhere, came out, staring and laughing, little ones holding their brothers or sisters on their backs or by the hand. Ben motioned for us to leave, and as we did, the children started following us, a few grabbing us by the hand. On my right, I had a little boy, about four years old, and on my left was his brother, no more than 2. Once again, our group spread out, as small legs can only go so fast. After about twenty minutes of walking, we started to climb a small hill. Half way up seemed to be the stopping point for all of our little traveling partners, and they started back towards their homes, laughing and waving until we couldn’t see one another any longer.

We continued on, reaching Gemma’s house again, were we ate our usual boxed lunches. As usual, they were enormous, and much of the extra fruit, sandwiches, cake, and bread went to the children who seemed to appear out of nowhere. After lunch, we visited the market, as it was one of the market days, and were immediately surrounded with a half dozen cloth-sellers and jewelery-makers. I bought a beautiful piece of cloth with an orange and brown pattern (orange is the new fad in this village, as Ben explained) for 4000 Tsh (about 4 US dollars). We all knew that we were paying at least two, if not three times as much as what the Maasi would pay, but as Bryanna put it, the money means much more to them than it does to us. My salesman started out by asking for 10000, and outrageous price, to which I promptly laughed and started to turn away. He followed, asking 7000, then 6000. It was fun bargaining, and I know that some mzungu (this it the singular form of wzungu) will push the price quite low, but I stopped at 4000. I helped Siri out with a particularly stubborn salesman who quite literally started clipping necklaces around her neck and then asking for 5000 a piece. Since she could not see what she was being asked to buy, I quickly was recruited as the model. We bargained him down to half the price for two of them, which Siri and I bought for a together. After the bewildering market experience, we headed back up to Gemma’s home.

Gemma began an exceedingly interesting lecture on the struggles in rural education, especially focusing on the lack of traditional education of the young people. Before there were schools, children were taught practical, necessary things by the elders of the village. How to find water, how the birds can help predict the weather, what medicines will aid someone with malaria, and other such things. Since children now go to primary school, they a missing the opportunities to learn about the traditional ways of their people. Many cannot even explain what certain rituals or ceremonies mean any longer. Gemma explained it with a Kenyan proverb: When an elder dies, a library burns down. To prevent anymore loss of knowledge, Gemma, her husband, and several others, started a school in which culture and traditions are discussed, researched, and presented to the class by students. Children pick topics, and must go home and sit and talk with the elders to find out what particular songs mean, what certain styles of headdress signify, or what the importance of particular birds are to the different Maasi clans. Gemma also expressed frustration in the school of thought that believes that this type of education is worthless. How is it, she explained, that people all over the world come and live with Maasi, write massive papers on their traditions and activities, go home, and receive awards, degrees, and other such recognitions, when the culture itself is defined by many as backward, unimportant, antiquated, and outdated? It is a clear double standard, one that Gemma and her husband have been working with the UN to try to eliminate.

After this discussion, we talked a bit about this upcoming Thursday, as we will be spending two nights in a Maasi boma, much further up the mountain, camping in the village (in tents, because there are too many of us to house in the homes). Then we said goodbye, and began our bumpy ride back down the mountain.

July 24th (day 2) and 25th (day 3)

Hi folks, its me. We just finished dinner at the lovely hour of 7:45, and I decided to get some thoughts punched out before my brain shuts down completely.

Yesterday, we went to a coffee farmer's home, one of the only coffee farmers in the region anymore. Steven Ndosi, our teacher while here in Arusha, is one of the others. The farmer, Hamidu Mussa, showed us his home, and his feilds. After wandering around for a bit, picking the ripe coffee beans (they are ripe when they turn red instead of the unripe green color), he led us back to the home where he shows us how to shuck the outsides off of the beans. The beans have to be soaked and washed before they can be pounded and roasted, so instead of waiting until tomorrow to learn the rest of the process, we used some beans that had already been soaked and washed already. The beans are pounded, then roasted over a small open fire, then pounded again to make them into the usual texture that one would buy in a store - they are pounded rather than being ground, as grinding requires equipment which costs more. Then Steven and Hamidu made two pots of coffee - one weak, one strong. I added plenty of sugar to mine, and it was without a doubt the best tasting coffee I have ever had. Then again, I don't usually drink coffee, so I guess I'm not a particularily good judge. What I do know is that it smelled amazing. Tanzania culture dicates that it is bad manners to smell food, but the whole yard was rich with the aroma, so we could sniff at our pleasure without offending our hosts. After the coffee roasting, we returned to our rooms and then proceeded with another lesson in Swahili, led by Steven.

Today we got up at our usual time, had breakfast, and were on the road by 8am. We drove up to a small village called Maroni, and visited the farm of Reuben and Martha. Reuben is Steven Ndosi's nephew (Baba Steven is our teacher and guide while we are here) and so we were able to go and spend most of the day at the farm. They grow maize, beans, and sunflowers, all in the same fields. They do it this way so that if one crop fails, or does not produce as much as they had hoped, they can still continue growing another crop. The maize and the beans and bagged and sold, and the sunflowers are cut and the heads are beaten until all of the seeds come out. Once they are out and dried for a day or two, they are taken and pressed, to get sunflower oil, which can be sold for a good price. That is the crop that we helped with today. Martha handed out knives and walked ahead of us, cutting down the stalks that were ripe. Those of us with knives followed, cutting the heads off of the stalks. The others picked up the heads and threw them in a cart. After the cart was full, we went back to the yard and beat the heads with sticks until all the seeds came out. Our thumbs turned purple with the stain of the seeds, and most people got quite a few blisters! After all this, we had our lunch, then walked into town, to visit to primary school that LCCT students helped build during their semester here a few years ago. The children were ridiculous - a few of us played peek-a-boo with some of them, and they warmed right up to us.

After a bottom-bruising bus ride back to TCDC (the center that we are staying at) seven of us walked down the road to an orphanage that is run mostly by volunteers. There are 35 children (they are licensed for 40) and even with all our extra hands there was still a ton to do. It was a really uplifting time because these little ones don't point and shout "mzungu," which means "white person", and they don't ask us for money. They just cuddled in and snoozed in our laps.

Tomorrow we head out to a school for children orphaned by HIV/AID and then we go to a Maasi market. We will be back around 4:30, 5ish, and most of us plan on spending the evening with the babies at the orphanage again. The more time I spend here, the most time that I know that this is the right place for me to be right now.

Thanks so much to all who are sending emails, they are most appreciated!

Well, I'm here!

Hello everybody! It is 6:55 Arusha time, and just before dinner. We've all landed safe and sound, had our first 23 and a half hours in Tanzania, and been busy busy busy! Flight was lovely (they served us soup! Who serves soup on a turbulent airplane!?) and baggage claim was a breeze - no one lost anything, which was good. We had our first kiswahili lesson, and then went to the main city or Arusha and to 3 different markets. Walking around, I realized just how important it is going to be to learn kiswahili much better than the basic 'hello how are you'. Anyhow, dinner starts in 5 minutes, and I'm starving. Hopefully I"ll have time later this week to write more, but until then, haya kwa heri! (that's 'bye' for you non-kiswahili speakers)

I leave in one week

BAH!

Slightly scared out of my mind. Between pre-departure essays, packing, saying goodbye to loved ones, and trying to calm my heaving stomach, I still don't think I fully understand what I am getting myself into. I'm flying through things, missing Luther and Luther people like crazy, and really really wanting to just go chuck rocks in the lake for an hour.

I know that once I am there, things are going to be rough. I"ll be in a new place, with 8 semi-strangers, unable to speak the language except for the few phrases that my brain can hold onto, and on the other side of the world from everyone who know me and loves me.

I think that the things that I am the most worried about are the things I am not going to be here in the midwest for.....I am (once again) going to miss the family meeting. I won't be seeing my lovely sister off to college for her freshman fall. My youngest sister is going to swim like crazy and probably grow another 6 inches....everyone will go on with normal life (or not-so-normal, as the case may be!) and I'll see it all through the computer screen, or hear about it through phone calls. And when I come back, just talking and speaking about my experiences won't be enough to convey what I have learned - I'll be distanced from my loved ones by my experiences. I know that I should really be worrying only about what the next few weeks will bring me, but to be totally honest, I don't even know what I should be worrying about. So instead, I am focusing on distant things that I can semi-understand, which is a silly thing to do because they are months and months away.

Long story short, I am a goof ball. I am going to Africa for almost 5 months, I am going to have a difficult yet amazing time, and I am going to miss all of you. I'll keep in touch as much as possible.