Thursday, December 27, 2012

"Do People Wear Clothes in Africa?" or The One With the Fingers!


Showing knees and shoulders are big no-no's in Tanzania.

Tanzanians are also perpetually freezing apparently. Men wear parkas on days where I sweat in a tshirt. Baby's get dressed in snow suits for the first year of their lives regardless of weather. And women.... I'll get to women.

Did I mention I live in the dessert, and not the kind that gets really cold at night. This is Tanzania.

I get up close and personal with what women wear working at the clinic. This is what a typical woman wears on a typical day, at least while she is pregnant. First, underwear. Then these things called skin tights, that are basically elastic shorts. Then a skirt. Then a moomoo. Then a kanga wrapped around her waist and one over her shoulders, over the moomoo. But no bra. That would interfere with breastfeeding.

Kanga and kitenge are fabrics that come in all colors and patterns that women get made into clothes or wraps, etc. Some are beautiful, some are strange, some are rare, some you see everywhere you go. The most infamous kitenge pattern, in my opinion, is The One with the Fingers. For some reason, women here seem to love it! I see it everywhere! And it is terrifying! Bizarre!
I do not understand so many things about Tanzanian style. Or how they can feel so cold.

Tanzanians, most of the time, will pitch a fit if you try to open a window on a bus. The wind- its so cold!

One thing that is awesome about Tanzanian style is the shuka. If I were to walk around America wearing a plaid blanket, people would look at me oddly. Wear a plaid blanket here and people think I'm awesome! Maassai and similar tribes wear shuka, a different color and pattern for each tribe, as well as variations for men, women, and different age groups. I think PC decided to send me here because they facebook stalked me, and decided from my pictures that I would be the sort of person who would relish wearing a plaid blanket as an article of clothing.


Moral of the story: Be careful what you put on facebook.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

A Week in the Life or... "Why did you paint white on your feet?"


Monday: Hike back from sitemate Rachel's house, work at the clinic- “Your hair looks terrible, its because you're tired, you couldn't do it right."-Mama Mosha Read The Alchemist. Eat dinner at Mama Mosha's house.

Tuesday: Plant my garden with a jembe- Tanzanian hoe- aka make triceps. Finish The Alchemist. Read Holidays on Ice. Eat dinner at Baba's house.

Wednesday: Work at the clinic. Get a mani-pedi from a 6 year old and a 3 year old with crayons. Celebrate Mama Mosha retiring by eating meat!

Thursday: Read The Unheard. Have an oddly familiar college experience of taking girl to buy a pregnancy test, then talk about birth control options. Run to darajani kubwa “the big bridge.” Biggest lightning storm I've seen since Training! Eat dinner at Baba's house again.

Friday: Work at the clinic. Go to the big soko (vegetable market) and eat at my favorite chai place- beans, vitumbua, katumbali, AND chai. Hike to Rachel's house, “I walked in the rain, so now all your villagers think I'm crazy. Half of your villagers think I'm you.”-Kat “PERIOD TEA!”-Kat and Rachel “Listening to Beach House, drinking herbal tea, PLAYING SPEED!”-Kat “Its as FAT AS A BABY'S ARM!” “She's a PINCUSHION!” Watched New Girl (Rachel has access to electricity in her vill, she's fancy).

Saturday: Hike the mountain behind Rachel's house; follow some random trails that may or may not be for humans, find impressive feat of Tanzanian engineering, run away from Siafu (biting ants), stop following trails and bush whack our way up to the top, get attacked by the fire plant. Total time to reach the top: 2.5 hours. Eat lunch, enjoy the view, nap on top. “What's growling? I think its a lizard.”-Kat “Oh SHIT! Cows.”-Rachel How are we going to get down? Rachel finds a trail. Total time to get down: half hour. Make a chocolate cake with pili pili kali (hot pepper) added; I am a GENIUS! Start reading Cutting for Stone.

Sunday: Go to the health center to work on the Girl's Conference grant. Harass a praying mantis en route “I am zen, STOP PISSING ME OFF!”-Kat speaking for Praying Mantis. Write this blog, avoid working on grant.

Monday: hike back from sitemate Rachel's house. Work at clinic......

 
 
Its flacid, get it?


Some gems from Josh Swiller's The Unheard:

“You might be the greatest bush nurse ever, the kind of woman Mother Teresa looks up to, and still be raped by a platoon of children playing war. There are beauties like Alice and then at the clinic, the faces of angels are attached to bodies assembled from deflated balloons. Chickens and petty revenge and then moments when you can make diamond necklaces out of the stars.”

“Volunteers who go to South America come back politically active, volunteers who go to Southeast Asia return spiritually aware and curious, and volunteers who go to Africa?- They come back drunk and laughing.”

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Shout Out to Modesta or Can I Go To Med School Now?


Early in November I got to return to Tanga to visit my homestay family and teach the new class all about my favorite topic- mamas and babies! It has been a year since I last saw this family that I lived with for my first two months in Tanzania- when I couldn't speak Swahili, wasn't used to the culture, wasn't used to the heat, and was really terrified of spiders. Despite these barriers, I really loved my mama; she would kill spiders and cockroaches for me, she tried to teach me how to cook (I still gave myself parasites/giardia/I don't know what, but she tried), she saved me from overly forward young men, and when I screamed because a frog jumped on me while taking a shower, she rushed in to rescue me from what she probably expected to be a snake. We laughed uproariously one night when she made a joke about a cow peeing (ngombe ana choo! Actually, she might have been using choo as a verb so my broken Swahili could understand) and my baby dada kept the joke going for several days after that. We both cried when I left at the end of homestay. She put up with my incompetence and ineptitude with love and patience for two months, and, going back, I would finally be able to express my gratitude to her for that, and to actually talk to her! I wasn't incompetent anymore! I could help cook- help more than hinder- now, and I could understand all the gossip about the new PCTs living in the village. My favorite was when my dada came over and her and my mama talked about how one of the PCTs was mwenyeji (a local) because even when he was late, he would still mosey on slowly, greeting everyone, while another PCT dashed to get places- she had poured her chai (tea) into a plastic bottle to take with her to “drink I don't know where!” because she was late. My dada was so frustrated and perturbed at how this girl could take her chai to go just because she was late! Ok, maybe you had to be there, but I still topple over laughing about this. She was so bothered!

So, I am much more capable than I was in Training. That does not mean, though, that I can handle everything. Yesterday after regular clinic, a woman came in with contractions. She was only 6 and a half months along, but this baby was coming out! The kicker was- I WAS THE ONLY ONE THERE! Both the clinical officer and the nurse were gone! So, I delivered a very tiny, 1.5 kilo, premature baby. THAT IS BABY NUMBER 3- BY MYSELF! I clean up the room, all the blood and fecal matter that comes out with the baby, and check on Tiny. Her lungs either aren't fully formed or she has mucus in there, so she was having a really hard time breathing. You could see the effort in her face; when she finally opened her eyes, they would roll back in her head sometimes when she had a particularly hard time breathing. Then another woman comes in with contractions. And another. We only have two beds, so I find an extra mattress and get everyone to fit. Women always come to deliver their babies with an entouarage of other women, so now the clinic was crowded with about 25 women. I told an entourage member of the first women that Tiny needed to be taken to the hospital- we don't have a doctor, and even if they were here, e don't have the supplies to help her. Tanzanians have a habit of asking stupid questions sometimes because of the culture of always asking the white person for help, so in response to my telling her to go to the hospital, she says “But the baby doesn't have a father, the mama doesn't have a husband, what should we do?” With two other women in labour, no actual training on how to deliver babies, and no one there to help me, I looked at that woman with what was probably a very stupid, open mouthed expression, and while I wanted to say “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW I SAID THE BABY NEEDS TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH HER HAVING A HUSBAND” I said “sijui” (I don't know).

I could not handle the responsibility anymore, so I called my dada- who also doesn't know how to deliver babies- to come for moral support. I asked her “what do people do when Mama Mosha and Msuya (the nurse and clinical officer) aren't here?!” “They help each other” she responded, “We don't know how to deliver babies, its not our job.” I hugged her, I was so relieved. Modesta, my dada, is 5' tall, 21 years old, but that girl will tell anyone off. One mama was angry about how many people were at the clinic, and Modesta told this woman ho its not our fault! Its the government's fault for not building and staffing more clinics, so people come from outside our catchment area because there are no closer clinics. This mama responded that Modesta and I are no help, we can't help, we are just pretty. Modesta, who works at the clinic for free because we are understaffed, fumed about it the rest of the day.

Moral of the story is 1. I am not always competent to handle situations I get myself into here. 2. My dada Modesta is amazing and this is a shout out to her because she can always handle everything when I go to her for help. 3. Can I go to med school now so I can know what I'm doing?

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Somalian Pirates or I Like Lists


I have been in country for more than a year now, and Dec 16 marks a year in my village. I am no longer settling in and figuring things out, in fact, most of my free time has been inundated with work! I have clinic three days a week, I teach at two different primary schools four times a week, and I teach at the secondary school once a week, along with all the necessary prep meetings, plus trying to pull together a girls conference and the evil grant process associated with that. This will ramp up with the next year, when I try to focus more on HIV/AIDs education with an orphans group at a school and a People Living with HIV group in my village. Oh, I miss the good old days of having nothing to do all day! Never fear, though, I still do have some free time. This is what I have done the past two weeks:

read Assholes Finish First

read Lolita (now whenever I criticize a guy, my last thought is always, well, he could be worse- he could be a pedophile)

list all 50 states and their state capitals

list all the countries in the world, broken down by continent and then region (central Asia, east and west Europe, etc)

made a bucket list of things I still want to do in Tanzania before I leave (as motivation to stay here)

made a list of the months I have left and what I will do in each month

made a list of all the cool shit I have already done in Tanzania to make me feel better about what I have spent my time dong in the past year

Have I mentioned that I like making lists?

Whilst listing all the countries in the world, standing in my cushy chair in front of my world map with my notebook and pen, my best friend, Cate, calls me with her latest post COS plan. We had already planned on going to Victora Falls in Zambia, a common venture for TZ PCVs, but she has added to this.... From Lusaka, we will go to Libya to visit her friends there, then take a boat from Tripoli to Athens, Greece to meet her parents, then Eurorail it from Athens across Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia-Herzhgovina, Hungary (do they have really good food in Hungary, or no food at all? Its got to be one or the other with a name like that), Slovakia, Czech Republic, Germany (my motherland(s)!), Netherlands for Christmas, Belgium (WAFFLES!), France, then England! This is why she is my best friend. She is planning the whole thing basically, and I will be there to keep her company and befuddle her plans with spontaneous side trips! At some point along the way I will find a job.

Outrageous plan you say?! Well, its a lot more feasible than my original plan of joining a traveling circus as a tightrope walker and then becoming a Somalian pirate.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

A Rich Man's World or Atlas Shrugged


I used to identify as being liberal when I lived in America. Actually, I identified as the kind of liberal described as being “left of Lenin,” when I lived in America. Government stay out of my private life, legalize all drugs, and bring on the taxes and social programs! What is government for if not to offer financial safety nets to its citizens?!

Then I moved to Tanzania.

I've changed since coming here.

I read Ayn Rand for the first time.

I became a racial minority- a model minority, if you will.

I am no longer left of Lenin.

Yesterday a man came to my house to tell me his secret and ask me for help. I had never seen this man before. We are strangers. He is HIV positive. In Tanzania, the government provides ARVs at no charge, but, at least for people in my village, you have to go to the hospital in town to get them, which is a 4,000 shilingi bus ride away. This man had finished his last does of medication, and was asking me for the money to get to town so he could get more. I gave him the money to get to town- what was I supposed to say after he told me he has two kids and his wife already died from AIDs along with their last child! Then, he said, but I will need money to get a place to stay, and food, and the return trip. I didn't give him any more money. He leaves, and I promptly return inside my house and lay on my cement floor, sobbing, then called my best friend to have her convince me to stay in this country.

I wasn't sobbing because of his sad tale and the woes of his life. I wasn't sobbing entirely because of this man, actually. He was more just the needle that broke my camel back. I was sobbing because wherever I go- the clinic, the school, the market, town, on a walk, my front porch, the bus- someone is going to ask me for money, or the bracelet I'm wearing, or the notebook I'm carrying, or the bottle of water I'm drinking from, or the orange I am eating. I have given people my money when they asked for it, or part of my orange, or my water bottle. And every time I do I feel so much worse than when I tell them no. If there are any charitable Christians reading this, you are probably thinking I am gong to Hell. Well, I don't believe in Hell, and you probably don't live in Tanzania, so I don't really care.

People here live with practically nothing. Everyone is poor. If a house has glass windows here, it blows my mind and I stare in dumb fascination. There are two families in my village of at least 5,000 people that have private vehicles. In a place where everyone is a farmer, I have seen two tractors (it might have been the same tractor, just in a different place on a different day.) Electricity hasn't made it into the hills here yet, so no one has electricity. No one has running water. The two communal water spigots in my village may or may not work on any given day. People are poor. And my village is fancy compared to others nearby.

This makes it so hard to turn people down, especially considering how generous so many Tanzanians are to me!

But there is a culture here that if you don't have it, you just go ask your neighbor for his. The inclination isn't to work for something, but to just get it from someone who has worked for it. I'm no economist, but I think this might have something to do with why Tanzania, with all its natural resources, is still a “third world” country.

I am not saying people do not work hard here. People farm by hand- have you ever tried that? People carry 10-50 buckets of water on their heads so their families can have water for a day or two before they do it again. These aren't the people who beg off of their industrious neighbors. They are the industrious neighbors that get begged from. And its not the same people begging that are being generous.

I don't know which came first- this culture of taking from your neighbor, or foreign aid- but foreign aid certainly hasn't helped. And there goes my status as a liberal! I think foreign aid has done more to hurt Tanzania than help. I think foreign aid should be wiped out and people should figure out how to help themselves. That is how you get sustainable development- sink or swim survival- not from USAID giving people latex gloves for free so they can have more babies they can't feed. I will never work in foreign aid again. I had to be here to figure that out. Dear America, lets put the money spent on foreign aid to use fixing problems like homelessness and hunger in America instead of in other countries. I won't get into what else is wrong with America's budget.

Also because of foreign aid, I wear my status of being the rich foreigner on my skin. If you're white, you're rich and you're here to give us money. Hence this man coming to me when he couldn't get to town to go to the hospital. I had a man come to my house on another occasion and very sincerely- on his knees, hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer- propose to me. He had lost his job, and by marrying me, he explained, he would be able to have money. Oh, buddy, do I wish I had the money you think would so magically appear upon marrying me!

I suppose my purpose in writing this is that if you are applying to the Peace Corps, know it's ok to say no. Whenever I don't say no, I feel like I have been taken advantage of, like I have no backbone with which to stand up for myself, and I resent the people I live with. And that is when I think about leaving. I love everyone and feel great about being here when I work at the clinic or teach at schools or have crazy conversations about sex with the men hanging out in the madukani, but when I give more of myself than I want to, I don't want to be here. We are volunteers who are probably better off than our host country nationals, but that doesn't make us sacrificial lambs that people can pick apart because their need is greater.

Discovering Ayn Rand while in the Peace Corps may have been the worse thing for me to do, or the best. At least I know other people are as selfish as I am and are ok with it.

Also, thank you ABBA- you are a huge part my This is a 40 Year Old Divorcee playlist.

Oh, the man returned today because his bicycle broke and he wanted money to fix it. The white girl gave me money yesterday, she'll give me money again! I very politely told him no and have had a much better day.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

USAID vs Kat or I Want a Sambusa


One of the many reasons I joined Peace Corps was because I wanted to gain experience in international development. Well, I have, and I think I never want to do international or any kind of development work again.

Why such strong feelings? At present I am working on a grant with my sitemates to do a girls' empowerment conference. Girls and boys conferences are a common thing for PCVs to organize to teach a small group of youth about HIV prevention, gender equality, and gender specific issues. It requires a grant- a very detailed, tedious, repetitive, confusing grant process that takes forever and is really difficult to do when you don't have electricity and live in a village! As I have completed my first year in country, and am nearing a full year in my site, I have been thinking a lot about the future. Also, I have a short attention span and am rather anxious to get onto the next adventure in my life, whatever that might be. I have been thinking a lot about returning to school, after doing something that will somehow accrue money in order to pay for that school. Do I want a masters in public health? Global health, or epidemiology? Do I want to face the dreaded MCAT and apply to med school? Do I want to do something completely different? What do I want to do with my life?! Another reason I did Peace Corps was to postpone answering this question, but unfortunately the question hasn't disappeared yet. Its rearing its ugly head at me, and I am as indecisive and flighty as ever. If my opinion of this grant writing business is any indication, though, anything requiring grants in my future is out! No, I do not want to write the same thing four times in different wording and formatting so you, Grant Coordinator, can tell me to fix it and do it again!

The other day I had a crazy time at my clinic. I had one of those days when I think wistfully of one day practicing medicine in America, where when a man comes in with crazy green blisters all over his hands that then turn into open sores and scabs and you have to test him for HIV, there are gloves available rather than stealing them from the fancy delivery kits (thanks USAID) and then getting scolded for doing so. Or a doctor who knew how to use insulin would be present, so we wouldn't have to ship the patient and insulin (which needs to be refrigerated) to another village an hour away, or at least if we had to do that, there would be ice packs or something, rather than scraping the ice build up from the sides of the freezer to pack around the insulin in a used mebendazole bottle. I love working at my clinic- its the thing that occupies the majority of my time, and I love working with mamas and babies, teaching, and then doing all the stuff I'm not qualified for or supposed to be doing according to Peace Corps. But there in lies the problem- I'm not qualified, I don't know what I'm doing, the people who are qualified don't know what they are doing either because this is Tanzania, and we never have the supplies we need. I can dream of medicine in America, where things are clean and there is money, but everyone else I live and work with can't escape these conditions. And in my puny little role as a volunteer, with a whopping 23 years of experience in absolutely nothing, don't know how to change that. I sound really dejected- I'm not. I know what I can reasonably accomplish in my two years here, and I don't expect more of myself. Peace Corps would be a lot harder if I did. My clinic debacles are funny in hindsight, experience, and make for great stories. If I do ever pursue development work in the future, I will be much better prepared for it by doing this now. And I am eternally grateful that I was lucky enough to be born where and when I was so I can go back to better conditions when I choose.


Things I Would Never Say in America or This is Actually a Quote List

(This will probably only be funny to other TZ PCVs)

I want to see your village! -Rachel
How did I get food on this hand (referring to my left)? -Kat
Ugh, he just gave me the wiggly finger! -Safi
The ants are my friends. -Rachel
Am I a whore because I drank alone in a bar? -Maria
I have lights in my fucking choo! -Maria
I'm afraid to wear pants! -Kat
Did your diarrhea look like veggie curry or soup? -Cate
The last time I bathed was... last Thursday? -Maria
The shit I just took looked just like chocolate soft serve ice cream! -Maria
A woman peed on me today. -Kat
It only takes three hours to get there? You're so close! -Kat
People make the weirdest sounds when they talk to goats. -Kat
You don't use toilet paper anymore? -Kat to Chuck. He doesn't.
The monkeys have ben SO LOUD lately!- Rachel
I like your spigot -Safi
Where are my oven rocks? -Rachel

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Karibu New Trainees! or You Are Going to Think I Smell So Bad


The calendar of sessions has been decided, we have argued over the content of each session, we are writing and editing tech language and welcome books, and we are almost ready for out n00bs to arrive in country next week! It has been almost a year since I arrived in Tanzania, and being back in Tanga is cause for some reflection.

What I have noticed through my reflection:

I have been amongst Americans for five days now, haven't shaved my legs yet, and don't really care.

Even though its hot, humid, and I'm sweaty, I don't mind that the guesti doesn't have water and I can't shower.

The ants in the sugar bowel are just added protein.

I have no secret that would embarrass me anymore- not about diarrhea, not about menstruation, not my dancing in public, not my BO.

Dear new PCTs,

You are going to come and be afraid of the gigantic spiders and the rats in your homestay house, and not appreciate the ants on the fish that your family keeps in a filing cabinet, and you are going to be appalled at how the PCV facilitators you meet smell and uninhibitedly describe their most explosive bout of diarrhea and eat everything in site, but one day, you will learn to live peaceably with the rats, and you will get better at killing the terrifying spiders or just accept that they won't attack you, and you will relish that you don't have to bucket bathe twice a day like you did during homestay, and you too will smell as bad as I do.

Many of the instructional sessions for PST have been standardized across all of Peace Corps, so during this Training of Trainers week of planning, we had a session introducing us to these standardized packages and the theory behind them, the policies that people in Washington came up with to streamline training for all Peace Corps countries. Washington has separated topics into health, agriculture, environment, economic development... so in the field you get health PCVs, or agriculture PCVs, or environment PCVs, but really most volunteers do some of everything, or an environment PCV will mostly work on health issues, all depending on what is happening in the community. The clear lines that Washington's policies delineated get blurred and crossed in the field, and that made me think of how different policy and fieldwork are. I imagined people sitting in air conditioned offices in Washington DC, wearing suits, going to lunch at the deli across the paved street, clean, urban, while I am sitting in a room with no electricity, the cantilevered windows opened to allow a humid breeze, transitioning between two different languages to exchange information, wearing my Tanzanian kitenge dress, my feet dusty from walking through the sand to get here. The theory and thoughtfulness- and I would assume experience in the field, as well- that went into creating the policy is valid, but what it turns into while being implemented, with each person's individual personalities and environments, is completely different, and policy just doesn't matter that much in the daily lives of a PCV. Working here is challenging; you have to be flexible and calm in the face of changes and misunderstandings that don't necessarily arise while working with fellow Americans in America so the policy makers in their nice clean offices don't think about them. That makes me feel incredibly superior, if dirtier and less professional.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

August or I Looked Like a Wrinkled Old Man When I Was Born


August has shaped up to be an exciting month. I will proceed in chronological order...

I got a staph infection in my foot that made it swell until I looked like I had elephantiasis and I couldn't walk for a couple days. The Peace Corps doctor was amazing, though, got me on super strong antibiotics, and has followed up amazingly, and I am all normal except for missing one toenail and looking a little like I was exposed to nuclear radiation.

The clinic had been short staffed - more so than usual- while my mama, the nurse, and the new nurse we got from the district were both in town, so I was left running the clinic myself while my baba, the clinical officer, was in and out with back pain and a tooth ache. I go to clinic one morning, I notice a woman is in the other room having contractions, but that's normal, so I continue with weighing babies. The bibi who has escorted the mama comes out to ask for my help, and I tell her the doctor is coming, I can't really help you, I don't know how to deliver a baby. I tell a kid to go get the doctor and tell him to come quickly. I continue with clinic. The bibi comes back out and insists, come in now, so I go look at the mama, expecting to see nothing. Uh, yeah, the baby is crowning... I run back outside, the kid still hasn't left, I yell at him, Athumani, go now, FAST! I return to the room, clumsily put gloves on not steady hands, thinking about how every baby I have seen delivered has been born with the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck and I am terrified of this kid getting strangled by it I don't know how to avoid that from happening this baby could die... The bibi and this other mama are in the room standing behind me, yelling at me, I have finally gotten the gloves on all of my fingers, the mama gives one push, the head pops out, the neck is cord-free, the shoulders pop out, the baby twists around so its facing up, and slips out into my hands in a gush of blood and slime! Wrap up the baby, clamp, string, scissors to cut... why is that mama rubbing the other mama's belly like that? Oh, shit, the placenta! A retained placenta can lead to sepsis this is the time when women hemorrhage and bleed out after giving birth rubbing the belly or stimulating the nipples causes oxytocin to be released which will help stop the bleeding rub the belly get the placenta out... BTW that shit is slippery. It is not possible to grab the umbilical cord and pull because it is impossible to hold onto the cord, covered in bloody slime as it is. The mama has to push again, and you ineffectually pull, and eventually it pops out in another rush of blood and clear fluid. Relief rushes over me, everyone is alive, the crying- breathing- baby has been wrapped up and is being held, I'm helping the mama clean up, wiping up blood, then I went and taught about exclusive breastfeeding and finished clinic!

On a different afternoon, I was siting on my couch, when my cat- correction, Ruthie's cat, there is no love lost between this animal and I, I take no ownership of it- comes in carrying some mewling animal I assume is a rodent it plans on eating in my house in typical fashion. This is an on going war between us. To my horror, she jumps onto my couch with it before I have untangled myself from my blanket enough to stop her.... and I realize she is carrying a kitten. I still think she's going to eat it when I realize that the kitten looks just like her, and its probably her kitten. So now is when you are probably thinking didn't you realize your cat was pregnant? My response would be 1. What is the gestation period of a cat? 2. I didn't want my cat to have kittens, so I thought of other reasons for her belly to be so firm. So, I am now the owner of two kittens. They're kind of funny- they are just now figuring out how to walk, so they stumble around on legs that tend to go awry in unintended directions, and they have a habit of picking their feet up higher than necessary, as if they were tip toeing cautiously, or stomping their feet.

The next Monday I delivered another baby solo. I was much calmer this time, none of the panic I had the first time. This of course has nothing to do with development work or my actually role as a Peace Corps Volunteer, but its really cool. In a letter from my mother for my birthday, she wrote that now that I have experienced a baby's delivery, I would know what a special experience it was when I was born! Sorry to disappoint, but a baby's delivery is gross and slimy, with explosions of blood and goo, and I'm sure its nice for the mama when its all done and they get to move onto a new kind of pain from labour pains, but I haven't experienced the wonderfullness yet. I do think its crazy though that one person comes out of another person like that, after having lived in a liquid filled bubble for nine months, and having grown from the chance meeting of two traveling cells. I am thrilled I didn't kill anyone.

Then It was my birthday! I celebrated in my vill by making cakes and sharing them with all the families that take care of me, and I had an American visitor in the form of a traveling PCV, which really made it feel so much more like a birthday.

Also happening this month is the Tanzania census, which I got to take part in as a current resident of Tanzania. Teachers around the country were trained in how to fill out the census forms, and then went door to door in their communities to ask every household their names, ages, marital status, level of education... and if they grow corn, pigeon peas, cassava, or keep cows, goats, or chickens. My grandmother sent me a birthday card, and in it she tells me how much she thinks of me, loves me... and how someone tried to scam her, falsifying my cousins presence in a Peruvian jail, so she writes to me, “Please don't get into trouble, because I won't believe you.” I recently discovered Gotye and the video of “Somebody That I Used To Know.” Uh, yeah, I'm a little behind the times. I want that final scene from his video, when he is so exposed, looking at her while her paint is being removed so openly and obviously vulnerable, as a still to hang in my house and look at always. It is such a well done, emotional video, with their purposeful eye contact, or lack thereof, and facial expressions, and his punctuated sighs. Today, my dear sitemate Rachel was waiting to meet me in town, and from afar sees a small figure swathed in fabric, and thought it was me... no, it was a tiny black man. Thanks Rachel.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

I'm Hungry or Mostly Just Random Anecdotes

We have entered the month of Ramadhan, which means food during the day is scarce in the predominantly Muslim areas, but dinner invitations have sky rocketed! I am interested to see society decay as people starve themselves everyday for a month- my bet is that chaos will run rampant as the month nears its end and people have had enough of being hungry. Well, you know, more hungry than normal, in my undernourished village.
Personally, what Ramadhan means to me is a battle trying to educate pregnant women that they really shouldn't be starving themselves for a month- they are already undernourished and they should be increasing the amount of food they consume, not obliterating it! Its a rough argument, though, because its me, who they know is not Muslim, a white stranger, telling them to go against their religion and not make this sacrifice to the god they believe in. I may have science on my side, plus my very verbose mama, telling them their babies will come out underdeveloped or mentally deficient, but these women's lives are much more influenced by the religion they interact with daily than some science the white girl brought with her from America. I'm surprised at how frustrating I find it when women refuse to stop their fasts. Not that anyone would blatantly refuse, that isn't Tanzanian, but I hear a lot of “I'll eat tomorrow,” “I'll stop fasting tomorrow.” In Tanzanian culture, that means no. It shouldn't concern me so much- these women are used to not eating a whole lot, hopefully the effect on their babies will minimal, and I don't have to take care of whatever problems that baby comes out with it if there are considerable effects- but I find it so disturbing when women refuse to make a concession to their religion for the health of their babies. Maybe if I were more ardently religious, I would feel differently. I've tried using the argument that don't you think God would want you and your baby to be healthy rather than you make this sacrifice, but I doubt that hit home with anyone. Its not my place to interfere with another's religious choices, but it is my place to be educating people on making healthier choices, and when it comes to Ramadhan and pregnant and nursing mothers, this conflicts.
Other than my current struggles with Ramadhan, I want to share some little anecdotes and thoughts, that haven't really merited their own posts, but I really want to share. Scarcity is the mother of invention I have found in Tanzania. My mama was making nyama choma for me one night, which is basically BBQ minus the sauce, and I told her about shish kebabs. She wanted to try it, so she goes over to the roof of her chicken coop, where she stores random things, which is also hidden in the dark so I can't see what she's doing, and comes back with skewers which she proceeds to use to skewer and cook the meat. I am amazed that she has skewers, and my first thought is that she must have purchased them somewhere, in a nice set of 6 in a pretty plastic wrapper... Yeah, forgot I was Tanzania for a minute. I ask her where she procured her skewers, and she replies, “Umbrella.” She was using the spokes of an umbrella to roast her meat.
Another occasion of scarcity inspiring brilliant creativity took place before the rainy season ended. I had already realized that my water catchment system acted just like a faucet of running water, making it perfect for washing dishes. I had a few dishes collected that I had been putting off washing because washing dishes is the most evil house chore in existence, but really the thing that was bothering me was how nasty my hair was. Its not uncommon for me to feel like I need to wash my hands after touching my hair, but this time it had gotten to the point where I never wore my hair down, not even while sleeping, because it was so gross. My hair was so nasty, it made my skin itchy and uncomfortable. I stopped touching it because it was not just oily, but there was definitely dirt mixed in. Why had I allowed my hair to get so gross, one might ask. Washing hair in a bucket bath sucks is the answer. It doesn't actually make your hair any cleaner, and you have to hang over, bent in half, in order to get your head into the bucket, which causes all the blood to rush to your head, and if you have a cold, all the snot in your sinuses to readjust in an uncomfortable manner. So, one afternoon, it begins raining, and I rush out with my dish soap and dishes, but half way through rinsing off the one bowl I own, I realize that I could wash my hair. At first I hesitate- how weird would that look if someone walked by and saw me washing my hair in my water catchment system- but probably no one would walk by- nothing is worse to a Tanzanian than walking in the rain. So I run for my shampoo and proceed to wash my hair, standing outside of my house, in sweatpants, my head under a concentrated downpour of rain water. I have never felt cleaner while in my village.
Dancing is often considered a large part of African culture. It certainly is in Tanzania. Little girls come out of the womb being able to shake their asses. There is a teacher at my secondary school, Amina, who, although she may be a very conservative Muslim woman, shrouded in head covering and black gown, she can move! Its surprising, though, how diverse the styles of dance can be sometime. There is a club in Dodoma of which I have frequented many a time, where women come in surprisingly culturally inappropriate apparel- knees, shoulders, oh my!- and exhibit their skills on the dance floor. The favorite move by far, you may ask? The Electric Slide. Tanzanians will, no exaggeration, line dance for hours. It never seems to get old for them. Any music becomes line dancing music, once one person starts with the side step-ball-chain. If the dance floor wasn't full before, it will be when its line dancing time. So, my question is, is this a case of southern revival, or the Out of Africa Theory?

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Village Situational Analysis or I Took Pictures In My Vill!

Me in Mama Jennie's shop
Cute babies in my courtyard
Sassy girls in the madukani
 The soko, market
 Mama Jennie sewing clothes
 Dada Asha making chapati
 My mama and baba at the clinic
 Twins I saw born! My mama is giving them polio drops
Women selling food in the madukani

Projects, Packages, Partying, Oh My! or If I had known PC would be like being in puberty again I might not have signed up

Ok, so returning from IST has been rough. We were warned that most people experience their lowest low right after IST- which makes sense. You spend two weeks with Americans, speaking English, experiencing American culture again, you aren't alone all the time, eating safi, American-esque food instead of the random food you can find in your village or manage to cook for yourself, and then you expect to start all these projects and get things done when you return to your site, becoming the amazing PCV you imagine yourself to be.... but that doesn't happen. In reality, you return to your site, you miss Americans, it is shocking to be so alone again, it is shockingly quiet in your house, and it takes a really long time to get things started. Or, at least, I feel like I am taking a long time to get things started. Talking to other volunteers, they are accelerating, they are starting things. People are starting to teach life skills at their secondary schools, or starting sports clubs, or starting tree nurseries... and I am doing the exact same thing I have been doing since I got to site. Granted, I work at my clinic three days a week, but I want to start my projects- it just takes so much time, and I need resources that I don't have in my village- like internet, and electricity. Also, internet is becoming more expensive, and it still sucks. Its like Comcast in Berkeley. It is the necessary evil in one's life, but it is so evil!
Ok, being more positive now. Friday was a really good day. I went to the clinic in the morning to clean with my mama and baba, and I told my mama all my ideas for projects and she told me that I was such a good child- she calls me her child- and that I have such wonderful ideas. Even if I accomplish nothing in my village, having the approval of my mama makes me feel so much better. I go back later in the day when clinic starts, I set things up, and I'm about to start asking the mamas for their cards to write their babies weights on, and my baba comes up to me and asks me to teach. I haven't prepared anything. I would be teaching in Kiswahili. I ask if I can teach Monday, at the next clinic, and he asks if I could just teach for ten minutes. Some background: my clinic is really understaffed, so even though we are supposed to teach something every clinic day, we don't. We are also supposed to do outreach to other villages, and don't, because only two people work at my clinic, and me. So, I give a lesson on family planning, off the cuff, and it is amazing! Women are answering my questions- which is really difficult to get them to do because of the Tanzanian education system and the use of corporal punishment in schools, which all these women are products of- they are laughing, I did a condom demonstration- condoms are a sensitive topic in my village- and my favorite part was blowing a condom up like a balloon in front of all of these women to dispel the myth that “condoms are too small.” Then we continued with a busy clinic day. By the end of it, I was exhausted- speaking Kiswahili all day is exhausting- but I felt so productive, and so good about what I am doing in my village. You can experience so many emotions in one day- when people describe PC as being a roller coaster, they are not lying- its kind of like being in puberty again because all of the emotions you experience are so intense.

I received a package from the girls that I lived with in college! It made me so happy! They sent me a portrait of the seven of us that hung in our house for two years, and wrote me a colorful letter with pictures. They sent me magazines, and bacon, and hot chocolate- with marshmallows!- and Sponge Bob mac and cheese! I miss them so much, and this package came at just the right time.
Which brings me to... This is what would be in the ideal care package from home (I have put a lot of thought into this)

  1. Pictures from home to hang on my walls or show people in my vill. They make me so happy to look at them, and Tanzanians are fascinated to see America.
  2. Dark chocolate. It does not exist in Tanzania. Chocolate is really expensive, a luxury, so really, any chocolate is appreciated, but especially dark chocolate.
  3. Any and all cheese products that could survive the trip across the US, Atlantic Ocean, and most of the continent of Africa. Cheese is really difficult to find here. If I travel for two days to So High in Southern TZ, I can find real cheese, and sometimes I can find a cream cheese-esque thing in my regional town, but that isn't guaranteed.
  4. Mac and Cheese- not easy mac because I don't have a microwave, but old fashioned mac and cheese with the boiled water.
  5. Tuna packets. My friend brought one back to me from the States, and I cut the package into pieces so I could lick all of the tuna out of it. It was so good. I do not get enough protein on a daily basis. The Tanzanian diet is heavily reliant on carbs, and the most common protein source is beans.
  6. (I now have more deorderant than I can use before I am 30. I have made good use of them as presents for PCVs, though) Deodorant. It is not in Tanzania. Tanzanians don't use it. I like Dove, powder scented, but any brand would be acceptable, but just no strong scents- the point is to not smell my armpits, even if they do smell like oranges. Considering how rarely I shower- and how I expect it will get worse when the rainy season ends and I stop having water- deodorant will be much appreciated for my own sense of wellness.
  7. Wet wipes- too lazy to get a bucket of water to shower, or need to wash your feet before getting into bed? Bam! You're clean! Cat brought a lizard into your house and left blood on your floor, but you don't have cleaning products because you live in a third world country? Bam! Lizard blood gone!
For Jodi- this is a shout out to Little Amy. And nighties, and spritzers, and throwing cucumbers in people's eyes. Sometimes, I really love Peace Corps.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

IST or I thought a crazy person was laughing on the bus, but it was only a chicken

My first three months at site have culminated in In-Service Training (IST), which is code for a lot of traveling on buses, listening to lectures that may or may not be useful, and drunken bar scenes with Americans. That is where my title comes from: I was traveling to my banking town to meet my sitemates to then travel to Moro for the training, and I hear this inane cackle behind me on the bus as people are getting off at the standi. I turn to see who is making such a sound... and it was a chicken, being carried by its bound feet by a man climbing down the steps of the bus. Karibu Tanzania.

Anyways, in preparation for IST, each PCV had to prepare a written report on their village, detailing water availability conditions, sanitation, health, transportation....and then make a presentation about it. Really what that means is that I took pictures in my village for the first time! You will see those shortly.

My best friend here is named Cate, and we are always together, geography permitting, so people get our names mixed up all the time. Unfortunately, she lives in the Southern Highlands of Tanzania, which is really far away from me, so we haven't seen each other since leaving for our sites in December. I get to where we are staying for IST, trying to figure out what room I am in so I can put my stuff down, my gigantic backpack still on my back, and I hear someone shout “Kaaat!” I turn, and see Cate running down the hall, arms extended, toward me. I yell “Cate” and we catch each other in an embrace, laughing! Its true love between us, you can't deny it.

I am also pretty sure that I had a parasite- that I got from eating things I shouldn't- for something like two and a half months. I never sent in a MIF kit because I wasn't comfortable with sending a sample of my poop through the mail, but I had pretty bad abdominal pain and constant diarrhea for two months, and I lost a lot of weight. At IST, I developed stomach cramps that would double me over, so, after a lot of thought about the overuse of antibiotics and the dangers of MRSA, my stomach cramps finally convinced me to take a broad spectrum- perscribed by PC doctors-  to get rid of Ernest, my parasite (I named him). Ernest died- rest in peace- and I had my first solid poop in 2 months! I feel so much better!
An integral, and very important, part of IST is having each PCV select a counterpart, a person to work with from their village, to join them at the training for specific sessions introducing the counterparts to Peace Corps and possible projects to do in the village. I brought my mama, the nurse at the zahanati (clinic), and got to introduce her to other Americans, and, most importantly, bacon cheeseburgers. My mama is an Mchaga, and she looooooves meat. We live in a Muslim area, so pork is a no-no in general, so whenever she gets her hands on some, she conspiratorially comes to me to whisper that she is cooking kiti moto (pork)! This in mind, I knew she would love bacon cheeseburgers... and she did. She also really liked mustard, which she had for the first time. She also saw her first African Americans. When she saw them, she asked me if they spoke English, and was amazed that there were wazungu (white people, foreigners) that looked like her. She asked me if their children would be black or white, so I explained that they were just like her, only they lived in America. She was amazed. My mama is a really smart woman, highly respected in the village, very hard working and motivated. She pretty much runs things in my village. When my mama says something, people listen, and do what she tells them to do. But she still has a limited knowledge of the world at large, and whereas I most certainly am not as knowledgeable about world events as I would like to be, I still have a broader experience of the world outside Tanzania than she does because I know how to use the internet, and I (used to) watch the news or read the newspaper. I have access to information that people living in my village may never be able to access, because of limited resources, knowledge, or both. So that is my job in my vill, to bring that information to people because I know how to obtain it.

I have since returned to my village from IST and have been thinking a lot about the work and projects I want to do there, as a PCV. This is what I have concluded: My job is to work myself out of a job. I am not a teacher- I can get around in Kiswahili, but I don't speak well enough to effectively educate people in it- and I don't want to be. My work is in bringing information and getting other people- like my mama- to teach it to more people, and the slow- but effective- dissemination of information through individuals. I have been thinking about all the ways I can make myself obsolete in my village, and I am so excited to do it. Yesterday, my mama and I made a demonstration permagarden at my house. PEPFAR has provided Peace Corps with a lot of funding to push permagardening as a method of improving living conditions for PLWHA (people living with HIV/AIDS), so that was one of the sessions at IST. We had one other girl with us- she is my age, and has a three year old. She is not married, and works very hard to support herself and her daughter. My mama taught her how to construct a permagarden and they built a couple of beds together in my front yard, while I helped, but mostly entertained the three year old. It was amazing. My mama is amazing. I didn't even need to be there. Now two other people on my village know how to construct permagardens (which is supposed to be a more space- and water- efficient design for gardens to produce more food), my mama has one at her house, and maybe this girl, Dada Sara, can use this knowledge to better provide for her daughter and herself. Yes, it's a really little thing to get excited about, but Peace Corps, and, really, I think most of sustainable development, is all about the little things. As Peter Jensen would say, “Small, doable actions!” The big thing I want to accomplish in my vill is to train a health worker staff to do health education at the clinic and other villages on outreach clinic days (My priorities might be skewed by my college work experience). Currently, health education is basically non existent, as is outreach, let alone providing health education on outreach days, all due to extreme under staffing at the clinic. With an extra volunteer staff, my mama and baba, the nurse and clinical officer at the zahanati, can focus on processing patients, while the extra staff can do the education that is currently left by the wayside. One day, they might not even need me to work at the clinic. I'll just pumzika (rest). I can't wait.

Kiruru juu! CBT love

Cate!
Learning about HIV
Drunken bar scenes
Doing the limbo during a drunken bar scene
Eriki and I with our counterparts with the mountains of Moro behind us



Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Wazungu na Watanzania or Americans and Tanzanians

February was a tumultuous month for me. I ate some things I shouldn't have- like maggots- and spent a lot of time feeling sick and miserable, holing up in my house, only going between my bed and my choo. I felt really guilty about not being out in my village, not being productive, and I got really homesick, missing the comforts of warm showers and hot and sour soup from the nearest Chinese restaurant and western toilets where you can sit comfortably as opposed to having your feet fall asleep because you have been sitting in a squat for so long having terrible diarrhea. BTW, I do not advise eating maggots- they cause terrible abdominal pain and other ailments.

But, after spending a week confined to my bed, with only my guilt and frustration for company, my intestines got over their unhappiness, and I made leaps and bounds in progress in my village! Or at least that is how I feel. I made a male kijana (youth) friend, which is kind of a big deal because there is a lot of gender separation in my village- I think in most of Tanzania, as well- and having this one person be my friend means I have an in to talking to the rest of the male vijana (multiple youths), and I am really excited about one day being able to talk to them about condoms and safe sex, STIs, HIV/AIDS, motivating and supporting them in trying to find work.... I started tutoring one primary school boy English- which is actually really difficult, I have no idea how to teach someone a language- but now I think the rest of the primary school children are nicer to me; they greet me, they show respect by saying “shikamoo,” and they don't tease me anymore. Yes, I do get picked on by little children. They can be really intimidating in large groups, especially when you can't understand what they are saying to you! I visited the secondary school- where the students, especially the upper forms, are pretty close if not the same age as I am- which I thought would be really intimidating, but all of the students were really nice, and really enthusiastic about me continuing the health club the last volunteer started there. I am really excited about overseeing a health club. This is my thing. Peer health education among youth in an academic setting. I want it to be very much student organized and run. I want them to decide what they want to talk about in the club, what activities they want to do, if and how they want to rely information to their classmates not in the club, and I want them to decide how people become part of the club, how they want the club government organized... A couple of students have asked me if we are going to have boys and girls conferences like the previous group of volunteers in the district had, too, which were apparently very popular. I have started my sexual health education in the village, too, except that my audience is composed of all the grandmas in my village >_> (shifty eyes). I went with my fundi friend (she makes clothes; the term for anyone who has any kind of skill is fundi) to visit her bibi (grandmother), and her bibi starts asking me if I use condoms and how many I use! Sooo, I started telling her about how to use condoms, the importance of using only one condom at a time and using lubricant or else friction will cause tears in the latex (did you know that in some African cultures women will use herbs to actually dry themselves out because they think if there is no natural lubricant, or any lubricant at all, it makes sex better? Problem. This leads to tears in the vagina and increases HIV transmission). I didn't know how to say most of this in Kiswahili, so there were a lot of hand gestures and hoping she understood what I meant. I got my hair braided by another bibi in my vill, which is a big socializing time for women, so I am sitting there with the bibi braiding my hair, my kijana fundi friend, and another woman, and the whole time she asks me questions like “Do white people or Africans know more about sex?” Who has sex more often?” “Do white people shave their pubic hair?” “Why can't American women show each other their breasts?” In Tanzania, breasts are not sexy or illicit at all- women whip them out to breast feed their children in the middle of the day, in the middle of a crowd, completely uncovered- but women do not show their knees or shoulders. So we talked about why that is and how its different between American and Tanzanian cultures. It was a really great experience of cultural exchange, and I think its really funny to talk about sex with old ladies when I would never talk about any of these things with old ladies in the States.

Another leap and bound I made was I figured out how to light my charcoal stove by myself! I have been at site for how many months and just figured it out? But now I feel like I can actually survive in this country because now I can feed myself and hopefully not make myself sick! It is a pain in the ass to light, but I can do it, and I have baked bread, made lentil curry, potato stuffed naan, lots of soups, cornflour pancakes, and bean burgers!

Now for American time. Pictures speak louder than words, but here are the highlights:
  1. Made wine in a bucket with the site mates in preparation for a birthday sharehe (party).
  2. Had first American visitors to my vill for Valentine's Day.
  3. Site mate, Maria, turned 30, so we celebrated her birthday in town with the standi guys and Maria got to use a microphone at Club NBC- it was a debacle.
  4. I got a new site mate, who is only a two hour walk from my vill! This is a big improvement over the closest person being a three hour (at least) drive and two buses away from me.
Here are some pictures

 Eriki intensely cutting mangoes for the wine.
 Eriki being creepy
 Maria being creepy

English isn't the most widely spoken language here: "Oliver oil... It good four health"
 Obama beanies; Obama is a BFD here
 Dance party. Of course.
Our bucket wine at work. This is my new sitemate Rachel! She's a really good dancer

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Pictures From Training or Tardiness, I Know

My room in Dar, before I actually entered Tanzania during homestay.


Notice the super safi western toilet. Just ignore the fact that later a large piece of my ceiling fell onto my toilet seat lid.

My CBT at Halloween

The Mutant Ninja Turtles made an appearance, too.

Cate and Jamesy so excited about getting chocolate that they could shit their pants.

My favorite picture of my CBT.


My homestay mama at a harusi (wedding).

A really sassy woman dancing at the wedding. This was so much because it was just women, and I got to see them all let loose and dance and sing.


The giant spider with fingers I found in my room one night. Its dead now.

The Maandazi Mama holding me.

Me holding my baby dada in fron tof my homestay house.

Cooking peanutbutter pancakes Tanzanian style at Safi's house.

My baby dada, Edisi. I love her.

Peke Yangu (on my own) in Tanzania or Take That VSA!

I have been at site for just over a month now, and have delivered three babies, regularly take blood samples to test Malaria- of which, none have been positive, which makes me suspicious of either the test or the supposed prevalence of malaria in my area- and I just learned how to give shots, which I am really bad at. I work every day at the zahanati (clinic), and am truly gaining experience that I never would have been able to get with my biology degree in the States. Other than at the zahanati, my friend who charges my phone at his duka (shop) wants to start a chicken project. We started by talking about how his son is in school, and he has no money, and I told him that I wanted to start community groups that could make money. Was he interested? Well, yes he was! And he wants it to be a chicken group, and then he told me all about his chickens and everything he knows about them. I have never seen this man so excited! He is finding five other people- because he said that five other people would make a good size group- and my hope is that he will take over this group and make it productive with little to no influence from me. I even know a man that can come and teach this group about raising and selling chickens for profit. I had an impromptu conersaion with some women at a chai house about birth control methods and family planning. It didn't go too well because I forgot the words for "family planning" and "pill" and "types," and then the woman I was talking to got distracted by her milk, but it will go better next time. Currrently I am trying to write a lesson about Malaria and fever to teach at the zahanati. Writing the lesson in English was cake- thank you internet research in the States- but translating things like "bloody stool" into Kiswahili isn't exactly staright forward. For some reason that phrase isn't in the dictionary, I don't know why. I have also farmed, which is such a big deal to my villagers! I got strawberry plants from a friend in town, so I got my jembe (local farming tool, kind of like a hoe) and started clearing a small patch of overgrownness in the used-to-be garden in front of my house. Yeah, farming with an audience is fun. The kids were all passing my house leaving the primary school, so they all just stopped and watched while I planted my little plants, and we talked about fruit and farming. All the mamas passing greeted me a little more enthusiastically, seeing that oh, the mzungu farms kind of like us! Except they can create an entire field of future food in the time it takes me to create my little 2' by 6' patch.
My site continues to impress me with how beautiful it is, and how perfect it is for me. There have been a couple of days cold enough that I have worn my fleece in the middle of the day- and this is supposed to be the end of the hottest season. The dominating colors of my site are green and red. The grass and the leaves of trees are green, and on the days when it rains, the light filtered through the clouds makes everything look greener. But contrasted against this green is the red of the dirt and the trunks of the papaya and banana trees, which burns a brighter red on jua kali days when the near-equatorial sun is merciless. I have a beautiful view of hills from my front porch, and for the past several nights I have watched as lightning flashed in the clouds over the surrounding hills. Its like fireworks, but better!
Here are pictures of my house!

Jikoni (kitchen). Um, I will do something with this. Someday.

Choo. Very important.

Courtyard. Look at how luscious that grass is. I work so hard at landscaping (no I don't).




My favorite view sitting on my porch. There is a boy who grazes his cow in this field some days. I think he is so poetic, this lone boy with his lone black cow, that he follows close behind as the cow meanders slowly.

The zahanati and my garden.
Pretty flowers in front of my house.