Hooray for Zebras!

Ummmm...wow! Hello NY!

2007-06-07T19:30:00.000+03:00

I've been sitting here for the last hour trying to think of what to write. I'm sitting in a friend's apartment, using her laptop, occasionally glancing at her flatscreen TV, and I can't get over how out-of-body the whole experience feels. Part of it is the jetlag...instead of sleeping I wandered around the Dubai airport/immediate surrounds, and 40 hours of more/less continual wakefulness is probably taking a toll. Still.

I'm pretty damn sad, truth be told. It's to be expected. It was inevitable. I know that. But it doesn't keep the tears from welling at the silliest little things. At the realization that I can't waste things now- every god-damn thing they gave us on the airplane (all that crap- napkins, toothpicks, toothbrushes, socks, etc.) I had to keep it. I couldn't just throw it away. Same with the food; they always give you more than you can eat and I was agonizing about what to do with the leftovers. Then there are the memories of the going away party with my students; it was the most ridiculous hodgepodge of silly, heartbreaking, maudlin moments and while I can't think of some without a mental eye-roll, (like the fact that anytime I spoke they played Mariah Carey's "Heartbreaker") the enduring imagine is of my students surrounding me until the secretary finally had to pull me away- "You won't forget about us?..." So greatful for what should be a right by this point- access to quality education. Anyway, it's temporary, I know that. I'll be back to my old self soon. In far, far too short a time, it'll seem like I'd never left New York. Maybe that's the hardest thing of all to accept.

There are good things going on- most notably, I don't have to go to all those interviews after all as UNICEF called during my last afternoon in Dar (reading Nadine Gordimer, drinking a spritzer, looking out over the ocean) and offered me the job! I'd talked to them a few times, sent them some references and writing samples, but was set to meet with them this Monday for a formal interview. They apparently decided that that was unnecessary, thus saving me loads of trouble, and ensuring that my trip back to New York would be filled with anticipation and no small amount of nervousness (I...uh, start on Monday. Yeah, the next few weeks will be something else, to say the least.) The job itself is a bit complicated to explain here but will involve HIV/AIDS education, curriculum development, and a lot of online/website content work. I'll keep you posted....er, actually, maybe I won't. I think this'll be one of the last posts for me, seeing as I've made it back safe and sound and all. On the plus side, I anticipate that I'll be much easier to reach by email from now on, so please feel free to get in touch. Thanks for all your support...much, much love,

Katie

home again, home again, jiggity jig....

2007-05-31T16:19:00.001+03:00

Just a quick update, though hopefully I'll have time to write a bit more in the next few days...

I'll be back in the U.S. (in New York) on Thursday, June 7th. I'll spend Friday and Monday frantically interviewing-I have 5 interviews in 2 days (jet lag? what jet lag?) and will then hopefully be heading back to the Midwest for some quality time with the family. More soon, lots of love,

Katie

Lazy afternoons...

2007-04-11T14:25:00.000+03:00

Hooray for Easter Break! I'm on vacation now and just made it back to lovely Ndanda after a brief trip to the coast to celebrate Christ's miraculous return to the land of the living. Life is good, though you might be wondering what I do with all my free time now that school-work doesn't take up 10-12 hours of each day. So below are my top 3 ways to spend a free day in southern Tanzania; any suggestions you might have for additional ways to kill time would be much appriciated!

1) Snorkling! I have a wicked sunburn on the back of my legs/bum thanks to a weekend spent snorkling in Mtwara and Msimbati, though it proved a small price to pay given the amazing coral/fish. A large group of us decided to stay at the Benedictine beach house (ah the perks of working with the Benedictines!) which is right on the Indian Ocean, so come low tide you can just grab your mask and go. The best part was when Sheena (a Lab Tech from Boulder, CO who works near me in Ndanda Hospital) and I decided to follow a shelf in the fish-hook shaped bay next to us out to deeper water. Suddenly, with no warning, the shelf on our right-hand side dropped off hundreds of feet into dark blue, forming a canyon with the huge coral formations on the left. Floating out over the trench felt like jumping off a cliff to discover flight: reckless and suicidal- and exhilerating when you discovered you could fly after all. Swimming down the canyon over that rift of deep blue was like entering a photo from National Geographic- corals the size of boulders, blooming like flowers; the cobalt blue to my left, fathomless and filled with a terrible sense of possibility; (it was probably NOT a wise move to read the "Ocean Dangers!" section of my underwater field guide right before heading out; I kept expecting to see jaws suddenly emerge from below) and of course the fish, a thousand strong, weaving through the coral and around me (and my hands which, like a 3 year-old's, kept trying to verify their reality.) They were amazing, I wish I could describe the colors, the sheer variety of the life down there...ah, what I wouldn't give for an underwater camera :)

2) Hiking! Living at the base of the Makonde Plateau has its perks, one of the big ones being all the trails that lead up onto the Plateau. My favorite one involves hiking uphill for a little over an hour until you get to a tiny lake (or a large pond, depending on your view) built by the Germans 60 years ago when they were looking for ways of using hydropower to supply electricity to the hospital/abbey below. It's in a gorgeous setting deep in the hills and, despite being man-made, looks entirely natural being surrounded on all sides by boulders and trees. The hills rise straight up around the lake, and if you get up early enough, you can watch the morning mist drift through the tangles of trees on the slopes. It's also one of the few freshwater places in TZ that's safe from Bilzaria, so I've taken to doing laps in the morning or early evening, depending on my schedule for the day. It's a bit surreal seeing lizards the the length of your arm swimming next to you, but the coolness of the water (it's always quite cool given how deep it is- the current guess is over 30 meters!) makes it all okay :)

3) Kittens! Francine and Sheena have decided to adopt 4 abandoned kittens that were found outside the hospital lab a few weeks ago. Given that none of us have owned cats before, we're having fun trying to figure out how to raise them/what to do with them ("Is it hungry? I can't tell...does it look hungry? How does a cat look hungry?") Two are gradually submitting to our efforts at socialization, while the other two remain mostly feral. I'll get to cat-sit for 3 weeks when Sheena and Francine head off to intermediate language training, and am thrilled at having animals to play with and a real kitchen to cook in. While I don't think I'll ever get into cats all that much, (give me a dog any day, right?) I can't deny that when all 4 start playing together, they're pretty damn cute. It's a sign of the relative lack of stimulation in our lives that we can watch them for hours and hours without tiring...sort of Tz's version of cable TV. :)

Okay, more soon, lots of love!
kt

2007-03-19T14:49:00.000+03:00

I think I sounded a bit bitter in my last post; a friend of mine here told me I should take the edge off a bit, and I think he's right...just get so angry irritated sometimes. It reminds me of when I was visiting home in Decemeber and I started venting to Dad about an editorial in the paper that pledged continued support towards the Iraq war. After listening to me for about 5 minutes, he was like "Kate, you've gotten get a life, babe." So, so true. In this case as well, no doubt.

Moving on, life is progressing at its usual ambling pace. I managed to have a beer in my hand for St. Patrick's Day- a small miracle as the people here are not big drinkers, to say the least. I've also been reading loads of good books of late- G. Greene's "A Burnt-Out Case," "The Brothers K," (I read it around this time last year, as I recall) Z. Smith's "White Teeth," and a Kenyan author- Ngugi- who's my new favorite of the month. If you can hunt down a copy of "Weep Not Child" or "A Grain of Wheat," you won't be disappointed.

More soon, much love,

kt

Pulling the "I've been in Tanzania for 19 months so I know" Card

2007-03-15T16:10:00.000+03:00

Okay, I just can't help myself; below is an article that's been making the rounds here with the volunteer population, thanks to Dan and the folks at home who sent it to him. I've left out some names and cut some parts of it for brevity (nothing important, I assure you.) But first, have at it:

L. T.'s on a Mission to Help Children in Africa

Forrestville Valley Superintendent...is taking the road less travelled to Africa. He wishes more people would follow his lead. T, who worked in the far reaches of Zambia and Tanzania during two summer vacations, said few things work and very few people care, particularly about children. He was introduced to the regions through miliary friends stationed there and immediately felt a call to feed and provide for them. "You've got to get over the notion that it's wrong. They can't connect the dots. They're on an elementary level, there," T said. His three to four week mission trips have allowed for plenty of first-hand reflection on the poor conditions in Lusaka, Zambia, and the hills north of Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Thatched roofs collapse, roads don't exist, and children lack enough food, medicine, proper clothing and school supplies to survive beyond 25 years of age. The population, he said, is on a different plane, concerned mostly with simply staying alive. Villagers who don't die from malaria, AIDS or tuberculosis are often eaten by wild animals. "Thirty is pushing it...There is no innate desire to care for children, as in the United States." His transformation from a small-town administrator to a trailblazing humanitarian is evident in the rigors of his daily routine: climbing on charter planes, hiring African workers, floating across rivers on rafts and changing multiple tires each trip...Sometimes they just walk. T, no slack with a weapon, has provided some 5,000 pounds of meat per trip. It sounds impressive, but can usually be obtained with a couple of hippos. The meat is carved and dried over a fire...T then transports the dried jerky-style strips back into the hands of children. T also brings paper, pencils, and soccer balls for the children from larger cities..."I figure if we can eventually talk to one another, maybe we can stop shooting each other," T said.

It goes on like this for awhile, peppered liberally with testimonials from a school board member he works with about how amazing he is. Most volunteers (Peace Corps/VSO's) crack up upon reading this. The laughter comes easy- if two summer vacation trips of three to four weeks is all you need to be a "trailblazing humanitarian" then we're all in the running to be the next Albert Schwitzer (a typical exchange after reading said article: "So blazed any new humanitarian trails today?" "Nah, I'll do it after lunch, just as soon as I finish working on that pesky world peace thing.") Hell, that whole paragraph is great- he gets to use charter planes, a car, he can hire people to work for him, and he's talking about rigor? The best part has to be the last line though- "sometimes they just walk." Because, I mean, people never just walk places in Africa, or anywhere else for that matter.

Okay, enough with the cheap shots, so the reporter's spent a bit too much time reading Reader's Digests' "Drama in Real Life" articles. No big deal, so it goes. And if that were all, I wouldn't be wasting your time here. But the real concern isn't some unfortunate use of borderline hyperbole, it's everything else; the condescention, the dangerous implications, and the loads of facts that are just plain wrong. For instance, yes, life expectancy is lower here than in the States, but there isn't a single teacher under the age of 25 in my school, and any almanac can show you that most Tanzanians not only manage to make it past 25, but even to 30 and (gasp!) 40! Also, while AIDS and Malaria are responsible for a huge proportion of deaths, very few people are ever eaten by wild animals; this is Africa, not Jurassic Park.

Similarly, while some of his comments aren't completely wrong, they're pretty damn close- his quotes about the conditions in the areas he visited ("thatched roofs collapse, roads don't exist...") are only applicable to the area he's visited; it's ludicrous to think that they apply to the country as a whole based on a short visit of 3-4 weeks. Think about it, if someone visits only Tribeca in NYC or Cabrini Greens in Chicago, do you think they're going to have a basis for making broad generalizations about the country as whole? Of course not! This goes back to one of my big issues with the article; one can't generalize about a country or a people based on the experience of a few weeks, months, or even years. I've become more and more careful about this the longer I've been here- avoid broad generalizations. Indulge in them, and inevitably you'll come perilously close to racism.

Oh, I know good ole' L.T. would protest hugely if I told him he was racist- I mean who's he shooting the hippos for, right? But how else do you explain comments like "very few people care, particularly about children"? Christ, all you have to do is visit one hospital, one time, see one mother lose a child to malaria, and then you realize, "oh, right, most people do probably care about their children here, the same way they do in every other frickin' country in the world."

And speaking of children, the last thing (seriously, THE LAST THING) the children of Tanzania need is another bumbling white person coming in to pass out goodies before jetting back to his regular life. Now I know what you're thinking ("aren't you being a little hard on the guy, Katie?") and yes, I am, but if there were only one thing I could change, it would be people who give things (anything- hippos, soccer balls, pens, etc.) to children. Adults...well, that's a harder issue, but with children it's more clear cut; if you give them things, then you degrade the child, and you risk turning them into lifelong beggers (you also reinforce traditional racial stereotypes- "I am white, and hence wealthy, and your success/happiness is dependent on my handouts" but we'll leave that topic for another time.) There is nothing more heartbreaking here than listening to a child say "mzungu, give me money" because you know that some well-meaning tourist a few years back gave them 500tsh, and also took away something in the process.

Right, so if you can't do what he did, what can one do to help people in Africa? My first bit of advice would be to direct your attention to the literally hundreds of Non-profits and NGO's working in Africa right now. Criticize the NGO scene all you want, but most of them are doing good things, and they usually have far more knowledge of the local dynamics/ development issues than any one person could gain. I'm out of time here, but please feel free to respond/fight back as you see fit. I don't hate T...I just wish he'd think a little more about the implications of his actions. Spending time in Africa has become very cool of late, and most of the long-term volunteers are already starting to experience the implications of that. Making a donation to WorldVision, VSO, etc. isn't as sexy as having nouveau "white hunter" articles written about you, but it does a hell of a lot more for the children.

Katie

I'm online! Yay! Twice in one week!

2007-03-04T17:35:00.000+03:00

I feel like I have to post now that I'm online- It's become one of those steady rountines now, like brushing one's teeth, or searching the room for lizards at night. Even getting online has acquired an element of routine to it. Generally, I sneak into Fr. Tuzunde's office, sometime when I think he'll be out, armed with some sort of errand (today I'm returning keys for some friends who visited this weekend) and then piddle around on his computer while I wait for him to show up. It's a good deal for both of us actually- I get some sort of tangible reminder that there's a world outside of Ndanda, and he has me out of his hair when he's trying to do work here. Fr. Tuzunde is one of the best parts of living here- He's a portly, serene father with an air of both competence and absolute contentment. Just sitting in the same room with him make the accumulated stress (How am I going to finish grading those papers if the power goes out!? Is that cut on my hand ever going to heal?) gradually dissipate- leaving only a mellow smile in its wake.

This weekend was nice; I had two friends from Mtwara unexpectedly visit, and we spent the weekend catching up, watching movies on Tariq's laptop, and eating out. Ndanda has only two eating establishments (both bars) serving two different dishes (chipsi kuku- chicken and fries, and wali nyama- rice and meat) so the culinary options were exhausted early, leading us to prowl through the local market in search of delicacies. We returned triumphant- a whole kilo of passion fruit for only $1.25! Have you ever tried passion fruit? It's best if you cut off the top and then scoop the seeds out with a spoon, sucking on them for a bit before swallowing them whole. They taste kinda like a pulpy Sweetart- amazing :)

Life here is ambling on at an easy Tanzanian pace. More soon,

Hugs,
Katie

Back in the Bush

2007-03-01T14:55:00.000+03:00

One of the things I remember most clearly from college is sitting in a dingy corner of my senior seminar class listening to Prof. Gordon Thompson tell us that if we had one good friend by the time that we were his age, we were doing all right. It seemed impossibly depressing, and, well, just downright unlikely. I had loads of friends! I didn't want to lose any of them! And you're telling me that when I'm...oh, say, 60 or 62...I'm only going to get to have one? If it were anyone other than Gordon, I think I'd have dismissed the comment offhand but, like most things Gordon said, it had more than a grain of truth to it. Only one might be an exaggeration, but...

Where is this coming from? Well, I was in Dar this week, for a number of conferences, one of which was a workshop designed for people who had nearly finished their two years in country and would thus be leaving soon (yes, it was mostly an excuse to hang out with old friends...sort of a "you've served your time" pat-on-the-back type thing.) It's a rough group to say goodbye to- Bart, Jamie, Kendra, Ruth, Tariq...loads of people that have been here with me from the start. Seriously, I wanted to crawl into bed with a good book and a mug of tea after we had all split off to return to our separate lives, particularly since I've been here long enough to have figured out the truth- that none of these relationships'll be maintained, at least not at their current level. Oh, sure, you'll have the odd email or two, and one might even last the distance and stay a "real" friend, but as all of them are from Holland, England, or Canada, it's unlikely that you'll be bumping into them in the supermarket next week. It's hard to explain how quickly friendships solidify and become intense here- what would take a year in the States takes two months; secrets, confessions, favors you would ask only the closest of friends- all come pouring out to these people who in some ways seem more real than those you've known all your life. And then they leave...and it feels almost like they've died in some strange, terrible way. You get over the first few, but then you find yourself closing up, less willing to befriend the new, sunburnt, bewildered faces coming to replace the old...and before you know it your friends are mostly memories, simply because it gets to be too hard to say goodbye. I suppose its no surprise that most of my friends now are Tanzanians; you catch yourself hoping that they'll always be here, that you'll always be able to return and take up right where you left off, should circumstances allow.

Despite what the above would have you believe, my time in Dar was mostly great. I caught up with people, got to eat loads of food that I never see down south (cheese! curry! processed food of any kind!) and even managed to do some work. I also experienced some drama- something that holds a morbid sort of appeal given how tranquil life has been of late.

I'd stayed up all night with two friends, Bart and Phillip, as Bart was leaving in the morning and none of us wanted to be the one to say "last round." Sunrise said it for us, and while Bart and Phillip went back to catch some shut-eye, I headed off to "Posta," the local daladala stand, to catch a dala to the VSO office for an 8 a.m. planning session/meeting with my Program Manager. I'm usually pretty aware of myself there, particularly in the mornings/evenings when Posta is at its most hectic. It really is something that has to be experienced to be believed- crowds of people coming and going, vendors selling chappatti, chai, and a hundred-thousand different knick-knacks, (think of an open-air Dollar General and you get the picture) and the occasional lost tourist who's almost certainly getting conned out of his/her money. Like I said, I'm usually pretty aware of myself, but I occasionally get caught in difficult situations, as I did last Wednesday. The dalas I were waiting for (a "Masaki" dala- recognizable by the purple stripe running down its sides) were late, so when one finally did show up about 20 minutes later, there was a huge crowd of people waiting to get on. (Now the smart thing to do in this situation is to wait it out- the dalas usually come in groups, and by the third or fourth one, you can usually get on.) I don't know whether it was the lack of sleep, or the thought that I had an edge on the crowd, but instead of waiting when the dala drove up, I went for it (as did roughly 80 other people.)

Have you ever been caught in a mob? It was the strangest sensation- like being dragged by a tide in the ocean; you suddenly have no power to choose your own course. What had before been a busy street became a wave of people, yelling, pushing, hurting each other- all to get on a silly, striped mini-van. A woman in front of me was trampled; all you could see/hear of her were pathetic whimpers. Two men to my right got into a fight- fists flying, hitting each other, hitting people unfortunate enough to be located next to them. And I? I got pushed against the side of the dala while strong, disembodied hands emptied the pockets of my jeans. It was surreal. Later, people asked why I didn't yell out for help while my pockets were being picked, but even then I realized how futile that would be- who are you yelling to? These aren't people anymore...no, we've all gotten swept up into some terrible force of nature, as bleak and dispassionate as the wind. It wasn't a bad experience per se, just...well, surreal pretty much sums it up.

Life has, otherwise, been markedly less surreal of late. I'm now teaching Book-keeping, along with English and Math, which is keeping me happily busy. The students are still great, and the weather has been blessedly cool, especially in the mornings and evenings when low clouds and fog make the surrounding hills look like the Smokies. Every day I see a new insect; today I saw a butterfly that was the most beautiful color of teal- shimmering, irridescent, with black and orange stripes and a bright orange body. Yesterday it was a black Rhinocerous beetle half the size of my hand. Seriously, between the stripped lizards rustling the vines around my door, and the hoards of toads that take to the sidewalks in the evening, this place would be an 11 year old's dream come true.

Much love, more soon,
Katie

When it Rains...

2007-02-13T14:23:00.000+03:00

I can pinpoint the exact moment when my fortunes here started to decline. It was almost two weeks ago now, at 7:08 am on Superbowl Sunday. I was cramming myself onto a minibus, and coming to the dawning realization that I would be standing for the trip to Mikindani. Now I've had to stand on public transportation lots of times, (just try finding a seat on NY's downtown 6 train during the morning rush) but never for 6 hours, pressed up on all sides against sweating bodies with one lone, frail-looking ceiling rail for support, and roughly 8 square inches of windshield in view for entertainment. Not that this bothered me; it was Superbowl Sunday! The Colts were playing the Bears! And far from being miserable at the fantastically uncomfortable situation I'd gotten myself into, (I mean who need to have both their legs awake at the same time, right?) I instead followed the advice of the innumerable nuns of childhood and offered it up...on the Bears behalf (sort of like making a donation in someone's name, I figured.) I reasoned that when He saw my selfless suffering, His limitless sympathy would doubtless be invoked, and He would turn his merciful, all powerful face towards the Bears, and bestow on them His divine favor.

That was the idea, anyway. I won't dwell on the aftermath. 6:30 a.m. Monday saw me closing my tab at the bar, watching the final, disheartening seconds of Superbowl 41, and inwardly wincing at all the text messages that would be arriving in a few hours ("So, how did it go? Did your team win?!) By 7 am I was sitting at the bus stand, staring out over the Indian Ocean, contemplating the upcoming afternoon of work ahead, and feeling quite sorry for my companions who had stayed up to watch it with me, and now had less than an hour to change and wake up before heading off to their respective jobs (how's that for friendship by the way- Philip's British and Tariq's Canadian and they both stayed up all night watching it with me, despite the fact that they couldn't give a fig for American Football. I owe them, though Tariq's already hinted that I might have to sit though the Stanley Cup finals...)

And as the old saying goes, when it rains, it pours. Tuesday morning I came down with a nasty headcold which kept me in bed until Thursday, though I still have a rattling cough as a more or less perminent keepsake. Thursday evening, still looking pathetic, my boss broke it to me that the house that I was supposed to be moving to in Mwena was instead going to be his house; I would continue the occupy the room in the guesthouse that I've been in for the last month. Imagine living for 6 months in your local Motel 6 and you'll get an idea of how I mentally responded to this proposal. This same headmaster (who's really a lovely, lovely man despite the heck I'm giving him here) also decided that the teachers weren't really interested in developing their English skills further, thus instead of doing the job outlined in my placement description, I'd be in charge of "flowers and all-around beautification" of the school campus, as well as filling in for teachers when they fell sick/didn't show up for classes (How does it feel to be the most qualified substitute teacher in all of Tanzania, you ask? "Swell!" I say.) On top of this, the rain has been pouring for over a week straight now and any hope I had of saving my only pair of tennis shoes (New Balance- worth half a month's salary) has officially ended, as nothing- not my hair, not the floor of my bathroom, and most definitely not my shoes- dries in this climate.

Okay, so I'm a bit cranky today; that whole wrong-side-of-the-bed thing. There have been some good developments of late as well. My boss is proving amenable to letting me teach some evening English classes to students, and I might even get to take 4 periods of Math or so a week, so as to help the Academic Master who has his hands full teaching all the science classes. The kids are lovely, as always, and I had a really nice weekend when my friend Tariq came out to visit. The best part was on Sunday night when we had to walk to Miami Beach, the only bar in the area serving food at that hour, in the middle of a ferocious rainstorm. The thunder was echoing around in the hills, the landscape pitch black, save for the lightning strikes which would suddenly coax color and texture out of the surrounding darkness. It was amazing, really. You'd be stubbling along, trying to stay on the path, gripping your pathetically inadequate umbrella, when a light would flash and for just a split-second the world would open up- you'd suddenly see the glistening red dirt beneath your shoes, the wildly colored blossoms- crimson, fuschia, glowing and slick with water against the deep green foliage. An instant later, it was dark again and you'd be half-wondering if you'd seen anything or just imagined it all up.

More soon...I have to be in Dar for a conference next week, and I have high hopes of catching up on emails then. Love to all!

Katie

I made it!

2007-01-31T16:41:00.000+03:00

Hey!

I finally made it to a computer that will load blogger! How cool is that?! I'm sorry it's been awhile since I've made it online; it's looking as though I'll be able to check email/load updates about twice a month, so don't worry if you go for long stretches without hearing from me.

I only have a few minutes, so here are the big things going on:

* I made it to Ndanda! The trip here was surreal; a plane flight down the Indian Ocean coast, a trip deep into the Makonde Plateau (monkeys as roadkill! more palm trees than you can shake a stick at!) but I finally made it, and am happy to report that the job promises to be great. I'm teaching at a brand-new school run by a Benedictine Monestary in the tiny village of Mwena (next to the the slightly-less tiny Ndanda.) The kids are super-respectful, the work is interesting, and I'm in one of the more beautiful locations on earth. You should see my house. I'll be moving in next week and while it used to be a chicken coop, it does boast enough gorgeous views to create a whole library of bad poetry. It's remote, right at the edge of Mwena, near the end of a dirt track that lead off into hills that look like they have yet to be touched by man. In the valleys you can see palm trees and bamboo, while the hilltops themselves are hazy with mist and birdsong in the mornings. I can't wait to get a bike so I can start exploring. The only downside to my school is the school shirt that I'll have to wear. During our last teacher's meeting, we were debating on what kind of shirts to wear; after an hour or so, the Headmaster finally came to the decision that we'd have polo shirts printed with "Education Empowers," followed by the school acronym. Which would be great if we weren't "Abbey Secondary School." Who says Americans don't get irony? Yeah, I know what you're thinking Uncle Al, and I'm not even going to dignify it with a reply. So there :) And, yes, I'll make sure to take plenty of pictures.

* About a week ago I found out that Grossman managed to pull it together, and that the Bears would indeed be playing in the Superbowl (My first thoughts after hearing the news were roughly "YES!" and, "I HAVE to watch that game.") That second thought took some work. After literally hours of searching, I managed to locate one bar (in a roughly 300 mile radius) that not only had satallite T.V., but also ESPN. Great! Now all I had to do was track down the owner and see what I could do to get him to open up the place at 3 am for the Superbowl. Martin, happily, proved obliging, but wanted a firm commitment from a party of at least 10. Luckily, this region has loads of football hungry Peace Corps just dying for a Superbowl party; an upstanding lad named Dennis had been having similar thoughts, and less than 24 hours later it was all wrapped up: on February 4th the best superbowl party in Tanzania will be in Mikindani at 10 Degrees South Lodge, with several PCVs, a few curious Brits, and yours truly for company. The only downside to the whole thing is that the lodge is 7 hours away from me by minibus, but 14 hours with chickens on your lap is worth it for a few hours of glory, right? And who needs sleep?

Okay, there's more to tell but, alas, I'm out of time. As email doesn't seem to be much of an option, I'm keen to write letters if people are game; just send me your address!

Much love,
Katie

Sweet home Indiana!

2006-12-24T10:44:00.000+03:00

Home for the holidays! I'm still here, although I'll be heading back to Tanzania via Switzerland in a week. Thanks for all of the emails/phone calls; I've been unexpectedly busy of late, but a New Year's resolution to start answering such things in a timely fashion is in the works. Thanks for putting up with me (what can I say? I have great friends and family!)

As most of you know, I'm still enjoying the friendly confines of Peru, Indiana. Some memorable moments:

* Notre Dame vs Alabama- Best basketball game I've been to in my life, with the possible exception of when my high school team won regionals. The Irish were big underdogs against the then #4 ranked Crimson Tide, though an arena packed with screaming students undoubtedly helped to even the odds. Dan and I yelled ourselves silent and hung around til long after the game finished just to soak up the electric atmosphere. Ah, if only I could be here for the big dance!

* Peru's not really a backwater of civilization, but it does sort of seem that way sometimes. Try buying alcohol with a Passport - even if they don't flat out refuse it as ID, you'll have to explain how it's laid out in exhaustive detail. After all, those passports can be sort of tricky sometimes, what with all their stamps and pages and all. (Since it's Christmas Eve, I should probably lay off the sarcasm a bit - don't want coal in my stocking after all!)

* Who says class reunions aren't fun? I had an impromtu one of sorts the other night when I went to the local bar ("Whisky River") to meet up with some old friends from high school. Peru's a small town, but we take our drinking seriously, so the bar proved far more impressive than I expected. The decor wasn't much to look at, but they had a few pool tables, a small stage with plenty of room for dancing, and even a mechanical bull in the back! (Think of a local dive bar with Texas pretensions and you'll get a decent sense of the vibe.) It was surreal seeing everyone after a (God am I getting old!) 7 year absence. All the old cliches came into play- the kid who was a dork in high school was now playing lead guitar on the stage in a local rock band; girls who had been gorgeous in high school, looked worn after a decade of cigarettes and 2 children. The popular, hot jock who wouldn't give me the time of day in high school hit on me (without realizing who I was) when I went to the counter to order drinks. Strangely enough, almost no one recognized me- a surprise given that I was involved in about half of the extra curriculars at school and couldn't be bothered to stay at home for more than an hour during my junior/senior years. I'm hoping that its due to the surface details- amazing how a different hair style and art-school glasses can change appearances, right? It's probably also due to the fact that I was chomping at the bit to leave Peru; I didn't hate high school and fit in just fine, but I couldn't wait to get to college to meet other Democrats, read more Judith Butler, meet people who had grown up in such exotic locales as Pittsburgh and St. Louis. There's a passage in Edgar Lee Masters' "Spoon River Anthology" that summed up my impatience/insecurities perfectly:

I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you,
I was ashamed of you. I despised you
As the place of my nativity.
And there in Rome, among the artists,
Speaking Italian, speaking French,
I seemed to myself at times to be free
Of every trace of my origin.
I seemed to be reaching the heights of art
And to breathe the air that the masters breathed,
And to see the world with their eyes.
But still they'd pass mywork and say;
"What are you driving at, my friend?
Sometimes the face looks like Apollo's,
At others it has a trace of Lincoln's."
There was no culture, you know, in Spoon River,
And I burned with shame and held my peace.
And what could I do, all covered over
And weighted down with western soil,
Except aspire, and pray for another
Birth in the world, with all of Spoon River
Rooted out of my soul?

Maybe Wolfe was right, maybe you can't go home again, but at least you can reconcile yourself with it from a distance. Silly, arrogant girl! Time works miracles; I laugh at Peru sometimes but leap at chances to go back, and nothing puts life into perspective like Tanzania. On the drive back from Indy today I found myself catching my breath (literally) at how lucky I was to be born in Peru, with its modern medicine, steady police force, and job opportunites, however modest they may be. 7 years is a bit late to be giving thanks to the home that made you who are, but what better time to make amends for such sins than Christmas?

So it goes. Much love to everyone (and Happy Holidays!)

Katie

Indiana!

2006-10-27T17:06:00.000+03:00

Isn't Indiana great? Hot water, presorted rice, toliet paper in every bathroom...I still get giddy when I get to go for a car ride. Shouldn't it be harder to come back? It helps that I've been too busy for navel gazing; I think this morning is the first time I've been alone in the last week. It's been a great last few days. After I got over the shock of seeing my little brother, (who somehow managed to grow 4 inches and acquire a manly baritone in the year I was gone) life improved rapidly. This last Saturday I was at the Notre Dame, North Carolina game, tailgating with family/friends and watching the Irish continue their winning season (I also had the impossibly good luck of sitting directly behind a Tanzanian man! Anyone who's been to an ND football game knows the crowd's lily white, but the man in front of me was not only Tanzanian, but also spoke Swahili! Amazing, right?! In Indiana of all places!) On Sunday I went to the Bears game; the tailgate was equally great, (props to Al for doing it up right- 2 inch thick steaks at a tailgate?!) but the game itself was all kinds of depressing. I'm glad I'm not a big man- I'd have totally made an ass out of myself what with my smart mouth and the obnoxious Miami fans surrounding me. The Bears, after starting the season 7-0, lost to the Dolphins 31-13, thanks in no small part to 6 turnovers. It was depressing, but the exhibition ND basketball game last night almost made up for it. We won solidly, so there's hope for the future. Is it pathetic that watching sports takes up so much of my freetime? More soon, cross your fingers that the dems take the house!

Home sweet home!

2006-10-13T10:46:00.000+03:00

Guess what! I'm coming back for a visit! I'll be in the NYC from Oct. 24th until the 27th, when I fly out to Chicago to visit the family. Exciting, right? I can't wait. These last few weeks have been hectic and mildly depressing, and it's nice to have something definite to look forward to. Mildly depressing in that I'm packing up shop in Dodoma. The school made a lovely and heartfelt apology, but the wheels were already in motion to move me to another placement, and so I'm still leaving. There isn't half so much bitterness now, but I can't go an hour without getting all nostalgic about something ("oh, this is the last time I'm going to see my favorite Jacaranda in bloom!"; "oh, this is my last Friday the 13th in Dodoma!") It's starting to get ridiculous.

The hardest part was giving away my dog, Mwasha, despite the fact that it was to my friend Dan who'll no doubt give Mwasha equal, if not more, love and attention. In my house, Mwasha ate table scraps, so he ate when I ate. Dan cooks Mwasha breakfast first thing in the morning before his morning walk. In my house, Mwasha was not allowed in the house. Dan's given Mwasha his own room. Mwasha's undoubtedly moved up in the world.

Moving aside, lots of good things have been happening of late. I've been updating the VSO guide to Dodoma, which is helping me feel productive/in touch with my inner writer. I had a great time at my school's recent graduation ceremony, which included a personal shout-out from the Mayor of Dodoma in his commencement address. My friend Dan successfully avoided catastrophe during the recent state exam lab that he was proctoring. (This deserves a real explanation- My friend Dan teaches the equivalent of A.P. Chemistry at the school he's working at. A few months ago, he found out that one of the lab questions on the state exam involved carbon tetrachloride- a toxic solvent that's considered a controlled substance in the US. Not only is it poisonous when inhaled or absorbed through the skin- and difficult to clean up should it be spilled- but because of its dangerous properties, Dan had never worked with it himself. The closest he'd come to it was a demonstration in college, yet he was responsible for supervising its use during a lab exam involving 60 students using inferior equipment. Yep, he was a bit nervous. Especially when he found out that a week earlier a student in a school up north died when attempting the question! Further investigating led to the discovery that this wasn't the first time it had happened; when the question was used on a previous exam 10 years earlier, a student had died then as well. You'd think that maybe the government would...oh, say, choose another question for future exams but no, the "Question o' Death," as Dan so quaintly put it, is still alive and well, so to speak. Fortunately, his students are also alive and well; after 80+ hours of prep and 3 nerve-wracking hours of proctoring, both Dan and his students emerged unscathed. And I emerged with a new appriciation for teaching mathematics...at least quadratic equations are only killers in a rhetorical sense. )

Okay, hopefully see you all soon!
Much love,

Katie

Building Character...

2006-09-28T13:39:00.000+03:00

So I resigned from my job at Nkuhungu School. I'll leave the details for personal conversations/emails; suffice to say that the school management and I had differing philosophies regarding a number of issues, (child learning, corruption, fundraising, etc.) and thus I deemed it a good time to look for greener pastures (particularly since it hasn't rained here- and I mean not one single drop- since May. The dust-storms are are amazing.) It was an incredibly difficult decision, given that most of the people at my school are amazing, and I've been really down about it for the last few weeks, but I felt like I didn't have any other options. So it goes.

On the plus side of all this, VSO has been incredibly supportive and have managed to find me a couple of potential replacement placements. I'm still keen to stay in lovely, lovely Tanzania and am excited about having a placement where my skills are fully utilized. Details are still being sorted out, but I should know for sure in a few weeks where I'm heading; the first possible placement (short-term, 3 months only) has me in the the southern coastal region of Mtwara, on the Makonde Plateau in a tiny village called Ndanda. It's incredibly remote, at least by the standards I'm used to. Should one try to visit me, they'd spend 25+ hours on a bus from Dar to get to Mtwara, (allowing for extra time to get out and push when the bus gets stuck in the mud- yep, I'll be down there during the rainy season) and then at least another 6 hours on a pick-up/daladala from Mtwara to Ndanda, assuming the road hasn't been washed out. Luckily, VSO flies me down most of the way, so hopefully there won't be any future blog entries describing the 5 days I spent hiking to my village after the bus disappeared into the mud :) The big plus of all this (besides the fact that the area is incredibly beautiful) is that supposedly the place where I'd be working, (a Benedictine Monestary that is just starting up a Secondary School) and the people I'd be working with (Fr. Augustino) are amazing; Several fellow VSO vols in the region have remarked that if I'm working with him, than there are no doubts that the placement will be great. So I'm hopeful. Placement confirmation should occur in the next 2 weeks; will keep you posted when the news becomes definite. Should this placement work out, than I'll be looking into doing one more short-term stint before heading back to the states...I mean I do have to finish grad school/get a real job at some point, right?

The month notice that I gave my school ends in a little under 2 weeks. After that, I'll either be coming back to the states (NYC, Indiana) for a visit, or I'll kill time in Dar/Zanzibar for a month while staying with friends, watching football, and finally emailing people since I've gotten impossibly behind again. Power rationing is in full affect now (most days we have no electricity from 7 am to 7 pm) so it might be a week or two before I update this again, but take care in the meantime...

Love,
Katie

P.S. Also, did anyone manage to tape the Notre Dame- Michigan State game? If they continue to play well, I might just have to look at early return options... :)

Another Quick Post

2006-09-14T14:27:00.000+03:00

Hey there!

If you're thinking of sending things to me via post, it's probably best to send them to the general VSO post box below (or just wait- might be coming home for a visit around Christmas!)

Kathleen Mulloy
c/o VSO
P.O. Box 6297
Dar es Salaam
Tanzania

More soon,

Katie

Just a Quick Note...

2006-09-01T13:20:00.001+03:00

Quick Post:

I've been sick of late so it'll just be a quick list of the highlights from the last few weeks- More soon!

1.) Best Gift so far in Tanzania- My friend Dan pulled out all the stops when he happened by my sickroom with a snazzy silkscreened string backpack bearing the image of my favorite footballer ever (spoken like a true junior high student right?) Twin images of Ronaldinho occupy both sides of the bag- In one he stands grinning in his Barca jersey, in the other (bizarrely) he's naked, his hair's tied up in a bun and he's raising his eyes and hands in prayer. Both sexy and chaste at the same time. Very strange, but honestly, it might beat the ipod as the thing I would save first should the house go up in flames.

2.) Best Description of Underperforming Students- "They need to be spoon-fed." This was listed in the official minutes at the last management meeting at Nkuhungu School. I swear, I'm not making fun of their language ability, the vast majority of managment figures at my school have amazing English. This, of course, makes their few slips hilarious, especially given how formal the meetings are here. The context of this one was something like:

"To aid the students and to facilitate their continued achievement, it was decided at the last management meeting that the Form 1 and 3 students will be dividing into 3 streams as follows:

Stream A aims for complete syllabus coverage and mastery, with an additional focus on Mathematics and Science, allowing students to thus compete at the regional level.

Stream B assumes complete syllabus coverage, although time will be scheduled in for remedial sessions and additional tutoring.

Stream C assumes the students will need to be spoon fed to pass."

Great, right? Another good one was where they called the reasons why a fellow teacher had missed too many classes "lame excuses." I almost had to leave the room due to suppressed giggling with that one.

3) Best time to have a tall friend: 9 pm on Saturday nights in Nkuhungu. This was when Dan and I got back from the local watering hole (yeah, no jokes about how I don't have a life, I know it) and discovered that my substitute watchman had fallen asleep in the outdoor toilet. That's right, passed out cold, and despite our yelling and knocking on my gate, he remained fast asleep. My house is surrounded by a huge whitewashed wall topped with intimidated black spikes so after about 20 minutes of pounding, it looked like Dan and I would be heading back into town to find a guesthouse. That is, until he happened upon the brilliant idea of breaking into my house. Grasping the spikes at the top, he somehow, miraculously, hauled his 6'2 frame up and over, nearly ripping his....err, jeans...on the spikes at the top. He managed however to descend safely, let me in through the gate, and there was much rejoycing (as well as confusion on the part of the night watchman who woke up upon hearing us enter the house and stared baffled at the gate for a full 5 minutes while the words "I know I locked it!" ran through his head.)

Okay more soon, love to all!

Katie

Quick Post!

2006-09-01T13:20:00.000+03:00

I've been a bit sick of late so it'll just be a quick list of the highlights from the last few weeks- More soon!

1.) Best Gift so far in Tanzania- My friend Dan pulled out all the stops when he happened by my sickroom with a snazzy silkscreened string backpack bearing the image of my favorite footballer ever (spoken like a true junior high student right?) Twin images of Ronaldinho occupy both sides of the bag- In one he stands grinning in his Barca jersey, in the other (bizarrely) he's naked, his hair's tied up in a bun and he's raising his eyes and hands in prayer. Both sexy and chaste at the same time. Very strange, but honestly, it might beat the ipod as the thing I would save first should the house go up in flames.

2.) Best Description of Underperforming Students- "They need to be spoon-fed." This was listed in the official minutes at the last management meeting at Nkuhungu School. I swear, I'm not making fun of their language ability, the vast majority of managment figures at my school have amazing English. This, of course, makes their few slips hilarious, especially given how formal the meetings are here. The context of this one was something like:

"To aid the students and to facilitate their continued achievement, it was decided at the last management meeting that the Form 1 and 3 students will be dividing into 3 streams as follows:

Stream A aims for complete syllabus coverage and mastery, with an additional focus on Mathematics and Science, allowing students to thus compete at the regional level.

Stream B assumes complete syllabus coverage, although time will be scheduled in for remedial sessions and additional tutoring.

Stream C assumes the students will need to be spoon fed to pass."

Great, right? Another good one was where they called the reasons why a fellow teacher had missed too many classes "lame excuses." I almost had to leave the room due to suppressed giggling with that one.

3) Best time to have a tall friend: 9 pm on Saturday nights in Nkuhungu. This was when Dan and I got back from the local watering hole (yeah, no jokes about how I don't have a life, I know it) and discovered that my substitute watchman had fallen asleep in the outdoor toilet. That's right, passed out cold, and despite our yelling and knocking on my gate, he remained fast asleep. My house is surrounded by a huge whitewashed wall topped with intimidated black spikes so after about 20 minutes of pounding, it looked like Dan and I would be heading back into town to find a guesthouse. That is, until he happened upon the brilliant idea of breaking into my house. Grasping the spikes at the top, he somehow, miraculously, hauled his 6'2 frame up and over, nearly ripping his....err, jeans...on the spikes at the top. He managed however to descend safely, let me in through the gate, and there was much rejoycing (as well as confusion on the part of the night watchman who woke up upon hearing us enter the house and stared baffled at the gate for a full 5 minutes while the words "I know I locked it!" ran through his head.)

Okay more soon, love to all!

Katie

Bihawanna

2006-08-05T09:19:00.000+03:00

Almost sounds like a summer camp doesn't it? "Welcome to Camp Bihawanna Where the Sun's Always Shining and the Students are Always Smiling." It just about lives up to the slogan too. I went out there on Monday after I finished teaching; for a town so close (it's only 20 km from Dodoma, though it takes an hour by bus because of the roads) the journey seems far more difficult than it should be. Just the walk to where the local western-bound buses leave is work; vendors hawking everything from mangos to cd players, people pushing, yelling, screaming wazungu at the top of their lungs...it's enough to make you have second thoughts. The bus itself doesn't exactly inspire confidence either. Because it's a local bus, headed to villages/bush instead of a town, the bus is a hodgepodge of riotous colours, (the interior was lime green with magenta cracked vinyl seats) spare parts, and random chickens, goats, vegetables escaped from umbiquitous black plastic bags... You think I'm exaggerating, but sure enough the bus broke down 45 minutes in, necessitating a couple kilometers of hiking through the desert. It was kinda nice actually; the sandy road was downhill, and the scenery was gorgeous being deep in the hills. There were almost no signs of civilization until I came around a bend in the road and happened upon an informal gravel operation. Here, spread out among the bush and few scraggly trees, people (mostly women) sat breaking large rocks into smaller ones with hammers. Little mounds of gravel dotted the hillside, evidence of an entire day spent under the hot, hot sun pounding on rocks. It was just like an old cartoon where the crook is led off to prison to break rocks in black and white stripped pajamas. My time spent working in a factory had me cringing at all the OSHA violations going on- no protective eyeware, gloves, shoes, etc. Many of the women were elderly; is this where they go when they're no longer useful around the home? It was bleak, even by Tanzanian standards, and put a whole new perspective on my current job. Remind me to never complain about it again.

I continued walking. About 15 minutes later the church and adjoining school of Bihawana Seminary appeared at the top of a hill in the distance. I'm told that this area resembles northern Arizona, but having never been there I can only ever picture Italy with it's mild mediterranian climate and churches on hillsides. It helps that the architecture of the church is essentially Italian, with tiny medieval windows and a bell tower. 20 minutes later I had arrived at the village of Bihawana, (approximately 4 houses along a dusty stretch of road) where my friend Dan stood waiting to escort me up the hill to the Seminary, my new home away from home on weekends. Because my day job is...hmmm...less than inspiring at the moment, I'm heading out to Bihawana Seminary on Saturdays to teach math prep/review classes to the Form 4 students in the hopes that they'll head into their standardized year-end exams well prepared. It's a good group of kids; all boys in a school with great regional scores, and (amazingly) only 25 kids or so per class (compared to the 58 I had in my Form 3 class at Nkuhungu on Monday.) The reason behind their success (and a big reason that I'm teaching there on weekends) is the incredibly dynamic headmaster, Father Sebastian. His plans are huge, and initially daunting, but through continuous hardwork, enthusiasm, and sheer force of will he's making headway. One of his plans a few years back was to start a vineyard up on top of the hill, next to the school; this was to be supplemented by fields of tomatoes, peppers, bananas, lettuce, manioc, etc. etc. so the students would have more to eat than the standard ugali and beans (at virtually all boarding schools in Tz students eat little more than ugali, (a stiff porridge) rice, and beans once or twice a day. It's as unhealthy and unappealing as it sounds; students at a school out west where a PCV (Peace Corps Vol) is working actually burned down the school a few months ago over the meagre rations and constant beatings they were subjected to.) The fields/vegetables are now flourishing, and he's working on fine-tuning the process (should students be given their own vine to cultivate and nourish? what are some alternative irrigation systems we can implement?) A few months back, he mentioned casually that they didn't have a math teacher for the oldest students, and I jumped at the chance of coming out to work with them. Mom, you'll be happy to know that he promptly told the Bishop who sends his blessing and encouragement and is making a special trip out to see me. Yep, your prodigal daughter's earning brownie points for the Mulloy's in heaven. Anyway, all joking aside, I'm really, really excited about the weekends ahead. It's an amazing community of people; I'll keep you posted on how it all progresses.

More soon, love to all,

Katie

Just one of them days...

2006-08-04T12:35:00.000+03:00

Today was one of those days when I just knew better- I knew that getting out of bed was going to be more trouble than it was worth. It's overcast here, with blankets of dark blue clouds in the west that anywhere else would promise rain (it doesn't rain here during the dry season-May through November- and by no rain, I mean nothing- no mist, no sprinkles, not a drop of precipitation in any form whatsoever.) The walk to school was like living a gothic novel- an eerie lack of people, a black scorpian the size of my fist crossing the dirt path in front of me, flocks of crows screetching their way through the sky. It cummulated in my dog chasing and (I like to think, inadvertently) killing a chicken at school, where chickens roam around freely and provide too much temptation for Mwasha to handle. There were no marks upon the chicken (maybe it had a heart attack?) but there's no doubt that Mwasha was the cause; this chicken chasing is a new habit and one that seems to occur more and more frequently these days. It was exceedingly regretful as I had to bargain with the owner (the nightwatchman for our school) over the price of the chicken, (he charged me a very fair 2000tsh or about $1.80) and then walk Mwasha home and tie him up in my small compound. Given that all dogs (and chickens) run free here, I feel horrible having him on a leash 24/7 but I don't know what else to do; this time it's a chicken, next time it's a small child and my head's on a pole. So it goes, but am really down about it.
Other things that I'm down about- demonstrations by the muslim community are starting here over the conflict between Israel and Lebanon; a large one occurs today in Dar es Salaam after afternoon prayers, and while no specific embassies are targeted, there's a lot of Anti-American sentiment given the U.S.'s current stance on the situation. It's a concern as Tanzania tends to be a very peaceful, relatively non-political country, but all it would take is for one of these protests to get out of hand and the U.S. embassy/VSO would start evacuation proceedings. Despite such concerns, there are good things going on here; I'm starting to conduct review sessions at Bihawanna village on Saturdays, which is super-exciting and self-affirming. I'll try to write more about that tomorrow. In any case, take care...

kt

P.S. VSO's laying the smack down on blogging. As I have previously within this blog identified myself as a VSO volunteer, I also now must include the following statement: "the views expressed in this weblog are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of VSO" just in case y'all thought my views on things like chicken-chasing dogs were those of VSO as well (VSO does not, as far as I know, take a stand on chicken chasing.) While I think I've only said good and/or neutral things about VSO on here, if anyone finds an instance where I have not done so, please let me know as such comments could be grounds for review of my placement. Similarly, if anyone feels moved to post negative views about VSO on my website, please don't, as I'll have to remove said comments or potentially be subject to a review of placement. Tempted to make a sardonic comment here about the joys of free speech, but I think I'll keep it to myself- more soon, kt

2006-07-10T14:46:00.000+03:00

No more World Cup. Alas. Although truth be told it ended right on time; school started today and I think my teaching would start to suffer if I continued spending most of my nights in dingy bars watching T.V. Signs that I've been frequenting places of ill-repute too often-- a few days ago a man tried to BUY ME from my friend Dan (and not in a cool, kinda funny, animal house impersonation way- "how much for your women...") You don't have to ask, the offer was insultingly low, although he did offer to throw in a Gospel tape for good measure (he considered it briefly, but lacks the neccessary tape deck.) Despite such hazards, I think I need to try to continue my streak of only watching World Cup in foreign countries where soccer is actually followed. It started in 2002 with Ireland's surprise win over the Netherlands, (Guinness ran in the streets, stores shut, people wept, England was ridiculed) and while Tanzania wasn't actually in this World Cup, we enthusiastically supported Ghana's short bid. To be fair, I should probably warn countries that I'm coming; I think I'm the cooler when it comes to sports (or games of chance, or supermarket lines, etc., etc.) Virtually every team I pulled for during this WC managed to lose, sometimes despite spectacular odds. I have a feeling it's linked to being a lifelong Cubs fan; the taint of failure and loss surrounds me and somehow, via osmosis or telepathic waves or something, manages to negatively influence the team I'm rooting for. Or maybe I just can't pick 'em. Who knows.

In other news, it's cold here! Really! We get down to the 40's at night with 20 kph winds, and while I feel ridiculous putting on a coat given that I live 5 degrees south of the Equator, it's come to that recently. It makes the process of showering particularly fun as the water that comes out of that pipe in the wall is downright icy (Dan yelped loud enough to wake the neighbors when he turned it on last Saturday.) The irony of coming down with hypothermia in Tanzania would almost be worth the hassle and, i tell you, it's entirely a possibility.

I have to run as Dan and Courtney are visiting and we're making Tacos tonight! (Thank you Uncle Al and Steph for the seasoning packets!!!) Some thoughts to think on in the meantime:

1.) Should Bruce Arena continue as coach of the U.S. Soccer team. Yes or no, and please explain your reasoning. (I'm appealing to the soccer followers out there- Philip, Ian, J.D....)

2.) My old apartment building in New York is famous! It was #1 on the most emailed list for the NYTimes online today ("Out of College, but Now Living in Urban Dorms," www.nytimes.com) , and if you look behind the african-american girl in the picture, you can see the door to my apartment! It was a surreal experience, reading the paper over here and then seeing a picture of my old hallway.

Okay, more soon! love,

kt

It's Saba Saba!

2006-07-07T10:02:00.000+03:00

It's Saba-Saba Day! Schools and Banks are closed, my favorite internet cafe is all locked up, and it seems highly unlikely that all that much will be going on in town tonight. What is Saba-Saba Day you ask? Well, in English Saba-Saba means "seven-seven" or the seventh day of the seventh month. Seems like a good reason to have a holiday right? I asked some local school children the reasons behind the holiday and whether there were any special traditions associated with it (a saba saba bunny bringing saba eggs?) and they told me that it meant they get extra rice at school. hmmmm...maybe Tanzanian's were just anxious for a holiday and couldn't wait until Union Day in December. There's also a Nane-Nane Day (or the eighth day of the eighth month) so the joys of celebrating arbitrary holidays continue (to be fair, I think these holiday's have other associations, but it's of yet unclear to me what they are...farmer's day maybe?)

Other than that, not a whole lot's been happening. World Cup continues to enthrall, and I'm a bit concerned about facing life after it ends. School starts up again next week after a long, long holiday, and I'm downright thrilled about getting back into the classroom, even if it is only to teach a few classes a week. I was particularly depressed to read that the New York State courts ruled against gay marriage yesterday. Tempting as it is to use this blog as a platform to espouse my current political beliefs, I'll just say that I expected better from New York and leave it at that. What else?....hmmmm.... I discovered that the largest bill in Tanzania is the 10,000 shilling bill which currently trades at the equivalent of roughly $8.50 USD. Imagine running your whole economy (bearing in mind that you don't have the option of credit cards here) with nothing larger than a $10 bill. Now I know why I get paid in thick stacks of bills at the start of every month (a slightly shady operation with overtones of The Soprano's- a cluttered backroom, the Secretary counts out a huge wad of 10,000's while looking hurriedly over her shoulder before thrusting them into a brown paper envelope that I try to nonchalently tuck into my skirts.) It was even better in Mozambique where the exchange rate between meticals and USD traded at 24,000 meticals per dollar. You emerged a millionaire from every trip to the bank/cash machine ("I'll have 3 million meticals please.")

The highlight of the week was undoubtedly a great visit to my friend Dan's site in Bihawanna, a tiny bush village about an hour west from Dodoma. Dan was an amazing host; his site is incredibly basic, but he trotted out all the extras for my visit- mints on the pillows, icy-cold sprites (kept cold thanks to a bucket filled with incredibly valuable ice) and fresh pommegrantes from the tree in front of his house. We took a tour of his village (and it's 4 houses) before heading up to the seminary on the top of a the rocky hill that overlooks the town. One of the priests, Father Sebastian, undoubtedly falls on my top 10 list of favorite Tanzanians. He's incredibly friendly, and matches insightful comments with an industriousness rarely seen. He's the one responsible for the fields of grapes behind the seminary, (the Seminary has it's own label- "Altar Wine," and is semi-famous in this region for it's red) the advanced irrigation systems for the gardens, the incredible test scores of the 120 pupils at the Seminary High School. I'd give my left arm to be able to work with him (and, as luck would have it, they need a math teacher) but alas, I'm stuck (I mean employed) at Nkuhungu. I think Bihawanna's destined to be my new happy place, my retreat from work when I get frustrated and cranky. It's incredibly beautiful (and, I'm afraid I'm easily swayed by such things) and peaceful in a way that Nkuhungu isn't. I've lived here for almost a year now and still shouldn't walk around by myself at night; Bihawanna's the type of place that hasn't seen a violent crime in years. There's also some amazing hiking in the hills that I'm more than a little keen to take advantange of. I'm lucky that Dan's willing to deal with the backlash of my visits; being a small town, having a (gasp!) female who isn't his wife/sister/girlfriend stay with him is a source of never ending gossip, speculation, and even some loss of status. So it goes. It was a great visit in any case.

Okay, more soon!
Katie

Quick Note and Pictures!

2006-06-28T15:10:00.000+03:00

The link below is for Gillian's website; her daughter is helping design it back in the U.K. and she's included pictures! Now you can see my school, house, and a bit of Dodoma...more soon,

kt

http://members.lycos.co.uk/gillintanzania/

Yay for Football (and we're NOT talking American Football!)

2006-06-17T12:04:00.000+03:00

What did I do here before World Cup? How did I fill my evenings? Seriously, I've jumped into football viewing with all the pathetic devotion of your average 13 year old and, to be honest, with far, far less knowledge. Despite living in Scotland for several months during college, I'd managed to avoid learning much about soccer. Oh I knew the basics: there's a ball, loads of players who run back and forth a lot, a referee who blows his whistle 2 hours later to signal the end of a nil-nil game. Being raised on American sports, the fact that nil-nil games were possible, even fairly common, struck me as ridiculous and obvious proof that soccer was a waste of a sport (come on, I mean even baseball, which ambles along for long stretches with barely a pulse, usually manages to put a few runs up.) As if I needed further proof, big matches that ended in a tie are resolved by penalty kicks; kinda like if at the end of your basketball game you decided to pick the winner by tacking on a free-throw contest. Ridiculous right? And this is what ends marriages and topples dictators? Give me a crisp November afternoon on the gridiron with Notre Dame and Michigan any day.

But then I came to Tanzania, away from ESPN, March Madness, and the Little League field, where soccer really is the only game in town (no pun intended.) And with the impending World Cup, I knew I'd have to revaluate the old prejudices and perhaps, eventually, even go over to the dark side. I started out by watching premier league matches with my (exceedingly patient) European friends who managed to harness their incredulity at my ignorance, ("What does offsides mean?") to answer my endless questions. I began reading the sports section of the English-language paper from Dar and using precious internet time to check out FIFA rankings. I even broke out a copy of Nick Hornby's "Fever Pitch" (courtesy of Mr. Garrett Bucks) to get a sense of English soccer history. But I don't think I really felt that sudden rush of excitement, the butterflies, until Trinidad and Tobago's opening match against Sweden. My friend Dan and I were sitting in an open-air bar near my house, shivering at the cold desert breezes, watching a tiny TV rigged up for World Cup action with about 10 other middle aged African men. We started out ambivalent, but by the time stoppage time had finished, you would've thought the Cubs had won the pennent we were all so excited- cheering, laughing, shaking hands with anyone and everyone, all because Trinie had managed to hold Sweden to a nil-nil draw. And that was it. I've followed the rest of the games with a dogged devotion, although my recent illness necessitated the purchase of a radio so I could listen to the games (through a haze of static) in bed. The real question of course is what happens after World Cup ends. Will that be it for 4 years or will I continue to follow soccer by picking a team from the Premier league or La Liga (the only leagues that stand a prayer of getting coverage in the states.) To that end, if any of ya'll out there have any recommendations on teams to support, by all means pass them my way, although I have to draw the line at Man U (and send out some love to the US- they have to beat or hold Spain to avoid elimination!) More soon, take care

Katie

"Well, there goes another day with no skills shared or lives changed..."

2006-05-24T09:14:00.000+03:00

The above is a Gillian Gape original, and pretty much sums up the challenges of the month. Work's been equal parts challenging and frustrating, so I've been retreating into the domestic sphere during my free time. While lovely, (I get to spend loads of time reading and cooking- cooking being my new favorite hobby) it doesn't exactly make for great writing. Gil pointed this out recently while poised over a letter; pen in hand, she stared blankly into space before turning to me with the query, "Did anything happen in May?" (You know a month's been less than exciting when you're talking about it in the past tense before it officially ends.) Luckily, this isn't the case for most of my friends here; below are the "Top 5 Most Memorable Moments In May," courtesy of myself and the Dodoma expat community. Cheers.

1. Obviously, the vampire incident has to be on here- in part because it turns out that my friend Claire, who lives close to me in Nkuhungu, actually witnessed it. We met up for a beer later and she described first hand the crackling tension in the air as several dozen people rushed and attacked the supposed "vampire." She described the scene as "bizzare, surreal, I felt like I should try to do something but was rooted to the ground. It took me 5 solid minutes to realize that I needed to get moving and get out of there." I asked Karim, the friendly Indian owner of the western goods shop in town, about the incident to get his take on things. His shop's a tiny place, but stocked to the rafters with biscuits, chocolate bars, powdered milk, boxes of pasta, etc., and is thus the central hub for most area wazungu. Karim makes it a point to stay in touch with the expat community and is the best source of information about things like embassy meetings, new arrivals, etc. A few of the expats I know here only because of him; he just passes my number on to new arrivals so I can help them get acquainted with Dodoma. Karim and I hit it off when I found out that he used to live in Queens during the '70's; he described the block he lived on as "being near a Subway," and as "having a Dunkin Donuts" which could probably safely describe about 200 different corners in Queens. No matter, one has to respect the judgement of a fellow ex-New Yorker, and his is usually spot on; in describing the Vampire incident, he said that the crowd was undoubtedly mistaken, but that something's been killing/hurting random children in Nkuhungu, so one can see where the mob violence would come from. He also promised to keep me posted on local news and gossip about it, so more soon.

2. At long last, I finally got a package from my Uncle Alan and Aunt Steph at the end of May, just in time for my birthday, nearly6 months after it was mailed. No matter, as the extra chunky peanut butter, spices, and granola bars proved well-worth the wait (and the substantial bribe to get them though customs.) Ah, I don't think anything beats getting a package over here, and to share the wealth, I passed along an extremely rare and highly valued can of Cheeze-Wizz to my friend Dan in thanks for several packages of cookies/juice he's shared over the past few months. He was so excited that he promptly cooked up a mess of pasta to use it on (Tanzania's version of Mac and Cheese) and moreover sends his undying love to Al and Steph.

3. So I told you my friend Garrett was visiting from Sweden, right? Well, the first night after showing him around Dar es Salaam, we ended up at a local bar until late (doing the usual talking, catching up, sampling Tanzania's fine malt beverages, etc.) and had to take a cab back. The problem arose when the time came to pay, as the driver demanded 1000 tsh more than previously agreed upon. I don't think he banked on the fact that I was sober, up on the necessary kiswahili, and willing to make a scene over it; after 5-10 minutes of arguing, he finally capitulated and drove off with the previously agreeded upon amount. I hadn't thought about the audience factor though; having someone whose opinion I deeply care about and respect watch me fight it out with an obviously poor man over the US equivalent of $ .80 was a source of sudden and almost overwhelming shame. One moment I felt elated at avoiding the classic tourist con, the next I feel like I've lost all sense of reality and perspective. Garrett kindly supported my stand, but it's definitely brought about some soul-searching.

4. My friend Courtney went to visit a friend of hers in another village last week, and proved the source of so much ensuing joy, that she was promptly pulled up on a local church stage, serenaded by mama's singing and beating drums, and presented with all matter of gifts including corn, beans, and assorted vegetables. Courtney did lots of smiling and nodding, and a good time was had by all. She still isn't sure exactly what she did to provoke such a positive reaction, but she hopes she keeps doing it.

5. The aforementioned Dan was teaching his laboratory Chemistry class last week when he noticed that his box of matches had been lifted from the lab (a big problem in a school reliant on candle light instead of electricity.) Angry and frustrated that a student would steal a 5oTsh box of matches, he declared that there were to be no more lab sessions until the box of matches was returned. He didn't have to wait long; after 48 hours, students started coming in, individually and in groups, claiming to be the offenders, offering boxes of matches to replace the stolen one. He said it was heartwrenching watching clearly innocent students claiming to be the perpetrator, willing to accept punishment, just so he could start classes back up. We both agreed that most students in the states would never go to such lengths (I know I wouldn't have- I was a good student, but I loved getting out of classes when possible.) I still don't know how many boxes of "stolen" matches he ended up with by the end...

Okay, that's all for now, love to all,

Katie

Believe it or not...

2006-05-15T14:45:00.000+03:00

My neighborhood of Nkuhungu- a suburb about 5 km outside of Dodoma town, (or "metro Dodoma" to quote my friend Garrett) made national news this weekend! That's right, little ol' Nkuhungu made the big time, had it's 15 minutes, saw it's name in lights. I'm almost tempted to have people try to guess the reason why, but as you don't have all year...Nkuhungu made national news because a little over a week ago, a mob of angry Nkuhungu residents attacked a man (and his family) who was suspected of being a vampire. Allegations were made that he was sucking the blood (and hence causing the death) of several local children, thus my neighbors decided to "teach the vampire a lesson" by beating him, his wife, and his children, (to the point that they required hospitalization) and by looting and destroying his house. They would've killed him, if police hadn't happened on the scene just in time.

It's during moments like these that you a) wonder where you were when all this was happening as Nkuhungu isn't that big a place and, hell, it must have been a topic of at least some discussion afterwards ; and b) realize that you're not nearly as connected and tuned in to the community as you thought you were. It also makes you also wonder about all the perfectly reasonable looking people walking around you- are these the same folks breaking out the garlic and stakes? You start to realize that maybe all the warnings you've gotten about not getting involved in local religious ceremonies/rites have far more to do with the effects of mob violence than any fear of the occult. It's not funny, but it is ridiculous.

There's more to tell (had a lovely visit from an old friend from college, Garrett Bucks, who came to Tanzania to look at poverty and development) but it'll have to wait; in the meantime, watch out for those vampires (and the people who believe in them.)

Katie

Catching up...

2006-04-28T12:59:00.000+03:00

Hey there Sportsfans. Sorry about the delay between posts. I've been pretty stressed out lately, and am a lousy correspondant during such times as I don't want to sound cranky, but also don't want to out and out lie about how I'm doing. Luckily, the worst is now past. It wasn't anything major; more a case of the little things compiling (job issues/concerns, a few necessary confrontations, a tinge of the inevitable post-vacation blues) than anything else. Everything just seems like a far bigger deal than it is over here, and most of my normal ways of relieving stress- calling up a good friend on the phone, going for a jog, watching the Cubs spank Yankees (or, well, it WOULD be a stress reliever if it ever happened) - aren't possible. Happily, I have loads of books, and having just finished "A Patchwork Planet" by Anne Tyler am now onto "Guns, Germs, and Steel" which should prove a good read. I've only made it through the prologue and already want to pick a fight with two or three of his major assumptions; I'm looking forward to seeing how he backs them up.

On the homefront, things are mostly peachy. Some reps from VSO came to visit last week, so in anticipation of the meeting, my boss pulled out all the stops and got Gil and I a real kitchen table complete with 6 chairs. I kid you not- it might be the ugliest thing on Allah's earth. I half-screamed when I first saw it (think Henry the 8th and Picasso's love child born in middle class America in the 1950's.) Gil's already decided that some of our precious living allowances should go into making chair covers/a tablecloth, and for once I'm not opposing her home improvement desires. Leaving that thing exposed kills all the feng shi in the house, and while I know it's the thought that counts, one can't help wondering if our boss is trying to send some sort of subliminal message here. He was probably mad because Gil and I refused to cook lunch for all the visitors (spending the morning cooking and the afternoon cleaning to serve men who invariably arrive late isn't my idea of a great day; it also sets you down a few pegs in negotiations as, well, it's hard to look like an equal when you're playing the role of server, barefoot and in an apron no less.) Luckily, everything at work is sorted for the time being; I'm focusing now on getting a jump on a few big projects before the summer holidays. Most of these projects have to do with stepping into new roles at work; I'm looking at trying to get some HIV/AIDS mainstreaming workshops in place, even as the teacher training componant of my job is finally starting to take shape. I also might be assuming the role of counselor at school, something that I'm leery of, but which is undoubtedly needed (currently the head of discipline is also serving as the school counselor- yep, just a little conflict of interest there.)

It seems almost funny that our school would have a counselor as, well, sensitivity isn't a highly prized characteristic where students are concerned. I'm not talking corporal punishment so much (although that would certainly apply as students are beaten/smacked with sticks on a daily basis here) as the public humiliation that invariably accompanies any major transgression. Today was particularly hard. The head of discipline cancelled school an hour early for an all-student meeting on the front grounds to deal with a series of transgressions that had recently come to light. By come to light, I mean that they were announcing the results of a series of secret ballots designed to get students to inform on their classmates- "Do you know any classmates who are smoking pot?;" Do you know any classmates who are having sex?" On the basis of such tenuous evidence, (the ballots were anonymous so students could report anything) 16 "sexual offenders" were identified and forced to parade around the grounds in front of 600 snickering students and teachers while the head of discipline yelled at them about how horrible and depraved they were. 15 were women. It was heartwrenching watching my girls stand there as if frozen, tears silently running down their cheeks, while their more fortunate classmates traded rude comments. Almost harder was reconciling this new, cruel head of discipline with the mild-mannered man that I have tons of respect for. You'd scarce believe it was the same person. But even if it's hell to watch, (and undoubtedly even worse to live through) I know why he was doing it; HIV infection rates continue to gain ground here, and a girl who gets pregnant and has to leave secondary school loses her only chance to rise above extreme poverty. It's tough love; you know he'd humiliate every person in that school every day if it meant they'd make it through secondary without contracting HIV. Next time kids in the states think they have it rough...today's incident is typical of the between-a-rock-and-a-hardplace type choices Tanzanians have to make everyday. It isn't just that people in the west have things easier in regards to mod cons, white-collar jobs, material goods, etc. But we also have the luxury of learning our lessons the easier, politically correct, more sensative way. I'm not saying the Tanzanian way is better; (god knows you'd have to pay off about 500 lawsuits and $500,000 worth of therapy if you tried this on kids back home) its just different in a necessary way- a way that too many westerners would be quick to condemn if they saw it in person. I know I wanted to- I could taste the words "this is nothing short of child abuse" until I realized that I knew the head of discipline too well to dismiss him as an evil old man. No, if he was doing it, then it had to be for a good reason...and it was for a good reason- to give these kids the best chance of making it that he could. I know that if he could scare off even 2-3 kids into waiting before having sex, he'd think it was worth it. And he'd be right.

Back home...

2006-04-20T11:25:00.000+03:00

...in Dodoma! Due to Easter holidays, language training, etc., I have a whole heap of posts to catch up on, though the chronology of the next few might be a bit jumbled. Rest assured, there are reams of amusing, vaguely embarrassing incidents to relate, although it'll probably take a few days to get them all up. I've been reading loads lately, although as I'm hording all of my good books, (I have several exciting reads coming up from the likes of Anne Tyler, Annie Prolex, E.M. Forester, etc.) I've had to make do with some rather dubious reads, such as my current one "Still Life with Woodpecker" by Tom Robbins. At the risk of offending any hardcore Robbins fans out there, his writing grates on my purist english major tendencies, (he reminds me of a less talented, goofier Kurt Vonnegut) and I can't help wishing he'd just abandon his semblance of a plot altogether as he's clearly at his best when he's tossing out witty asides (a typical one- "There are two kinds of people in this world; those who think there are two kinds of people and those who are smart enough to know better.") That said, sometimes his writing/analogies are so bad they border on genius, and they have a way of sticking with you that force all your other, better descriptive abilities into the fetal position. For example, it's coming up on the end of the rainy "winter" season here, on the verge of the dry spring, and while I'd love to describe it poetically to you, the only description that comes to mind (courtesy of the aforementioned Mr. Robbins) is the following:

"Spring came to the Puget Sound country as it frequently does, like a bride's maid climbing a greased pole. After a gradual, precarious ascent, spring, in a triumph of frills and blooms and body heat, would seem to have finally arrived, only to suddenly slide down into the mud again, leaving winter's wet flag flapping stiffly and singularly at the top of the seasonal staff. Then, girlish bosom heaving, spring would shinny slowly back up the pole."

It's an entirely accurate (and inappropriate) analogy for the end of the rainy season here, and despite sitting in front of this blasted computer for over an hour, is the only way I can picture Dodoma's seasonal change. So it goes. After I get done with this book I'm going to have to switch to Shakespeare or something to cleanse my mind, lest every description on this blog become laden with innuendo.

Other things...So I had language training in Dar for two weeks, and while I'm still not exactly fluent (barely conversational's probably a stretch) I am loads better due in large part to my very talented and enthusiastic collegues. It was, as they say, a character builder. There were 5 of us total: two had been in country for a year or more, two were doctors and, well, then there was me. Yep, let's just say I have an all-new sympathy for those kids in the dunce caps. There were side perks though- all meals were provided for us, and it's always nice being close to the varied attractions of Dar. I've decided that as watching sports (preferably with a cold beer) is one of the things I miss most about the U.S., I need to go over to the dark side for a bit and learn something about soccer. Being close to Dar was perfect for this; I subjected my poor friend Bart to an endless stream of stupid questions (What does offsides mean?) while we watched football after language training- hey, I have to learn this stuff before World Cup, right? There's more to say, but it'll have to wait 'till tomorrow- hugs!

kt

Response Requested

2006-03-25T09:13:00.000+03:00

Updates! It's been awhile since I've posted, but here's what's going on in my neck of the woods:

Motorcycle training has been temporarily postponed, although it's set to resume as soon as Gillian and I get proper helmets and extra training. My boss can't understand why we keep insisting on such things, but given that his idea of training consists of doing a few laps around the soccer pitch, Gil and I are sticking to our guns. We also have yet to figure out the personal injury insurance situation. When we explained to our boss our fears about not being covered in the event of an accident, he reassured us that should such an unfortunate event happen, we could rest easy in the knowledge that the bike is covered and we'd get a new one pronto. Good to know, but I have a feeling that should such an event occur, when I'm getting my new bike will be somewhere near the bottom of my list of concerns (unlike, say, paying for hospital bills, relearning to walk, etc.)

Teaching is going along swimmingly. Our school is currently undergoing a bit of construction/renovation, resulting in new concrete floors and painted walls. It almost feels like a real school now, and looks loads nicer than when I arrived 6 months ago (amazing it's been that long, right?) We had a grounds clearing/school beautification day a few weeks ago, where we told the students to bring some farm implements with them in order to put the gardens in order/keep the encroaching bush at bay. Sounds good in theory, but when 200 students chose to bring machetes, my blood ran cold (me to the 5 other teachers in change of the 400+ students: "anyone else thinking cultural revolution here?") Despite the aforementioned improvements, we haven't exactly gone posh; chickens still wander into my classroom on a daily basis, and my eraser of choice is a discarded shoulder pad. So it goes. The word on the street is that construction on the computer lab will start next month; it's almost too much to hope for, but I'll keep you posted should it actually happen.

Life with Gillian continues to be wonderful; she's the Mary Poppins figure I've always wanted in my home, and when we aren't taking spoonfuls of sugar, she's putting my life in immaculate order. Gone are my bachelor days when only one light bulb worked and the kitchen stores consisted of half a kilo of rice and two tablespoons of oil. No, we have a beautiful new refridgerator now, enough tupperware to rival the most suburban of households, and not one, not two, but FOUR different types of household cleaning agents. Such accoutrements of middle-class America rankle a bit (I mean, if I wanted such things, I'd just move home right?) but I can't deny that the place now has a pleasant, homey quality, and you can just tell that visitors feel more comfortable staying somewhere that actually looks lived in. Gillian's similarly great for professional advice; she has loads of experience both as a teacher and administrator, and has proved to be a goldmine of useful information. She also lends me her backbone for confrontations with the boss/VSO, (a good thing as I tend to avoid necessary confrontations too much here) resulting overall in a more confident and assured Katie Mulloy.

The first package arrived! Given how none of the others sent have shown up, I'd given up hope that any would get through, but on Tuesday morning I received the magic gold mail slip, and by Tuesday afternoon was holding a large rectangular box from a most unexpected source- the illustrious Ian Smith (do you remember Ian mom? He was the first person you met at Earlham- we were waiting in line to open a bank account when he charmed you with his devestating smile and rapier wit.) Packages are the true test of self-control over here; his contained a variety of temptations- books, chocolate, cd's, and a long, pithy letter. With such prizes, you try to hold out for as long as you can to prolong the pleasure of having something to look forward to, before the strain finally gets to you and you devour the contents in a single gluttonous rush. I'm still holding out on the books (a minor miracle given how hard they are to come by) but I only lasted an hour or two with the letter, and by the end of the day had made a serious dent in the 3 pound bag of gummy bears. So it goes.

My time here's almost out, (am in Dar savoring a weekend of good food and no responsibilities before intermediate language training starts on Monday) but will type up more soon!
hugs,
kt

P.S. Katie from Zanzibar and I had a conversation last night (after several beers it must be admitted) about the relative merits of various different varieties of tomatoes, and I think it only right to let you in on the debate: Which is better- cherry tomatoes or vine tomatoes? You can either email me or post your vote in the "comment" section. Also, while you're turning that over, put in an additional vote over which Steppenwolf song is better- "Born to be Wild" or "Magic Carpet Ride." Dad and I have been arguing about that for years, and given all of the informed and intelligent readers of this blog, I think it possible to settle the debate once and for all. Results will be compiled and posted promptly; mockery of the losing side should be expected.

good news for people who love bad news

2006-03-07T10:44:00.000+03:00

Warning: Serious post ahead. Frivolous updates on motorcycle training will resume later this week.

The following was sent to me yesterday; it's from a fellow VSO teacher who also works in the Dodoma region.

We had Form IV student last year, named Mohamed Ally, a
common name here. He scored a Division Two in his final
results which meant that he could have gone on to do
anything he wanted to further his education, the sky was
the limit for him. He was interested in medicine, and I
used to see him up early at about 5am studying.

He was head boy, but not a particularly effective one
because he was too nice a guy, but he was highly popular
nevertheless.

After the holidays we received news from Moshi, where he
lived near Kilimanjaro, that he had died from cerebral
malaria. Seems he knew it was coming too, that it was too
serious to be treated.

Sometimes in life, you just wonder why these things happen
to good people. Why not to the Saddams, or the Paul
Bernardos of this world? I guess that's just life, but I
felt that someone outside of his immediate circle should
know that he lived, tried hard to have a good life, and just
didn't make it. The saying "There but for the grace of God
go I" does come to mind.

I wish I could say that these things are unusual here, but that's the frustrating thing about it; death by malaria isn't unusual at all, (the CDC estimates that one Tanzanian dies of malaria every 5 minutes) even though the disease is fully treatable and (for the most part) preventable. So much death and disease here could be remedied with just a little more money, more medicine, more education...but you have to sit back and watch this happen time and time again because the resources just aren't there. Watching it all unfold...well, it changes you. I was recently reading a very pro-socialist, down with the state, overthrow the system type article, and made it about halfway through, before I wanted to hurl it across the room. Because what happens if you overthrow the system here? Well, you're going to lose the tenuous social services in place; your educated health professionals, including all of your educated foreign workers, will flee the country; your supply lines letting in much needed medications will be disruped and in most places halted, and your foreign aid will be frozen. Ultimately, more people will die, and needless deaths are one thing Tanzania already has far, far too much of. So you can keep your Che Guevera's, riding around, "liberating" countries and then skipping town when the action's over. You can keep your political debates, your revolutionary marching songs, your marxist propaganda. Hell, you can keep all of your political theory. Because none of it's going to do anything for the kids dying of malaria here, and none of its going to stop fully one-third of my students from the ravages of AIDS. I'm becoming what I hate, a one-issue voter, but I'll shake hands with any devil (McDonalds, Walmart, even George W himself) if he can do something to alleviate the never-ending hardship over here. Jeffery Sachs had it right in his book "The End of Poverty;" (a great read despite all the name dropping,"so I was having lunch at the Kremlin the other day," comments) eliminating extreme poverty should be a priority for all nations. And don't get me wrong, I know the World Bank/IMF's success rate in "developing" countries, I too have strong, strong doubts about encouraging the growth of a capitalist dominated economic and political structure here. But fighting "the man" here will only hurt Tanzania's children, and while Nyerere's years had many positive benefits, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the improvement in both economics/health since trade liberalization and privatization. Don't worry, I'm not going all hard-core capitalist on you, I guess I'm just feeling a certain disgust towards the hard-left segment of the population who has yet to step foot in an African country, but feels perfectly okay using them as guinea pigs to fine tune their socialist theories.

Okay, I'm moving on, that's enough self-rightousness for one day. Things are good here. Really. More updates soon, (love)

kt

2006-03-01T14:59:00.000+03:00

Just a quick update on things here-

Life is good. "It was a dark and stormy night" last night, and today (like the last 3 days actually) has been unseasonably cool and filled with rain. It is wonderful. Storms look very impressive rolling across the desert, and even shivering pathetically in the teacher's lounge (it being a downright frigid 60 degrees) seems novel and almost fun. The kids treat these few days of rain much the way kids in the states treat snow. On Monday, despite enrollments of over 60 students in each of my classes, I only had 20 or so show up (funny right? can you imagine skipping school on account of rain?) It's okay though- we need it so badly that even the downsides of having fewer students and icy winds are scarcely noticed.

A new VSO volunteer arrived at Nkuhungu Secondary School yesterday from England! Her name is Gillian, and she'll be both living and working with me for the next two years, although her specialty is in fund-raising and she gets her own office- no small thing in a school where every spare inch of space is occupied by either a student or a desk. I'm happy for the company and am sort of in awe of her; she's in her 60's and puts me to shame with her ease and calm. My boss, in his glee at her arrival, decided to give us something of a housewarming gift- I mean, what household doesn't need a motorcycle? Yep, that's right, my kitchen is now being occupied by a shiny, harley davidson-style red honda, complete with black and silver flames curling over the gas tank, and a speed-racer style helmet (yeah, I know Uncle Al, let the lesbian jokes commence... :) It's so nice of him, and potentially very useful, but seeing as neither of us know how to, you know, DRIVE a motorcycle, the kitchen will probably be it's home for awhile (at least until I can work up the guts to cycle on dirt/gravel while on the wrong side of the road.) Personally, I would've liked something a little simpler (and more appropriate for a kitchen) like, say, a refridgerator, or maybe a fan, but macho symbols of upward mobility are good too. At the very least, it should provide some interesting blog entries in the near future ("How I lost my right leg trying to pass a herd of goats...")

My friend Dan dropped off another stack of books last week, and in my sheer joy at the quality of the selections, I've promised him both my first AND second-born children. He brought me "Arabian Nights," Bolt's "A Man for all Seasons," George Elliot's "The Mill on the Floss," and another novel of equal quality that isn't coming to mind right now, no matter how long I stare at this screen. He's promised to bring "The Three Musketeer's" next week, and I'll have to think of some way to repay him as a significant part of my happiness comes from having fresh reading material. If you were to take a fly-on-the-wall view of my life here, you'd be tempted to assume that I live for the weekends. I mean, that's when my house fills up with visitors, (Dan comes often enough to have his own room at my place) the beer flows with unnerving ease, and I do only a little lesson planning and grading, as opposed to the normal 10-12 hours of work. But you'd be mistaken; I love the tranquil weekdays here- working with the kids, doing some small chores, and then a lazy evening full of books and tea and the sound of cows mooing and snorting next door. I think I'm slowly turning into my dad- with few exceptions, the above is pretty much his weekday routine (although thankfully there are no golf courses in the immediate vincinity to torture myself on when I need a break from the books.) Time is almost up, but will post more soon, much love,

kt

"you can take a nothing day...and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile"

2006-02-22T15:57:00.000+03:00

Gee, I'm happy today! Seriously. I feel almost giddy, bubbling, like Mary during the intro to the Mary Tyler Moore show where she's grinning like a dope, and skipping down the street, and eventually tosses her hat (or is it her beret?) into the air out of sheer joy (gotta love those Nick at Night reruns.) Yeah, I feel just like that, and for no good reason seeing as it's belt-tightening time in Dodoma. You'll notice that I haven't been posting as much lately; that's because electricity and water rationing is in effect from 7 am to 9 pm most days- and unfortunately, I've just been informed that it's going to be cut off in about 5 minutes, so I'll have to make this entry short. Despite the brief spat of rain we've had lately, it doesn't look like it's going to be enough to allay the drought; on February 14th the government appealed to international donors for 100,000 tons of food aid, as currently 3. 7 million people are projected to be at risk of famine. It hasn't affected my life much (besides the electicity and water rationing and a slight increase in food prices- no big deal as I pay inflated prices being white anyway) although as my area of the country is one of the worst affected, I'm anticipating that it'll get worse during the coming months. Being asked for money is a killer here. It happens everytime you walk through town and it's a lose/lose situation; I mean if you give someone money you're encouraging a begging culture, a culture of dependence, and reinforcing the commonly held notion that all white people have money. If you don't though...it's not like New York where you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that there are social services, and safety nets, and that food IS available for the homeless in many aid orgs throughout the city. No, here you can't fool yourself into thinking that all the people begging just want money for drugs or alcohol; here 90% really spend the money on food, it really might make a difference between life or death. I've yet to make my peace with that question, but I imagine I'll have to decide quickly. At least work is going well, I'm back to teaching math, and our school has been busy with the construction- nearly all of our classrooms have real concrete floors and blackboards now! yay! okay, more soon, (much love)
kt

2006-02-09T08:29:00.000+03:00

Tell me this, all of you who've worked in development, or had to adjust to a culture uniquely and concretely different from your own: how much do you bend and adapt? where's the line? I confess, as I find myself doing more and more as the Romans do, I wonder how firm my so-called principles are. It happens so easily, this gradual tranformation of self. I remember in New York, going to bars and nightclubs, watching the "floating world" of glittering , pretty young things, thinking that this was a powerful lesson, knowing how to work a room full of people, knowing how to network with those who always have daggers in their eyes and a drink in their hands. It took two years for me to realize how dangerously close I'd come to that demarcation line between observation and participation. It shows in the little things- not only knowing the designers of famous clothes/handbags, but learning all the little clues about how to tell the genuine articles from the fakes and then (get this) criticising the poor thing who had the bad taste to get a kate spade imitation over the real thing (you catch yourself doing something like this and then wonder how such a shallow person could ever think she knew something about Dostoyevsky.) It was so easy to make New York your whole world, so easy to fall in step with the young cadre of transplants, that you scarcely noticed (or even cared about) the character changes. It's happening all over again here. Right after returning from vacation, my boss pulls me and a favorite fellow teacher (Miss Khadija) into his office to discuss the impeding visit from 2 VSO managers. He starts out talking about how we have to provide lunch for our visitors, and then instead of making the obvious choice of taking them to the Dodoma Hotel with the one real restaurant in town, he instead raises the novel suggestion that I cook for them (hey, hold those jokes about my cooking- I can actually make several palatable Tanzanian dishes...and it's pretty hard to screw up beans) After protests that, like, I have a job and classes to teach, he finally cons me into it with the promise of Miss Khadija's aid and an emergency backup reservation at the hotel just in case. So went my Thursday...at the market by 8 am, both of us cooking steadily until 1 pm, and then a long wait, and increasing frantic battle to keep things warm, until 3 pm when my tardy boss and VSO guests (all Tanzanian men) finally decide to grace us with their presence. They entered (no apology for being late of course), relaxed in the living room while Miss K and I made last minute preparations, then we served them, waiting until they had started before serving ourselves. We ate quickly, in order to better serve them by clearing away and refilling things, and after the meal retired to the kitchen where we commenced the clean-up process while the men relaxed and talked of general matters. None of this is out of the ordinary- this was a perfectly normal lunch- the unusual part is that me (barefoot and in a skirt no less) just went right along with this whole process of deference and serving, without even noticing how subservient I'd become until well after the meal had ended and my guests had left. How could I curtsy and avert my eyes while shaking a man's hand AND have, not 3 meters away, Judith Butler's Gender Trouble on my bookshelf? What kind of hypocrite am I? But then again, this is part of why I came here... to be immersed in another culture, do as the Roman's do- and nothing is more annoying than wazungu tourists who think they have the right to ignore local norms and customs just because they have a lot of cash. But where do you draw that line...I mean you've crossed it when you start supporting things like female genital mutilation, but what about when you unconsciously start deferring to males? When you feel embarressed at being a woman and not being able to make flawless chappati from scratch? There's more to write but that's all for now- To my NYC friends, play in the snow for me! kt

Enough with the vacation already...

2006-02-02T13:38:00.000+03:00

I'm suffering from that peculiar phenomenon that occurs after a vacation's been over for a few weeks and the old familiar routines have set in; by this point my travels feel like they took place 100 years ago, and thus writing about them...well, it feels like recording ancient history. Not that there's a whole lot left at this point. Suffice to say, Zanzibar was beautiful, the beaches were amazing, the beer was cold (I could dig into my bag of cliches to find some metaphors to go with those descriptions, but if you want bad comparisons you don't need my blog; a typical romance will serve you just as well.) It was probably the most relaxed part of the vacation- necessarily as Jason had the bad taste to pick up malaria en route (although it should be noted that he was probably the most stoic case of malaria ever... the way he acted you would've thought he had a slight cold, maybe a mild case of indigestion, right up until he said that we should probably go to the hospital. Rest assured, had I come down with malaria, far, far more drama would've ensued. hopefully involving helicopters and AK's. there's time for that yet though...)

Now, back to real life...We're suffering from drought here; it's the third year in a row that that rainy season has failed to yield rain and the crops are withering, burning, in the fields. It's rained 3 (count 'em) 3 times so far since November when the rains were supposed to start and even today, with its low hanging clouds and dark horizon, will undoubtedly end in nothing more than wind and dust. A cow dropped dead a few neighbors over, and already prices are jumping in Dar for the most basic foods, like rice. It's hard to watch to say the least. People here attribute it to climate change, and even very young children know of things like "greenhouse gases" and the Kyoto accords. The growing belief at school is that global warming is behind the lack of rains and regardless of whether or not they are right, it should be a real wake-up call for the people of the west to know that Africa's next generation isn't going to be blaming the ancestors, or the spirits, or even God for their ruined environment. No, they know exactly where to point the finger (or they will after I teach tomorrow's lesson in Biology.)

Soapbox aside, most other things are great, if a trifle on the uneventful side. A typical day finds me waking around 5:30, puttering around the house, watering the flowers, etc. until 7:15 when I start the 20 minute walk to work. Mornings are lovely here, very cool and easy on the eyes, inevitably filled with small children in neat blue and khaki uniforms rushing and pushing before falling still when I pass (silent save for a murmured "Shikamoo?" to which I give a magnanimous "Marahaba"- literally translated as "I hold your feet" and "Delightful!" ahhh, those silly arabs, holding other people's feet.) School is always excellent; I love most of the other teachers, who are kind enough to gossip in English so I can join in. Classes are still a laugh (80 students in one room! yes!) but they should get better/more productive when the classroom construction/refurbishment finishes next week and we get to spread out a little. Around 3 I knock off and usually head into town to drink chai at my favorite down-at-the-heels Indian-run joint, Naureen's Cafe. The chai (tea) here is a dentist's nightmare- scalding hot and chock full of sugar, milk, cardemum, etc. Despite having enough suger to induce diabetic shock, it's strangely addictive and keeps me buzzing long enough to get a few hours of work in at the internet cafe on the grants I'm applying for. Being a confirmed agnostic, it's odd the sort of superstitious apprehension I get even mentioning the word "grant" on here. It's counting my chickens before they hatch, putting the cart before the horse, and hence dooming the proposals to failure if I start talking about the details too early. I'm not trying to be coy or deliberately mysterious about how I spend 2+ hours of every days its just...well, I'm sure you'll all hear about it plenty when I succeed. It's kinda like how I don't think I'd ever call myself (or admit to) being a writer until I have something published; anything said before that is premature (and undoubtedly jinxing future efforts to failure.) So yeah, after the typing, it's back to the ranch, and more specifically the kitchen, where I cook, clean, read, visit with neighbors, etc. until the mosquitos finally drive me into the confines of my nets. Yep, so goes life in paradise. Weekends are alternately more exciting and more lazy; my friend Dan (a peace corp vol. a few villages over) usually comes in to visit and we occupy our time in a myriad of ways- yesterday we decided we wanted to be on vacation again so we spent 8 hours hanging out around the Dodoma Hotel (almost the same thing...although none of the places I stayed over break boasted a pool) before he found (joy of joys) a hole-in-the-wall that boasted not only a playstation, but also "Driver" and "Grand Theft Auto- San Andreas." And you thought I spent all my time sorting rice and tilling the fields by hand...okay, more soon!

kt

Vacation: Part 4

2006-01-24T16:14:00.000+03:00

Almost done...promise...just one or two posts left (I know some of you are wondering, "How long was this trip?! Isn't she, like, supposed to be volunteering or something?" I've got two words for you people: summer vacation. That's right, I'm in the southern hemisphere and as a teacher I get 6 weeks off during our summer/Christmas break. Which is pretty darn cool, although you could make the argument that it's my due given that, get this, I had exactly 124 students today in my afternoon class. Try to imagine 124 students, crammed in a room the size of a small garage for a 2 hour long math class, in the middle of a desert 5 degrees south of the equator without a hint of a breeze blowing through the windows...yeah, makes that slush ya'll have back home sound pretty nice right about now. To their credit they were perfect...I'm still thinking of how to thank them.)

Anyway, back to the journey...so we're on the train, finally, and we're feeling tired and tense (well, at least I was) about our unwelcome visitor, the last-minute rushing around, and the heat, when Dan has the god-given foresight to search out the train for the bar and comes back bearing four cokes and four beers, no questions asked. I honestly think I could've pledged my undying devotion to him when he ambled, grinning, into our cabin; by that point, I would've traded my first born for a cold drink (you see why I love Australians now?) Seriously, the way we laid into those Cokes would've been too over-the-top even for the most melodramatic coke ad and, well, the train-ride was all uphill from there. It was classic really, in a very Hemingway-esque sort of way; the train-ride across Africa, watching giraffe, elephants, antelope, donned in our best safari gear, drinking doubles of gin (well, that last would be Jason...he fully intended to reincarnate old Ernie on his way back to Namibia, right down to the khaki suits and fully-filled flask, but, alas, ended up taking the bus instead. so it goes.) We pulled into Dar a little under 24 hours later and I got to show off my favorite city in Tanzania (excluding, of course, dear old Dodoma.) The highlight for me was a trip to the U.S. Embassy to see a movie. It was a strange scene actually- we all showed up at the Embassy (having searched it out after an elusive note in the Rough Guide said that the U.S. Marine House shows movies on Thursdays) not quite knowing what to expect. The U.S. Embassy, I might add, is EXACTLY what you'd expect from an American Embassy is the best and worst ways. For example, the Canadian Embassy is both tasteful and comfortable...I got to sit in the lobby with the other Canadian VSO's and chat with the receptionist. The whole thing was the size of an average office building and was perfectly sensible in both function and presentation and, most of all, reflected the down-to-earth, middle-class mentality that I'm starting to associate with Canadians. The U.S. Embassy, on the other hand, is ostentatiously set on grounds roughly the size of the neighborhood I grew up in. There are several huge buildings, all shiny and new and intrinsically western, interspersed between lush pavilions where the landscaping alone must've cost somewhere in the neighborhood of Burundi's annual GDP. There are metal detectors, large men with guns, and several flattering pictures of president Bush. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, the American dream is alive and well in Tanzania, make no mistake about that! Ah, it's crazy the amount of money in that place (no wonder everyone in Tanzania thinks all Americans are rich!) However, there are some good things about it- namely, American movies on Thursday nights, 50 cent bottles of MGD, hotdogs (with French's mustard no less!) and all the popcorn you can eat. It also has Marines in golf-carts who drive to the gates to pick you up so you don't have to walk the whole 150 yards to the basketball courts where the movies shown. It's funny, if you'd told me when I was coming here that a highlight of my life would be the chance to drink sub-par beer with a bunch of marines...well, let's just say laughing would've been involved (probably along with a wager that I'd have to pay up on.) But seriously...going months without movies, television, magazines, books, radio (although I'm just cheap...I could get my hands on a radio if I really wanted one) and food besides ugali, rice, beans, meat and spinach...well, it does strange things to you. I found out there was a Subway sandwich franchise in Dar and dreamed about BMT's for days afterward. But I digress, moving on, we all had a lovely time in Dar before heading out to Zanzibar...I'll wrap everything up in my next post!

Vacation Part 3

2006-01-22T10:20:00.000+03:00

Okay, so we (Jason, Dan, Damon, and I) are off the boat and heading north through Malawi; after all that sitting, how nice would a walk in the woods be, right? In our case, the "walk" was a 25km hike up to the mountain town of Livingstonia (whose main attraction seems to be its remoteness, but no matter; at least we'd avoid the other tourists.) We were lucky enough to get a lift on the back of a bakkie (a large truck with an open bed) on the way there. It was exhilerating- the four of us crowded in between bags of rice, people, spare tires, etc.- racing through gorgeous mountain valleys and picturesque rural villages as twilight settled in. Jason's goal was to get every child we passed to wave back at us, and damn if he wasn't almost successful; one got the distinct impression that our bakkie was the most entertaining thing to pass by for days- children would come racing down from huts, from fields, waving with the reckless abandon of the very young (I honestly don't think anyone's been that excited to see me since college when I managed to get a 24 pack of MGD during a snowstorm.) We'd contemplated walking it after the other passengers alighted at the last main town, but instead bargined with the driver to take us the last 7 km or so (a wise decision as once again Lonely Planet screwed up- the "7 km" turned out to be far closer to 30...quite a hike in the pitch black night.) Since we were the only ones left, we stood the last section, holding onto the back of the truck, stetching our legs, letting the wind rush over our dusty, sweaty faces. They were so beautiful these mountains; shrowded in mist and fog, thick with evergreen and palm trees, the air thick with rain and vanilla and somewhere, ever-so-faint, a snap of pine. Just before the rains started, (the lightning had started to flash with an uncomfortable regularity) we pulled into Livingstonia's "Stone House" a lodging that resembles a New England spinster's residence far more than an African Hostel. It was, in fact, one of the few places I've seen in Africa that has been actively preserved and restored; someone put a hell of a lot of time and money into keeping this place immaculate. It was built around the turn of the century by Scottish Missionaries and everything, from the wrap-around porch, to the antique furnature, to beautiful, varnished ceilings, gleams with care and effort. That said, as we were the only guests, the house inevitably felt more like a mausoleum than a hostel and we started right back down the next day in order to have more time in Zanzibar. The 25k hike down left me stiff for days, (and killed any illusions I had about being in shape) but we made good time and managed (amazingly) to just barely cross the border into Tanzania that same day before it closed (Yay! Home again!) The next day (after a night in a guesthouse with real showers! yay!) we rushed to Mbeya to catch the afternoon Tazara train to Dar es Salaam (a close shave that involved hours crammed in a tiny minibus, a frantic search for ATM's, and a very sketchy tout who followed us from the centre of town onto the train, and literally talked THE ENTIRE TIME. He resorted to blackmail to try to force a tip from us for his "services," but also supplied us with what would eventually be the trip catchphrase- "chill and relax," which he must have said 50 times during the hour or so we were with him.) In the next post, I'll talk about the train and Zanzibar and try to wrap things up...'till then (love) kt

Vacation: Part 2

2006-01-20T14:28:00.000+03:00

Only good things here! promise!

New Years was spent on a ferry going up Lake Malawi towards Tanzania. The boat was a 1950's sterotype of what a ferry should be- right down to the wicker chairs, the round portholes, the black people waiting on the white people in 1st class (where, in all my hypocritical glory, I was.) It took us 2 days to reach the northern port of Ntungi Bay and the afternoons found us lounging around the deck, reading, drinking beers while gazing pensively out over the water, and listening to Stan Rodgers sing about the Northwest Passage (that last one was me- with the rolling green forests and cool breezes, we could've been cruising the boundary waters. It made me bittersweetly nostalgic for home- pine trees trigger that feeling in me here.) Everything was blissful the first day, and we (Jason, myself and the three Aussies that we were traveling with- Kerri, Chris and Norman) were congratulating ourselves on saving some money by forgoing a cabin to sleep out on the deck, under the stars. I mean hey, we're young, we have mosquito repellent, why not? It was all good until around midnight, when a thunderstorm of "Edmund Fitzgerald" proportions woke us up with cold water, cold wind and some impressive pyrotechnic displays. We scurried around ineffectually looking for some place to escape the storm, (the whole scene was ridiculously melodramatic- the tossing waves, my wet hair streaming about my face- all I needed was a tall dark stranger to pledge my undying love to and I could have been living a harlequin bestseller!) until Jason had the foresight to ask a steward to open up the galley. We spent the night on the floors/chairs of the dining room- I was lucky enough to snag 3 chairs (one each for my head, hips, knees) and managed a couple of hours of fitful sleep (the irony of all this- third class was below deck and thus rain-free; God was no doubt punishing us for our bougoisie ways.) The next day was a groggy one, but as it was New Years we managed to put aside our sleepiness and have a heck of a party complete with flares, rot-gut whiskey, and malawi army marching songs. Yep, a good time was had by all. I also had the good fortune to meet two other Australians, (seriously, if all Aussies are as cool as the ones I met on this trip, I need to look into a move down under) Dan and Damon, who ended up traveling with Jason and I north to Zanzibar. More about that soon...kt

I knew I should've taken that left turn at Alberquerque..

2006-01-16T16:33:00.000+03:00

Instead, I'm back in Dodoma after a month on the road. I think I'm happy about this, although the drama circulating around my return is enough to make anyone have second thoughts. I'll go into this later, but first a couple of the highlights (with a few character builders thrown in for good measure) from my time in Malawi/Mozambique/Zanzibar.

Christmas! Christmas was spent in a tiny backpackers lodge (Zombie Cucumber) in Vilankulos, a town on Mozambique's coast, with a motley assortment of various wanderers. We could have been an advertisement for world peace and harmony, as despite the huge range of nationalities represented, (England, Germany, Norway, Canada, Italy, Australia, and of course me from the U. S. of frickin' A) we were all on our best behavior. All of us, that is, except for John (otherwise known as "Bad Santa.") A relic from the Great White Hunter days, complete with khaki shirt, hat and pipe, John has a remarkable talent for saying exactly what is on his mind with as little tact as possible. In short, he's awesome. He'd tell expansive tales of his African exploits over bottles of brandy, growing more and more florid as the hours progressed until even his crisp English accent had degenerated into a mumble of syllables. You'd expect him to be hung over for days, but sure enough, come 8 a.m. the next day he'd be lounging in a wicker chair next to the bar, smoking his pipe, absentmindedly rubbing his belly (which was remarkably like a bowl full of jelly) while reflecting that he probably should have taken it easy the night before. He'd be offensive if he wasn't so gosh darn likable- who else could get away with calling me a "good old common girl!" and live to tell about it? Come Christmas (after an amazing dinner from the woman running Zombie- naan and chutney, dal, garlic shrimp, crab legs, bananoffie custard and chocolate cake -who needs this fruitcake stuff right?) he played Santa making all of the girls (and some of the boys) sit on his lap while he handed out the secret santa presents and vaguely obscene advice. My presents were a pair of wooden braclets (beautiful and not at all attractive to thieves) and a cap gun so's I could "bust a cap" on any other would-be muggers. But I haven't told you about my mugging yet have I? (This one falls under the category of "experiences sure to put hair on your chest" or alternatively "proof that college degrees don't mean you're smart".) What can I say? I had just finished traveling the length of Tanzania and Malawi on my own using only the cheapest public transportation, had made numerous local contacts along the way despite not knowing the languages, had hitchiked across the malawi/mozambique border and had braved hotel rooms/bathroom more reminiscent of horror movie sets than places people pay real money to stay in. Yep, by that point I thought I was a bad-ass, having made it over 3000 miles without creature comforts, showers, or regular bathroom breaks (after going 32 hours without a bathroom and living to tell about it you feel pretty frickin' invincible.) So of course this is the point where my decision making skills go on hiatus and, well, I'll just tell you what happened. I arrived in Beira (Waterloo) in late afternoon, just in time to find a room, an internet cafe, and a ticket south to Vilankulos where at long last I'd be meeting up with Jason et al. Because time's an issue, I forego walking it and instead enlist the aid of a cab driver to find the "Hotel Morocco," which was recommended, I might add, in my Lonely Planet guide to Southern Africa. He gives me a puzzled look when I ask about it (a bad sign- cab drivers know nothing if not the hotels of the area) and stops to ask a policeman where it's at. After a long discussion full of gestures and head-shaking, he comes back to the cab and explains (in very broken English) that the hotel does indeed exist, and he knows where it's located, but that I was strongly advised not to stay there. This is the part where a normal person would take the local advice, but as I'm not a normal person, (I'm a badass remember?) I shrug off his concerns and insist that we take off for the "Hotel Morocco." I could tell almost immediately that something was off...maybe it was the fact that the management looked surprised if not downright baffled when I asked if they had any rooms available. Maybe it was the sign above the door stating that "No minors under the age of 18 are allowed inside." Maybe it was the fact that the hotel's decorations consisted almost exclusively of condom posters or the fact that when I was shown to my room the manager asked me "how many men would be staying with me." Yep, I'd just checked into a brothel. Being a bit slow on the uptake, I realized this on my walk across town to an internet cafe, but decided to stay anyway as, well, at least it was cheap and I'd have to leave super-early in the morning to catch a bus anyway (the long-distance buses in Moz. leave between 4 and 4:30 am.) The next two hours went great; I checked internet, found that Jason et al were already in Vilankulos, met a friendly worker at the internet cafe who agreed to walk me over to the bus station (bus station= a big grassy field filled with junk yard rejects) to get a ticket for Vilankulos. We managed to get one of the last tickets available to Vilankulos and I was in great spirits walking him back to work. My mistake was refusing his offer of an escort and instead walking him back the whole way; by the time we got back to the internet cafe it was dark and while I'm pretty good with directions, I'd been in the city at this point for about 2 hours so, in retrospect, I suppose it was inevitable that I'd get turned around. It was also probably inevitable that I'd get mugged at knifepoint, seeing as I was alone, female, white and obviously lost, walking through seedy alleyways after dark. At least I did a few things right; save for the large wad of money in my pocket, I'd left everything else of value (passport, ipod, phone, etc.) in my room and I was wearing jeans and trainers- far better for running than my typical long skirts and sandles. It was almost a classic scene, cliche really- a dark alley, man walking from the other direction on my right, (me, aware of him but thinking about other things..."what should I have for dinner...bread or crackers?") and then a sudden hand on my arm. I started to struggle and opened my mouth to scream when I saw the knief...and believe me, nothing focuses your thoughts like 8 inches of steel glistening blue-gray in the street lights. My common sense miraculously reappeared at this point, so I did what the self defense guides recommend- I whipped the money out of my pocket, threw it as far as I could (although I'm sure they don't recommend throwing ALL of your money the way I did...a couple of dollars would've done the trick) and than ran like hell. He didn't follow and, well, I don't think he could have caught me anyway seeing as at this point I had figured out where I was and I sprinted the way only panic does straight to my room. Back in the friendly confines of the neighborhood brothel, I worked on holding it together, and kept reminding myself that I had a ticket out of town tomorrow, I made it out okay, etc. etc. I didn't sleep at all that night...just read, swatted mosquitos, ignored the sounds from the neighbors, and sweated continously (it had to be 40 C in that room- oh and there was no water and no working bathrooms and the whole place had this terrifically pungent smell- like years worth of sex and sweat and cigarette smoke and dust all congealed together, coating the whole place in one sticky layer. It was one of those places where you try not to touch anything- especially the blood spatters on the wall.) The hours passed so so so slowly... I counted down the time like a little kid waiting for santa (only 4 more hours until my bus! only 3 and 1/2! Only 2!) Come the final hour, I used the last of my precious bottled water and a hankerchief to wash up, (incidently Tom Ginay- this is the hankerchief you gave me along with plato's republic at my college graduation...just thought you should know it's going to good use) before stepping out into the pitch black hallway at 3:30 am to catch the taxi I'd had the foresight to hire. I felt my way down 2 flights of stairs (seriously, I don't get scared easy, but I was shaking walking down those stairs...you couldn't see a hand in front of your face and given recent events...) only to discover that the second door is deadbolted and my key won't open it. Yep, I'm locked in this Hotel California. I go back up to my room and am so desperate to leave that I briefly consider climbing down the drain pipe...I wisely just settled for hanging out my window looking pathetic, pleading with the watchman across the street (who doubtless thought I was crazy) to help me get out. Come 5 a.m. a cleaning man unlocks the door, (I'm free!) I grab the first taxi I see and get there to find out that I've missed my bus by a mere 10 minutes. The next one to Vilankulos is at 4:30 tomorrow morning and until then I'm stuck in this hellhole known as Beira. Yep...that was a low point. So low in fact that I decided to spend the night in the bus that evening, just to make sure I wouldn't miss it. There's more to tell (mostly uplifting- I promise!) but I'm out of time so they'll have to wait a day or two...until then (love) katie

yes, I am still alive...

2006-01-08T09:55:00.000+03:00

and I know I've been horrible with the updates lately, but internet access has been a bit dodgy of late and we've been moving too quickly to post the contemplative, detailed reflections this trip demands. I'm in Zanzibar now and have about a week left before heading back to the real world and its rountines/responsibilies and, perhaps embarassingly, I can't say I'm looking forward to it (although having clean clothes will be nice for a change.) I think it's because the whole of the last few weeks have been rife with vivid sensations, the kind that even Dodoma won't be able to match. They weren't always good sensations mind you- staying in a brothel and getting mugged at knifepoint were new lows, (although they'll undoubtedly be big hits in the retelling) but even when I was scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel, I still had the whole "sucking the marrow of life" sensation that I think you could get addicted to if you travel for too long. Call me crazy, but somehow I don't think spending two hours preparing mchecha in my kitchen for dinner is going to match the adrenaline rush of hitchiking across the Mozambique/Malawi border. The one thing I am really looking forward to about going home is getting back to work on a grant proposal to bring some 400 computers to the Dodoma region from a Canadian NGO. I have conditional approval from the NGO/VSO to start working on the details (budget, timeline, etc.) and am psyched/more than a little nervous at the chance of planning something of this magnitude (Wish me luck- and in particular pray for my organizational skills...they've atrophied from lack of use I think : ) Okay, my time here is up but more soon, take care,
kt

On the road...

2005-12-20T16:11:00.000+03:00

...direct to you from Beira, Mozambique! I've been backpacking south since the 15th and am now only one short (well 8 hours, so relatively short) bus ride away from Vilankulos, my final destination (where hopefully I can catch up on my sleep and see this coastline all the guidebooks are raving about.) I started out with an overnight bus from Dar es Salaam to Lilongwe, Malawi which set the tone for everything to follow...I wish I had taken a picture of it. They were about 20 people over the number of seats (thank god, I had 2/3 of a seat- our set of two held 3 people) so people were sitting in the aisles, on each other's laps, etc. This wouldn't have been such a big deal, but there was also a ridiculous amount of luggage so there wasn't an aisle- just a long row of boxes, suitcases, bags, etc. You had to climb over them to get to your seats and were piled so high that the people sitting on top of them risked bumping their heads on the ceiling when we hit rough terrain. I was in the back right, and was lucky enough to be next to a window. There were 3 tires under my seat, a large parcel in my arms, a little girl on half of my lap (imagine- 5 years old- almost 40 hours on a bus- no toys- and not a single complain, no whining, no crying...she smiled the whole way. if her mother had asked me to adopt her at the end I would have said yes) and a ladies' head on my knees (her seat was broken so it tended to rest on my legs.) It was hilarious in how packed it was; even the other passengers were joking with me about how this was ''african transportation'' and wasn't I lucky to get the authentic experience? The best was when it started raining and my window wouldn't close...yep, 11 hours with wet knickers is always a good thing :) I'm giving it a hard time here, but it was an amazing trip- I saw 3 elephants, gazelles, baboons, and 5 different distinct biomes in the first day alone! Unfortunately, we arrived at the border a mere 15 minutes late, so instead of moving on into Malawi, we had to wait until the next day to continue our journey. This was a bit confusing to me and more than a little overwhelming; being the only white person and a woman as well, I was overwhelmed with hustlers when I stepped off the bus at the border and had to retreat quickly back inside. Most of the people were wandering off to try to find lodging...it was either that or spend the night on the bus. I think I'll always remember that pivotal moment; it was pitch black, I knew it was unsafe to stay in the bus, but walking around in the dark with my pack in an area I didn't know was well-neigh suicidal. I froze...staring out the window at the rain that was just starting up again, thinking that maybe I should've looked into flights after all (I know, I'm a wuss...I admit it) when all of a sudden an angel in the form of a brassy, opinionated, Tanzanian woman named Veronica climbed over the baggage next to me- "you know you're going to get eaten up in here- mosquitos's just love it in these buses...they be buzzin' in your ears, gettin' in your clothes...and if you're lucky it'll just be mosquitos'..." she went on and on, speaking in English, half to herself and half to me. Having labored through elementary kiswahili all day, I was giddy to have someone to direct questions to; she had the smart look of a young Dar es Salaam professional, and the easy confidence of someone who travels often. After a long series of questions (me: "when do we leave in the morning?" veronica: "ah! we'll be lucky if we get out of here by noon!") she told me she was catching a car to the next town over to meet her brother/ get lodging and would I like to come along? It was a really hard decision...you just never know who to trust and while she didn't put any pressure on me one way or the other, the idea of going with a complete stranger to look for lodging seemed a bit foolhardy. Still, people get drugged on buses all the time- a fellow VSO vol. (Chris) woke up in the hospital after such an experience- he'd been left naked in the desert and stripped of all his belongings. So I gambled on my gut feeling and went with her ... and everything turned out great!- better than great as it turned out that her brother was the head border immigration official (definitely a good person to know when you're going to have to talk your way back in carrying faxed work visa papers.) We had several drinks, dinner, told each other lots of stories and by the time we made it back to our rooms (beautiful, brand new, ensuite singles with water and electricity) we were getting along famously- exchanging phone numbers and e-mails like long-lost friends. And that was the start- it's kinda like hanging with the popular kids in high school, once you make one friend, you're in with the rest. I spent the entire rest of the trip laughing with the other young, single Tanzanian women (even the 9 hour wait at the border for customs to check all the baggage was fun.) Ah, I couldn't ask for a better start to the trip in regards to getting in touch with local Tanzania, and I was downright sorry to say goodbye to them when we reached Lilongwe...but more about that soon! kt

"It's that most won-der-ful time of the year..."

2005-12-12T09:41:00.000+03:00

Vacation time! That's right, in just a few short days (after my latest bout of stomach woes subside, and I finally get my work visa issues sorted out) I'll be heading south to Mozambique to spend Christmas and New Years on the coast with some of the friendly folks at VSO Namibia -Jason, Kate, Michael, Ben, and Peter. We'll be somewhere near the Bazaruto Archipelago, (you'll note that I'm not precisely sure where- probably a good thing to find out at this stage of the game) and I plan to spend most of my time swimming, drinking beer, reading, fretting over my inevitable sunburn, fishing, dhow sailing, etc. Not your standard Christmas, but not exactly a lump of coal either. The route down is a bit precarious at the moment; my original plan was to backpack it south via Malawi using local buses, and to then meet up with the VSO crew (who are traveling from Nambia via South Africa) in Vilanculos, but work visa issues mean that I'm going to have to leave substantially later than planned. Nothing sounds worse than being stranded in some godforsaken minefield in backwater Moz. for Christmas, so I might have to rethink my travel south. Despite having incredibly bad safety records, (so much so that their planes are banned in France and Belgium) Linhas Aereas de Mocambique does have cheap intercountry flights, so that might be an option if time is tight. I'll keep you posted. In any case, after New Years I'll be heading back north, this time with Jason and possibly Ben, and we'll be taking the scenic routes through Malawi and southern Tanzania. I'm particularly excited about the day long ferry on Lake Nyasa between Malawi and Tanzania, and then the Tazara train through southern Tanzania (which goes through the Selous Game Reserve.) We'll end up in Zanzibar for a few days, before I return to the real-world (well, sort of) in Dodoma.

(by the way, you know the Travel section of the NY Times online? It's the section that focuses on fabulous getaways for the monied elite, and usually it just pisses me off- on a drizzly New York February morning, the last thing I want to read about is some beautiful new place for the weathy to spend money. That said, I had the cool surprise this morning of finding that Zanzibar is the profile of the week; you can read about it at http://travel2.nytimes.com/2005/12/11/travel/11zanzibar.html?adxnnl=1&8hpib=&oref=login&adxnnlx=1134369582-l8uJAryWIiLTMYMCIok1PA
(and then feel free to heap abuse on me the next time I start bitching about how life is hard.)

I'll post as often as possible while I'm traveling, and would love to hear how your holidays are going as well. Hopefully, I'll finally be able to get some pictures up on this site too. Okay, take care,

kt

Warning- Long, long, long post ahead...

2005-12-06T16:58:00.000+03:00

You know, it's hard to write about sad and/or difficult experiences on these things; I think there's always a subtle pressure for the content to fit the medium, and thus I fill my entries up with breezy, amusing anecdotes and save the personal struggles for letters. But I had a good moment last week that I think should be shared, even if it would be better in a letter, even if it isn't entriely appropriate for a blog.

You remember I'd been in Dar? Well, the third afternoon there was a rough one and while there's no point in going into the gory details, it was enough to make even the most ardent idealist doubt human nature, to take the Hobbsian worldview and agree that life is indeed "ugly, brutish, and short." Not that I came here thinking things were going to be easy, or looking to avoid challenges; I think I just thought that the challenges would be of a different nature, simpler somehow. I think when I left New York, I was looking forward to simplifying by coming here, anticipating a life free from unnecessary accoutrements and mind-altering substances. I anticipated more basic challenges (A village needs a well, you dig one. Kids need to learn math, you teach them.) I left New York utterly deppressed about the state of race relations in America, and even less sure about the right way to start effecting change; I think I thought Tanzania's challenges would be at least straighforward, if not quite easy.
Well, anyone who has worked in development is probably already shaking their head; after 3 months here I don't know if I've ever been less certain about what's comic, what's serious, and am forced to conceed that I'm just an ordinary person, with no special powers of insight, with no way to discern the best thing to do for these people, this country. I came here with residual echoes of Nyerere's Arusha declaration ringing in my ears ("The development of a country is brought about by people, not by money. Money, and the wealth it represents, is the result and not the basis of development...The biggest requirement is hard work. Let us go to the villages and talk to our people and see whether or not it is possible for them to work harder...") and thought that my challenges would be based around just that- hard work. Tanzania, due to its socially brilliant, economically disasterous policy of villagization in the 60's (families were uprooted and placed in centrally located villages where they learned a common language, Kiswahili, and forged a common identity apart from tribal lines) has an amazing sense of national identity, leading to stablity, peace, and its recent status as a development darling of the western world. Indeed, you can't throw a stick here without hitting an SUV owned by some wealthy group of do-gooders and recently I've started asking myself...just what am I working so hard here for?Am I doing the right thing writing dozens of grant applications, looking for ways to get my kids into American colleges? I'm just doing what my school wants me to do, and I hate the condescending hypocracy of so many peace/global studies types who think they know better about what a country needs/should be doing than the people living there,...but, well it's heartbreaking watching students shirking their beautiful traditions, songs, and dances to embrace 50 cent. And it's depressing to think that even if I were to succeed here- completely, beyond my wildest expectations- all I'd have in the end is another America. In short, I was starting to lose faith in what I'm doing...why work for anything when people are so horrible to each other, why think anything will change when the suffering numbers the stars. But I digress, going back to my good moment...

I'd been thumbing through the sparse bookself at the VSO office after the tough afternoon, feeling pretty jaded and cranky (and increasingly incredulous at the selection- who reads some of this stuff?) until from the back left corner, between a book of erotica and a true-crime thriller there emerged a copy of "The Brother's Karamazov," albeit with a quarter of it's pages missing (there's an idea for an English major's circle of Hell- an infinite library of books, all missing the last chapter...chilling isn't it!) No matter, some Dostoyevsky is better than none, and sure enough, later that night I found an old passage, almost forgotten that reminded me not of why I came to Tanzania, but why I needn't worry about failure.

(this is long, but worth it- Gordon Thompson is proud of me somewhere- it's at the part where Mitya is being accused of the murder of his father)

They proceeded to a final revision of the protocal. Mitya got up, moved from his chair to the corner by the curtain, lay down on a large chest covered by a rug, and instantly fell asleep. He had a strange dream, utterly out of keeping with the place and the time. He was driving somewhere in the Steppes, where he had been stationed long ago, and a peasant was driving him in a cart with a pair of horses, through snow and sleet. Not far off was a village; he could see the black huts, and half the huts were burned down, there were only the charred beams sticking up. And as they drove in, there were peasant women drawn up along the road, a lot of women, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort of browinsh colour, especially one at the edge, a tall boney woman, who looked forty, but might have been only twenty, with a long thin face. And in her arms was a little baby crying. And her breasts seemed so dried up that there was not a drop of milk in them. And the child cried and cried, and held out its little bare arms, with its little fists blue from cold.
'Why are they crying? Why are they crying?' Mitya asked as they dashed gaily by.
'It's the babe,' answered the driver. 'The babe weeping.'
And Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, 'the babe,' and he liked the peasant calling it 'the babe'. There seemed more pity in it.
'But why is it weeping?' Mitya perisisted stupidly. 'Why are its little arms bare? Why don't they wrap it up?'
'Why, they're poor people, burnt out. They've no bread. They're begging because they've been burnt out.'
'No, no,' Mitya, as it were, still did not understand. 'Tell me, why is it those poor mothers stand there? Why are the people poor? Why is the babe poor? Why is the steppe barren? Why don't they hug each other and kiss? Why don't they sing songs of joy? Why are they so dark from black misery? Why don't they feed the babe?'
And he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable and senseless, yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it in just that way. And he felt that a passion of pity, such as he had never known before, was rising in his heart, that he wanted to cry, that he wanted to do something for them all, so that the babe should weep no more, so that the dark-faced dried-up mother should not weep, that no one should shed tears again from that moment, and he wanted to do it at once, at once, regardless of obstacles, with all the recklessness of the Karamazovs...And his heart glowed, and he struggled forward towards the light, and he longed to live, to go on and on, towards the new beckoning light, and to hasten, hasten, now, at once!

'What! Where?' he exclaimed, opening his eyes, and sitting up on the chest, as though he had revived from a swoon, smiling brightly. Nikolay Parfenovitch was standing over him, suggesting that he should hear the protocol read aloud and sign it. Mitya guessed that he had been asleep an hour or more, but he did not hear Nikolay Parfenovitch. He was suddenly struck by the fact that there was a pillow under his head, which hadn't been there when he leant back exhausted, on the chest.
'Who put that pillow under my head? Who was so kind?' he cried, with a sort of ecstatic gratitude, and tears in his voice, as though some great kindness had been shown him.
He never found out who this kind man was, perhaps one of the peasant witnesses, or Nikolay Parfenovitch's little secretary had compassionately thought to put a pillow under his head, but his whole soul was quivering with tears. He went to the table and said he would sign whatever they liked.
'I've had a good dream, gentlemen,' he said in a strange voice, with a new light, as of joy, in his face.

Admit it, you're moved. I was (am) too. I'd by lying if I said that the reasons I came to Tanzania are echoed in Mitya's words; no, I'm far too selfish to be moved entirely, or even mostly for those reasons, although at my best I'd aspire to such a thing (and Mitya (indeed, most of the characters in this book- Aloysha, Smerdyakov) functions so effectively as an everyman that it's easy to place yourself in his shoes and think yourself so noble.) No, I think the comfort in this passage came from the touchstones of love and compassion that Dostoyevsky kept coming back to, and to the prohetic vision he alludes to. This is the genius of the great Russian novelists at work, this ability to create such space that we see all of our actions as a part of a great, uniterrupted entity, separate and distinct but connected to all the others (as E.M. Forster puts it- 'the sea is in the fish, and the fish is in the sea.') and I think that's what I feel reading this; that all people would be similarly moved, that at the core there is love and compassion and that this is expressed in the multitude of small kindnesses perpetrated everyday, in the tenuous, but unmistakable connection we share with each other. I'm not talking about the vague love of humanity more than the individual, but the opposite- essentially the bible maxim "love your neighbor as yourself." The danger comes when you start talling up the evils of humanity, the crimes, the cruelty, and pretty soon you no longer see individuals, but a whole sea of lost souls and whatever idealism/motivation you had, is lost in the face of such insurmountable evil. What I think Dostoyevsky was saying (and what, at that point I desperately needed to be reminded of) is that one can't answer evil and human suffering at a global level (indeed such a battle is made to be lost) but must instead focus on active love for individuals. I can't be sure that my actions are the best thing for Tanzania, I can't be sure that they will lead to an alliviation of suffering at some point down the road; alas, my powers of insight can't see that far ahead and I'll just loose faith in the squinting. But if I can actively love the people around me, sleep easy at night knowing that I'm doing the best I can for them...well, at the end of the day that's enough. I'll leave the long-term visions to the prophets.

Reading over this, it sounds like an exceptionally basic truth, like something I should have figured out before turning 24; maybe it was something I knew once but had since forgotten. And maybe I'll change my mind about it eventually, but I think here, (where there is so much suffering, where you live so far on the margin, so close to that delicate line delineating life and death) it is the only way to keep your faith in humanity and thus avoid despair.

Anyway, it's a miracle if any of you have made it this far (and feel free to challenge my interpretation of Dostoyevsky...you'll remember I was only auditing that Russian Lit. class so maybe I've got it wrong somewhere :) but in any case take care and I'll try to post again before my trip south to Mozambique for Christmas and the New Year. Sending lots of warm thoughts west..Kate

2005-12-02T11:28:00.000+03:00

Sorry it's been awhile since my last post; I've been busy sorting out visa issues and sweating my way around Dar es Salaam. And when I say sweating, I don't mean some delicate, feminine persperation...no, I was sweating like a Gatoraid commercial from 6 a.m. in the morning to...well, 6 a.m. in the morning. Despite my improvised air conditioning system, (me lying on my hostel's floor, below the ceiling fan, draped in a wet sheet) I still spent most of my time awake, missing Dodoma's dry breezes and thinking that this tropical, sultry weather is so much more appealing in books than in real life. This morning, I woke up at 6 to sheets of monsoon rains which stopped just long enough to turn the place into a steam room of epic proportions; when I left the hostel at 9 a.m. it was 35C/95% humidity IN THE SHADE! Yep, I thought it was time for me to be moving on as well, so I caught the 10 am Scandanavian Bus to Dodoma (a trip which should take 6 hours give or take.) Scandanavian, recent legal problems aside, is lauded as arguably the most reliable, safest, and all around best bus travel option in East Africa (coincidence that it's named Scandanavian, GBucks? I think not.) So imagine my surprise when we break down outside of Morogoro ("wait, this is Scandanavian- Scandanavian buses never break down!") For four hours we baked in the midday heat of an equitorial sun while babies wailed and I counted the lucky, cooler, cheaper buses zipping past us. When we finally got 'er started back up just in time to make it back before curfew, (Tanzania doesn't allow buses to travel at night to discourage banditry and hijackings) it was like we all came back to life- smiling at the godsent breeze blowing through the window, at the cokes with their rainbow colored straws that the bus attendant distributed, at the gorgeous uluguru mountains rising before us in that perfect, golden, late afternoon light that makes everything look beautiful, every moment seem significant. It seems idealic right? It pretty much was, and then Michael Bolton's "How am I Supposed to Live Without You?" came on the radio and, well, that was that. The best part was when people on the bus started singing along with him...yeah, it was one of the more surreal moments of my life (just kept thinking to myself "I'm on a bus in backwater Tanzania, surrounded by Africans who are singing along to Michael Bolton...boy, is our world fu*&d up or what.") I roused myself from these thoughts when Celine Dion came on next, (your have to draw the line somewhere) and pulled out my trusty ipod. The battery even lasted until we pulled into Dodoma, sometime a little after 9 p.m. In retrospect it was good having this experience now; some of you know I'm going to be backpacking south through Malawi and Mozambique during the winter break and while that certainly sounds exciting, I think the reality is going to prove far more like this bus trip...lots of sitting, lots of waiting, lots of bladder control. I'll be going down on my own, then will meet up with my friend Jason (the Jason I refer to in my first post- a Canadian working with VSO in Namibia) as well as some other VSO Namibia people, at the Balthezar Archipelago (sp?) in Mozambique. We'll celebrate Christmas and the New Year there, before Jason, myself and possibly his friend Ben (a Brit. with VSO) head back up to Zanzibar. The trip back up should be interesting/fun; we'll be taking a train that goes through the Selous game reserve so I'll hopefully start seeing some wildlife besides the stray dogs lurking around my neighborhood (come to think of it, some good jokes could come out of this as well- "An American, a Canadian, and a Brit walk into a bar...") Okay, more on that soon, salama,
kt

"Ms. Mulloy, I Presume: Chronicles of a Young Change Agent on the African Continent"

2005-11-24T16:29:00.000+03:00

Happy Tim?

The rains came yesterday...I think this is the longest I've gone in my life without them. I chased my dog around in the yard as an excuse to get throughly soaked. It was funny when they started- I caught myself gaping in disbelief at the fact that water was coming from the sky(strange when something as prosaic as rain seems unfamiliar!) But you know, while I miss having weather here, (there is no "weather" per say; every day is sunny and windy with low humidity) I won't pretend that I miss that cold stuff you have going on over there. No, I think I might have to make my retirement move south a bit early...26 is sounding about right. You'd think so too if you could see it; Dodoma wears hot and sunny like an Armani. While some deserts look parched and dessicated, Dodoma merely looks ascetic- as though it made a conscious choice to deny itself rain knowing the beauty that would result. And is it beautiful...all pink sand and brilliant, brilliant desert flowers and rocky, blue-tinged mountains receding into the distance. I just can't get used to it- everyday I wake up and feel the urge to write bad poetry. But as well as Dodoma functions as a muse, I can't deny that it's a laughable capital city. There are plots of land all over the city earmarked for things like "The National Library," which have instead been overrun with carts of mangos and pineapples, vendors hawking phone cards, masaai witchdoctors concocting love potions on folding tables, and daladala's pushing and shoving for customers. Have I told you about the daladalas? Tanzania's public (but privately operated) transportation system consists almost entirely of daladalas; colorfully painted minibuses (mostly Dynacruisers or Toyota DCM's) that run along established routes and are remarkably cheap and efficient (if a bit unsafe as seatbelts are an unknown here and they pack people, animals, chickens, etc. into this bus like they're in a Tetris tournament.) The Nkuhungu route goes right by my house so getting into town is easy, and I've yet to wait for one by the road (although they'll stop to talk to people, kill time, collect customers and fill up on petrol so saying I've yet to wait for one doesn't necessarily mean I get to town quickly.) The best part about them is that they're all named- "Baba Kubwa" (big dad), "Bush Parts" (what parts of Bush I wonder? his legs? his nose? this could explain where his brain's been all these years- backfiring on Tanzanian highways!) and my personal favorite "Voice of Sweden" (What is the voice of Sweden? Is it the Swedish chef from the muppets? An Ikea advertisement? our own Garrett Bucks saying "matten" over and over? ) I've yet to catch up to it, but when I do, I'll let you know. 'till then...
kt

Super Mwasha!

2005-11-13T14:11:00.000+03:00

I haven't mentioned my dog here yet, partially because my internet time is limited, and partially because I have a pet peeve (no pun intended) about people who subject other people to long and pointless stories about their pets. Don't get me wrong, occasional updates are good, but hearing how muffy caught a frisbee...well, usually something's lost in the retelling. So if you hate pet stories, stop reading now, otherwise...
I have a dog! His name is Mwasha and he used to be a Peace Corp dog until the volunteer (Denise) finished her term of service and decided to let me have him. He's brown, medium-sized, and lean...sort of like a Dingo. He's super-affectionate and, as I found out recently, fiercely protective. I was taking him on a walk yesterday, with the vague goal of finding a good running path. My Tanzanian neighbors all find this hilarious ("Why does she have that dog on a rope?) so they turn out in droves to wave and laugh whenever Mwasha and I go out. Perhaps because of this, or because I have no common sense, I decided to take a deserted path into the brush (it makes somes sense- my neighbors would have a field day with me if I were to go jogging, so spending as little time in public view as possible is a good thing.) Mwasha and I walked about 100 meters before we came around a bend and found ourselves facing a pack of 4 dogs. Have you ever seen a dog fight? It's a terrible and mesmerizing thing- a Jack London short story brought to life ("the law of the club and fang.") The dogs rushed up snarling, and Mwasha reacted instantly....he fought like a trouper, the dogs never got within 5 feet of me, but was a bit torn up before myself (and another Tanzanian man) managed to frighten the dogs away. He has a cut above his eye and another along his muzzle...and I'm a walking wreck. Seriously, I'm starting to think I should never have children. People are malnourished, starving in this country, and I'm a basketcase over a dog. But you should have seen him- not a moment's hesitation about fighting...it was heroic almost. The worst part about everything is trying to find a vet; it's not like you can just look in the yellow pages and make a few phone calls. Luckily, I found one late yesterday willing to make house calls, and he came over today to check on Mwasha's wounds / give him a preventative Rabies shot. Mwasha seems fine, bounding around this morning like nothing had happened. He even had enough energy to escape from my house before I closed the gate causing a 20 minute chase that had the neighborhood children in stitches...at least I can rest easy knowing that if nothing else, I've brought some comic relief to Tanzania.

Life at Nkuhungu

2005-11-07T11:19:00.000+03:00

A common complaint among Peace Corps/VSO folks is that they get to their placement eager to kick some serious development ass, only to discover that there's nothing for them to do. Their placements either haven't been developed beyond the drawing board or, worse, the volunteer is expected to serve as a figurehead, a token mzungu who's primary responsibilities are to walk around and look white. Luckily, that is NOT the situation I'm in at Nkuhungu Secondary School; the day after I arrived in Dodoma I started teaching. Currently, (until the term ends in early December) I am teaching all of the Form I (freshman) students Biology and all of the Form III students Maths. What this works out to is 7 hours of straight teaching on Monday and Tuesday (exempting a 20 minutes recess- there is no lunch period) and then 3 90 min. classes on both Wednesday and Thursday (the teachers among you will appriciate the workload here- Derek, how quickly would Elliot file a union grievance on this schedule at J. A.?) The upshot is that I don't have classes on Friday; Friday's are a half-day to allow our Muslim students time to go to Mosque. On Friday mornings, the first 90 minutes are for various student lead worship sessions; being the team-player that I am I went ahead and went to the Catholic service. After much frantic searching to find me a chair and a English copy of the Bible, the students started a surprisingly uplifting and reverent session replete with songs, stories, and short speeches from the students about their interpretation of different key passages. I was rather enjoying it until they requested that I lead them in an "English Religion Song." You know that scene in "A Christmas Story" where Ralphy blanks out telling Santa what he wants for Christmas ("football? what's a football?") Yeah, well that was me..."Religious song? What's a religious song?" Those of you with musical taste (Mark, Dad, etc...) will despair at what I finally came up with...Yes, all those years of Catholic schooling, all those centuries of amazing religious hymns to choose from, and I ended up teaching 80+ Tanzania students the dulcet refrains of "Jesus Loves Me." Uncle Al, feel free to disown me...the irony gods are rolling as I type.

Moving on, back to the job description, I was lucky that I brought resources from home as the teachers here have so so little to work with when preparing their lesson plans- all I recieved was an outdated syllabus with such helpful pointers like "Teach Relations using Inequalities (6 Periods.)" Good thing I'm a Math major and can just come up with this stuff off the top of my head. It's all good though, I mean after the Bronx I've gotten used to dealing with a lack of resources, and who cares if there's a dirt floor & 60 kids in class as long as they're respectful and attentive? (There are limits to this- last Wed. they switched the Form III A students to a new classroom- one that was missing a wall where the blackboard should have been. Yep, just a wide open window into the surrounding desert. I won't lie; I walked in and just cracked up- the students were all looking at each other, giggling nervously, with little bubbles over their heads reading "why is the white teacher laughing?" Hiccoping between laughs, I took advantage of the fact that I'm the acting Science Dept. Head (I'll let you ponder the multitude of ways in which I am unqualified for that title) and marched them into the lab/science office with it's four walls/blackboard. I'm sure a better teacher (Evan, Deborah, Bryan...) could have taught graphing functions without a board, but I can't think that fast on my feet.)
That said, challenges noted, Nkuhungu's been a great place so far. The kids are so patient and respectful, and the teachers have gone out of their way to welcome me into their community. My boss is particularly amazing; he started this school 5 years ago and talks about the struggles with pride and a half grimace- the way farmers who made it through the great depression wince years later at still too-painful memories. He loves recounting how people said it couldn't be done, that there's no way he could build a secondary school in Nkuhungu- "and then you come here and see that this is our land, our buildings, and in a few years the trees will be tall and the students will have shade." His plans are ambitious (a form 5 next year, a teacher's college in '08) but he speaks with such conviction, such energy, that you find yourself wanting to give whole years of yourself to this collection of mud sheds and dust. At the very least you want to write mountains of grant proposals- my new idea of a fun Saturday night.
In other news...I'm recovering! I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with amoebic dysentary (a suitably impressive sounding ailment- how prosaic if it had only been the flu right?) and will be right as rain in a few days. I have my house all set up (will describe soon) and have visitors coming this weekend! Will post more in a few days, take care until then, kt

Praise Allah...

2005-11-04T11:47:00.000+03:00

...today's a holiday! That's right, it's the end of Ramadahn so all of our Muslim friends will hopefully open up their businesses again. Dodoma really shuts down during October, so it'll be interesting to see how it's different now that people eat during the day. Another good reason for having a holiday...I've unfortunately been sick again, so at least I'm not missing school. It's kinda galling actually- the other VSO people who came with me have all been fine; I'm the only one who's been sick- 3 times in 6 weeks. And we're not just talking a case of the sniffles here...no, these stomach ailments have been truly exotically, fantastically painful- sicknesses worthy of the contenent that spawned Ebola. Lest you worry that I haven't been looked after though, let me tell you...let no one ever accuse Tanzanians of lacking concern or generosity toward ailing people- yesterday I had not 2, not 3, but no less than 21 visitors over the course of the day (my boss and his family, VSO people, neighbors, other teachers from my school, etc., etc.) While the gestures were certainly appriciated, trying to entertain people while fervently wishing to die required some of my best acting. And then there was the whole business with not eating...apparently this is something of an alien concept in Tanzania, as despite my best efforts to persuade them that "in America, it's considered very normal not to eat during food poisoning," each person insisted on bringing food, cooking food, or trying to get me to eat food right there in front of them. It was almost a game- people would come, I'd tell them I couldn't eat, they'd force me to eat, and then I'd go throw up after they left. hey, at least I didn't have to worry about dry heaving. My boss explained the reasoning to me: "how would it look if you go back to America looking thin? they think we don't know how to take care of you! no, we send you back a big mama!" so it goes (and so much for coming back a stick, vaness.) believe it or not, everything else has been peachy- more about those parts soon. kt

Contact Information

2005-10-29T19:24:00.000+03:00

I have an address! I'm not 100% positive this will work, so I'll post confirmation on here when I recieve my first letter. You can write me at:

Kathleen Mulloy
Nkuhungu Secondary School
P.O. Box 1523
Dodoma
Tanzania

I also have a cell phone (yes, I realize how ridiculous it sounds) that I was forced into buying by the friendly folks at VSO. Texting is surprisingly cheap and works in theory, although I haven't received any replies to the texts I've sent to the states so I have my doubts.

My number is 255787198418 - I think that includes the country code.

I'm in Africa! Wow! I wonder if that statement will ever sound natural- I've been here a month and still wake up disoriented. For those of you that I have yet to write/e-mail, I was in Dar es Salaam for 3 weeks for language training, and then moved to Dodoma a little over a week ago. Rather than summarize everything, I'll just tell you what I did today (I'm sure the rest will come out eventually.) I went to a country fair! Really! My boss picked me up on his pikipiki (dirt bike) at around noon from the guesthouse where I've been staying while my house "gets ready" (long story- will detail next post.) My Kiswahili is barely conversational and his English is little better, so I wasn't so sure where we were going. I've gotten better about not worrying about such details. Besides there were more important things to worry about (like my skirt flying over my head, like the gravel road flying beneath us at a frenetic pace.) Happily, only 10 minutes later we arrived at a huge expanse of red sand and wooden fences, chock full of cattle and goats. It was sort of what I've always imagined Texas to look like (if Africans lived in Texas.) We got off the pikipiki and approached the corrall area. My boss asked me if I'd like to buy a goat; I declined. He then explained that we were here for lunch so I had to choose. Being the obtuse American I am, I still didn't follow. After much gesturing, he finally managed to convey that at the market you can go over to the corral area, pick your goat, and have it slaughtered and grilled up right then and there. You can even enjoy a cold beer in the shade while you wait (Dodoma's "Red Lobster" tank.) When I again demured (yeah, I'm a wuss like that) he took me over to the grill area and said I could pick any piece of meat I wanted - an honor that was nevertheless a bit unnerving. Imagine it- picking out raw hunks of flesh quivering in the desert sun, flecked with flies, while the glassy eyes of goat heads gaze blankly up at you from under the table. The worst is when they're leading a goat away to sell or slaughter- their cry is arrestingly human, enough so to make one reconsider this whole vegetarian thing. That said, to be fair, the meat was pretty darn good. So it went- my boss and I sitting under a tent around a picnic table, chewing on salted goat, drinking Tusker baridi (cold beer), then sitting back with toothpicks to gaze broodingly out over the desert plains. Repeat this scene 3 times and you have a good idea of how the afternoon progressed...suffice to say, it was one of the more testostorone-ladden afternoons of my life (can almost feel the facial hair growing.) I'll leave you with that image...more soon. kt

Preparing for Tanzania

2005-06-02T18:10:00.000+03:00

Howdy Y'all,

My friend Jason (who's a fellow VSO mate and far more skilled in matters technical than myself) decided to use a blog to record his time in Namibia, and I'm following suit. It beats filling up your inboxes with mass e-mails and picture files, and it makes me appear far more computer literate than I actually am (important given that I'm supposed to be the technology guru at my school.) Of course it won't take the place of individual e-mails (or letters for Tim, Karli, and Dayle) but for the time being it will have to do. There isn't much to report as yet. I'll leave New York in August, go to the U.K. for some classes during Aug./Sept., and then take off for Dodoma in late September. As that's it for now, I'm going to go finish grading a few papers (NYC schools are in session until July (?!?) but I'll post again in a few months when things really get moving. Until then, take care and play frisbee.