Camping!?

For the few seconds I have internet access, I'm happy to post that things are going great! I'm currently sitting in a tent in the middle of the Serengeti. There are water buffalo chewing cud no more than 10 feet from my tent!! I'm a little nervous to step outside for dinner, but we'll see what happens. Also in view are wildebeest, zebras, and a big giraffe!

Oops

I recommended listening to “It Happens” by Sugarland for this next post:

I broke my leg this week. I wish I could tell you this epic story of how I gripped onto the edge of Kilimanjaro's volcanic peak before plummeting into oblivion. The less exciting truth is that I slipped on some water in the dining room. I've been walking for a good 22 years at this point, but I guess I'm still perfecting that skill.

After completing my dauntless journey last week, I'd say this was the best timing I could've ever had.

That doesn't make this type of injury any easier though. Africa is a tough place to fall apart. When it first happened, I was at home with only my new maid, Veronica, and her 3 year old daughter, Upendo. Neither of these ladies speak a single word of English. As I lay sprawled out and crying on the floor, Upendo walked in and stared blankly. Then she started laughing because she thought I was playing a game, and she wanted to play too! Trying to explain this was a bit of a challenge.

After a short while, I composed myself, texted the other study abroad girls, and called Baba. Within minutes, people were flooding into my house and making horrified looks at my swollen, discolored ankle. I felt like the side show act at the circus. Not to worry, this circus freak was soon to be on her way to the best medical facility in all of Tanzania, Aga Khan. Following in this series of comedic failures, the guarantee of payment from my health insurance was not accepted, so I had to pay each necessary step out of pocket. Actually, my friend Hali had to act as a money runner before each step could be completed. You want to see a doctor? Go to the reception and make a payment. You need an X-Ray? Go to the reception and make another payment. You need a cast? We can't do that until you make another payment! This worked wonderfully until I ran out of cash... but I'll get to that later.

This is no ordinary cast. It's called Plaster of Paris (POP), and I found out that the US stopped using this method years ago. The first notable problem is the lack of color. For my very first cast, I was hoping to rock a nice shade of purple... not this icky beige thing. I suppose that should be the least of my worries. Something went horribly wrong during the process because the POP was eating my flesh alive inside this cast. They soak the fabric in warm water before applying it to the cotton layer surrounding the injury. This incites a chemical reaction, releasing heat, and hardening the cast in a mold of the leg. They quickly wrap it up in gauze to keep everything together. About 30 seconds after encasing my leg in an oven, I was desperately crying in pain. The doctors laughed and said it should get cooler in about 10 minutes. That was about to be the longest 10 minutes of my life—scratch that—the longest 10 hours of my life. The pain never subsided. I didn't even care that I fractured my tibia; my biggest concern was the skin of my heel that was sizzling inside this insulated tomb. Once the doctors recognized that I wasn't appreciating their laughter, they attempted to position me near a ceiling fan in order to cool the cast. Then they said I could pick up crutches at the reception once I make another payment. Too bad I ran out of cash on the last payment. They informed me of an ATM machine near the entrance of the hospital. Hali struggled to push my broken wheelchair around the maze of pebbled walkways as tears continued to stream down my face. Tanzania hasn't figured out drive-up ATMs yet, so I had to hop a good 20 feet over uneven surfaces only to find out that this machine doesn't accept Mastercard. (Mom—why couldn't you work for VISA?!). This was only after I stood outside the doors for 15 minutes while two men had a meeting inside the ATM room, pretending to make a transaction. So Baba pulled the car nearby, and we set out for another machine. After driving a few miles, this time I got to hop up an intimidating curb as security guards giggled and expressed their sympathies.

Back to the hospital. I parked myself at a seat in the waiting room while Hali ran around to the reception. Where did the receptionist go? I guess we didn't get the memo that they were now fumigating the office. They wouldn't be able to attain the crutches or issue a receipt. Please come back in the morning.

The entire ride home was in silence, broken only by my occasional whimpers. Baba made it clear that he was unable to bring me back to the hospital in the morning because he had rushed home from work today to help me. My hero, Amani, came to the rescue by offering a ride on his way to work the next day. SCORE! That option sounded infinitely better than transferring dalla dallas at the crowded bus stop.

That night I couldn't fall asleep. There wasn't a single position of comfort because my heel still felt like it was on fire! I was so tempted to cut off this death trap. Nothing would ease or distract me from the pain. I even called my mommy crying. Am I 8 years old?! In general, I tend to see the bright side, but this whole scenario was such a disaster. I counted down the hours until I could return to the hospital.

My brother dropped me off at the front desk... although no receptionist could be found. So I hopped about 100 exhausting meters around a bend to a different kiosk. This receptionist instantly told me I was in the wrong place and must return to the front desk. Ignoring my pleas for a wheelchair, she pointed back in the direction I came from and said to wait until someone arrived at the desk. By the time I returned, a woman was managing the reception. I explained that I needed to see a doctor about the painful cast, and requested a wheelchair because I still didn't have crutches. She said “Oh this is an emergency! You need to go to the emergency department!” Thank you for being the first person to understand the gravity of my situation, but do you really want me to hop around to the emergency department? Of course you do... She said the only way to obtain a wheelchair was by going to the emergency department.

I single-leggedly hopped another 200 meters to the emergency department, taking at least four quick breaks along the way. Each bounce shook up the bones and scratched up the damaged skin inside my cast, causing excruciating pain. By the time the emergency kiosk was in view, my eyes were overflowing with tears and my face was beat red from pain and exhaustion. It must've been an awfully frightening sight. Suddenly everyone wanted to help me! One man wearing an official-looking outfit pushed a few other nurses and spectators aside and commanded respect. He insisted that someone from the cleaning staff run for a wheelchair. He asked me several questions about the timing of the incident, steps taken to heal the fracture, and what my chief complaint was at this moment. It turns out he was just an intrigued person who saw me from the waiting room—not a real doctor. Thanks for your concern, buddy, but why are you so curious about my medical information? And where is a real doctor?!

I think they all felt bad because I was clearly distraught. I skipped over the reception altogether and they wheeled me into a room. The same nurse was there from last night! He explained that he has seen this extremely painful burning reaction only one time in the past. It is rare, but possible. The doctor arrived to discuss the situation. He explained that they could remove the cast to inspect the damage, but then they would have to put another one right back on. Good idea, doc. Let's light up my previously damaged, super-heated skin to another 120 degrees. That'll make it feel much better. I asked if they have any alternatives to the POP for joint immobilization. His response was “Not in this part of the world.” Oh, Africa. After prescribing some painkillers and retrieving some crutches, he sent me on my way.

Now the tricky part... how do I get home? The only option seemed to be a taxi. This leads to another problem—white girl on crutches—easiest scamming target they've probably ever seen. They knew I would never make it all the way to the bus route, so they all demanded the same exorbitant price to get me back across town. I can't really complain about this though... even though it was more than twice the price anyone else would ever be charged, it only came to about $10.

Although the pain has reduced significantly in the past couple days, getting around the city has continued to be a major challenge. Tanzania is hardly equipped with any handicapped accessible areas. Many stairways don't even have railings! These are such common luxuries back home that I never noticed until I really needed them. For the few times I have attempted to take a dalla dalla, I have only been offered the front seat once. The other times I am forced to quickly and carefully jump up the 2 foot gap into the over-crowded back seating area.

As much as I'd like to consider this an emergency, there are far worse cases that come through the hospital each day. I am so confused about the payment system. Do they really refuse treatment until each successive payment is made? What if I was having heart complications or some other life-threatening condition? I think the hospital does not allow any care until the entire cost is guaranteed to be covered.

I soldiered on through the next few days and returned to the hospital with my friend Pam this morning (Friday) for reevaluation. My biggest fear was that they were going to remove the cast and need to create another mold. I immediately told my doctor that my greater concern was the irritated skin, and if he removed the cast, I wasn't sure I could handle the pain from another one. He said that he needed to see the progress that my leg was making, and would make a decision thereafter.

I held my breath as he unveiled my swollen, blue-tinted ankle. I prayed for a miraculous recovery and no need for further medical attention. Wishful thinking. He said it was badly swollen and I needed 3-5 days of bedrest. He recommended only leaving a horizontal position to use the washroom. I explained that all the Fairfield students, including myself, are leaving tomorrow for safari in Arusha. He was not supportive of this idea because there is at least an 8 hour bus ride involved each way, plus sitting upright in a safari vehicle for most of every day. He said the only way he would allow this trip was for me to promise to keep my foot elevated at all times. This complicates things, but I'll do my best.

Then he glanced at the black splotch on the back of my heel. No wonder I was in so much pain!

I had suffered 2^nd and 3^rd degree burns from the POP. He inspected the cast and noticed that the inner lining had moved during the process of administering the POP and the gypsum was directly touching my skin. At least the mystery had been solved. The doctor agreed that applying another POP would do far more harm than good at this point. He wrapped my frail leg in gauze and sent me on my way. Keep it dry and clean. If anything changes, get to a hospital immediately.

To top off a satisfying morning, Pam and I stopped for some ice cream on the way home.  

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro

What's the logical thing to do if you're in Africa and enjoy hiking? Climb a mountain! Seems easy enough, doesn't it? I'm not sure why I imagined trekking to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro would be fun and easy. Fun—yes. Easy—not quite.

I called my dad a few weeks ago and told him about my brilliant plan to climb this massive volcano. That obviously included an invitation to the only person I knew that might be crazy enough to accompany me. He arrived February 17^th and the excitement began.

We took a 12 hour bus ride up to Arusha, Tanzania. I was told that it should only take about 8 hours, but we were detained at a police station for a while because someone reported theft. I was too enthralled in the pounds of candy my dad brought and endless Tanzanian soap operas playing overhead to notice any delay in our arrival. No complaints here.

We stayed overnight in Arusha and headed to Kilimanjaro the following afternoon. This is the first time I noticed how massive this mountain really is. Uhuru Peak reaches 5,895m. It is considered the world's largest free standing mountain because it is a stand-alone volcanic peak, not a part of any mountain range. This gives it a very large prominence (mountain term for height of peak in relation to the ground level around it). As we approached the mountain, we were driving on flat ground for two hours. Out of nowhere, the ground shoots up above the clouds. I think we found it...

Many people attempt to climb Kilimanjaro because it does not require any technical climbing skills, though they are still prone to severe altitude sickness. Climbing slowly reduces the symptoms, but headache, nausea, vomiting, and fluid retention (resulting in life-threatening edema) are common struggles for all climbers. That is generally the reason why less than 40% of climbers actually reach the summit.

In spite of all these factors, dad and I set out on our journey. We filled our day packs with 3 liters of water, a box lunch, rain gear, and some other equipment that totaled about 15lbs. We met our guide, Herment. He grew up around the slopes of Kilimanjaro, and has reached the summit over 200 times! We also needed an assistant guide, cook, and five porters to carry all the supplies and food for the week.

We were dropped off at the Marangu Gates (1980m elevation). The first day of climbing was 12 kilometers through dense rainforest.

There was a clear dirt path the whole way, sometimes held together by rocks and thick branches. We started around noon and reached the Mandara huts (2700m elevation) by 4pm. There were several groups passing us on their way out. Many were smiling and saying “Jambo” (hello), except for one man. He made a point of telling me that it was a terrible experience and he was very unhappy about the climb. Awesome. That's exactly the motivation I needed on the first day. Most people we passed were from Europe and Asia, but we met three climbers from New Jersey! After dad told a lame Jersey joke from like the 70s they got really excited and told us what a great time we were about to have. They said the last day is completely miserable, but if you stick with it, it feels like the whole world is yours in the end. Slightly better words of advise than that first guy.

I was really surprised by the Mandara huts. There were four bunks in each small wooden hut, but they were quite cozy.

There were also bathroom huts with real toilet seats!! Herment directed us to the dining hall for some snacks.

He said that as we ascend, our bodies will begin rejecting food. We won't be hungry, even if we have been walking for hours. It is important to keep up your food intake and energy level because it gets more difficult as each day passes. Dad and I had no problem scarfing down the fresh, hot popcorn and biscuits, accompanied by tea, coffee, and hot cocoa. That was just the first snack!

We went for a walk just before dark. We were told that there was some crater a couple kilometers away. The crater was probably the least exciting landmark I've ever seen. It was a grassy pit, smaller than a basketball court. But along the way, we were able to see one of the peaks for the first time. It was HUGE! And so far away! What had we gotten ourselves into?? I found out later that night, that the peak we were looking at was Mawenzi peak—the tiny one blocking our view of the bigger Kibo peak that we would actually be climbing.

For dinner they served a four course meal, which could have filled up at least 6 hungry men. Herment was disappointed that we left most of the food untouched, and reminded us again that we must eat and drink more than we can bear. Eating all that food might be a bigger challenge than climbing the mountain!

The next morning, we were served tea and coffee in the hut, followed by a big breakfast in the dining hall. Eggs, sausage, cereal, porridge, and fruit. We received our lunches and prepared for the day ahead. We were joined by a furry little guest. He was a blue monkey that my dad decided to name Jimmy.

We continued through the rainforest for a few kilometers, and then began a steep ascent into moorland. There were no more trees; just open plains of grass and smaller vegetation. Along this path, we had our first view of both Mawenzi and Kibo peaks. As expected, Kibo was much more massive and farther off in the distance.

I think hiking through the rainforest was slightly more enjoyable. In this moorland and alpine brush, you can see everything around you, including the endless path ahead. We walked for about 15 kilometers (six hours) before reaching the Horombo huts at 3720m elevation. It was much colder at this altitude. I guess we didn't realize because we were sweating so much throughout the day. As soon as I stopped moving, everything felt cold. I was bundled up in a bright orange fleece and huddled into my sleeping bag.

But first we arrived at our hut, and it was locked from the outside. That meant we had some roommates. They were a Swedish couple in their 40s. They were climbing with a group of over 20 Swedes, led by a woman who has reached all seven summits (highest mountains on every continent). They had been exhausted, and felt like the group was going too fast for them to keep up. This made me realize how fortunate I was to be with just my father and Tanzanian guides. Due to the small size of the group, I had no problem requesting water breaks and sitting down for a few minutes every hour or so. The Tanzanian guides know the mountain better than anyone else because they usually climb about twice a month. Our guide had just completed his last climb 3 days before beginning ours. They understand the demanding efforts needed to successfully reach the top, and they are also aware that a slow, steady pace will allow people to adjust to the altitude without overexerting themselves.

At this campsite, the Horombo huts have a spectacular view of Moshi town, just beyond the foothills of Kilimanjaro.

At night, you can see Kibo peak glistening under the moonlight. It was beautiful.

The next day, we were acclimatizing near Horombo hut. This was an effort to reduce the effects of altitude sickness. We hiked to Zebra Rock, which was about 4200m in elevation.

On the next 15 kilometer leg of the journey, vegetation changed significantly. We entered an area of alpine desert. These funny looking trees called Senecio were scattered around everywhere.

Surrounded by mostly dirt and rocks, with thin patchy grasses, this area gave some of the greatest views of Uhuru peak.

We hiked closer and closer to the peak, ascending with each step, and entered an area called “The Saddle.” This was the passage between both peaks. The wind whipped towards us violently. With the combination of altitude, exhaustion, and strong winds, this part of our climb seemed endless. It took almost 7 hours to reach Kibo hut (4700m), which is the last stop before attempting the summit.

Dad and I were exhausted. This is when I really began to feel the effects of the high altitude. As I tried to get some sleep, I noticed how rapidly I was breathing—30 times a minute! Around 5pm, our guide came in the hut to discuss the plan for summit day. After an early dinner tonight, we would try to get as much sleep as we could, even though the conditions made sleeping nearly impossible. At 11:15pm we would wake up for breakfast and prepare ourselves for the climb. We were set to begin at midnight.

There was no way I was getting any sleep this night. I decided to pump myself up with some inspirational climbing songs. “Ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side. It's the Climb... Keep on moving, keep climbing. Keep the faith.” You got it Miley. Let's do this.

At wake-up call, I was energized and ready to go. We bundled up in layers upon layers of fleece and windproof gear. This was really it. In the darkness, I couldn't see much beyond my guide's footsteps in front of me. We began walking at a very slow pace. Our guide made it clear that if we attempted to go too quickly, we would get extremely sick from the altitude and be forced to descend rapidly for survival.

My legs were aching. At this point in the journey, we had walked nearly 30 miles uphill! This was the steepest part of the trail so far. The face of this mountain seemed like a nearly vertical ski slope made of small rocks. Footing was so important, and there were a few times when I started slipping downward. My dad almost lost his pack down the mountain! We ascended in a zig-zag pattern, creating our own path. I requested breaks frequently. My guide said I could sit down, but only for less than a minute each time. If he allowed me to rest for longer than that, there was a greater chance that I would get too cold and be unable to continue. We took a break every 20-30 minutes, for 1-2 minutes each—not satisfying, but I understood why we must continue moving.

About two hours in, my legs decided to stop working. Each movement brought a striking pain through my muscles. My back hurt, even though my pack was light. My entire body felt like it was falling apart. My breathing was rapid, and my face was being attacked by the bitter winds. This was the toughest part of the entire climb. I needed one more minute to rest, but my body didn't want to continue. I changed my step pattern to tiny baby steps. I had to keep going.

The struggle continued as the terrain changed again. Bigger rocks became prevalent and we had to crawl over them in order to continue. At least this was working some different muscles.

Just keep climbing. We can't be too far now.

I worked my way over some bigger boulders until I realized the steep face had ended. We had reached Gillman's Point!!! This was the lower side of the volcanic peak at 5,681m. We still had a ways to go before reaching the summit, but I didn't care. The hard part was over. I suddenly had a burst of energy. We cheered and took pictures.

This was an unbelievable feeling. Our guides pulled out a thermos full of hot tea, and we rested for about 10 minutes. I had forgotten all about the biting cold winds and each painful step it took to get here. Nothing was going to stop me from reaching that summit now.

The next section took us around the crater rim of the volcano. Jagged rocks jutting out from ice and snow lined the path.

We walked up, down, and around all sorts of rock formations. Even though this was the highest altitude I had attained, we moved at a much quicker pace. This became extremely difficult as we got closer to the peak. Everything was covered in snow and the slope gradually became more prevalent. This went on for two hours. My guide could see that we were physically and mentally exhausted. We could see the summit atop the next big hill, but all our energy was gone. After one last water break, I started to sing. The guides instantly recognized this song and joined in. We were chanting Tanzania's National Anthem as we marched up that last snowy embankment. “Mungu Ibariki Africa” (God Bless Africa). The words fell in tandem with our footsteps and gave just the motivation we needed to make that last ascent.

At 6:06am we reached Uhuru Peak, the highest point on the African continent.

We posed with the Fairfield Rotary banner at the summit. A tribute to the ones who made this possible by giving me this opportunity in Tanzania!

Just minutes before sunrise, we set down our packs and congratulated each other. We had spectacular views of the sunrise over glaciers and Mawenzi peak.

Uhuru means Freedom in Swahili, and I completely understand why that name was chosen. We were on top of the world. I could not believe the beauty that surrounded me at this very moment. Every bit of effort was worth it for the things I saw and felt at that summit.

That was the hardest I had ever worked to see a beautiful sunrise! I wanted to enjoy every moment.

We could see detailed stratifications in the massive glaciers that lined the volcanic crater.

As we stood at the peak, mesmerized by the beauty surrounding us, I started to feel every inch of my body tingling with cold. The temperature at the peak is approximately -20°C, not including the wind chill. Our guides alerted us that we needed to begin descending quickly. I forgot about that part. I just used up all my energy to get to the top!! This was not going to be easy...

If we thought for just one moment that any muscle wasn't sore, we learned now that it was. This descent would certainly be a battle. 

It took only an hour to reach Gillman's Point where we stopped for another round of tea and biscuits. We had a gorgeous view of the sun still rising over Mawenzi peak, and many climbers continuing their way up the steep mountain face. Looking down that slope was much more frightening than I imagined. The average angle of the mountain face is 45°. It seemed completely vertical from my view. We took it slow in the beginning because we had to climb back down over large rocks at the top. Once we got to the area of small rocks, the guides said they had a trick to show us. The main guide, Herment, grabbed my left arm and started skiing down through the rocks! It was far more efficient than the zig-zag pattern we used to ascend, but not so friendly on our weary legs. I needed to stop every couple minutes because my legs kept cramping up. Aside from the pain, it was a lot of fun. We spent the next hour skiing down towards Kibo hut as the sun beamed down on our faces. My sunscreen had frozen on the way up, so I was in for a nice sunburn after summit day. 

We walked over to the huts at around 9:15am where we were greeted excitedly by all the porters. They all held out their hands and said “Nipe tano!” (Give me 5!). They made it known that we were the first climbers on the Marangu Route to make it down from Uhuru Peak that day. Many other climbers turned back before the summit, or were still on their way up. How cool is that? I know it's not a race, but it made me feel more accomplished for actually reaching the summit. It still hadn't occurred to me what an amazing feat that was.

We walked into the hut and sat down for the first moments of relaxation. This was the most physically exhausting day of my life... and it was still just the morning! Our guide joined us to explain that we should get some rest, and he'd be back to wake us up in half an hour. Oh, yeah, that seems like plenty of rest. When he returned, the cook was setting up lunch in our room. There was soup, chicken, bread, tea, and African french toast. I hobbled down from my bunk with a killer headache and nausea. Altitude and exertion were finally setting in. My body could hardly move. I set my head down on the table and couldn't eat a single bite. I could hardly sip my tea! Herment said that these were normal symptoms of the altitude and we needed to descend quickly. The plan for the remainder of the day was to continue down to Horombo huts that we had stayed in the previous night. That's still 15 kilometers away!! Were they serious?! I moved at a snail's pace to pack my things and start down the trail.

The beginning of this passage was extremely unpleasant, just because of my body's condition. Baby Steps. As long as I kept moving, I'd get somewhere eventually.

The symptoms of altitude sickness subsided with each passing step, but my muscles weren't improving. I limped and staggered for four hours all the way down to the next huts. This was when I finally felt like celebrating. The most exhausting day of my life was winding down. We made time for popcorn, tea, and a delicious meal, and then called it a night. It felt so good to finally lay down, stretch out, and relax for a while. This was the first opportunity I had to reflect on what I accomplished that day. Looking so far back at the mountain, I couldn't believe I was up there. We did it! It was unreal. I was so proud. And I know that I'll always have these incredible memories to share with my dad.

The next morning we woke up for an early start back to the gate, 27 kilometers away. That distance might've seemed impossible a few days ago, but after reaching Uhuru peak, we could do anything, right? Maybe those thoughts were a bit too arrogant considering my body's weakened state. We took it nice and slow.

We enjoyed all the passing scenery, and even a bit of wildlife through the rainforest. Our little monkey, Jimmy, came back with some friends!

Reaching the gate was such a wonderful moment. I know the exciting part was supposed to be reaching the summit, but that gate really meant freedom to me. We finally completed our journey!

With all the pain and struggles, I have to say this was one of the most rewarding adventures of my life. It would've been so easy to turn back at any moment, but we persevered. Every time I think about being up there, I get this rush of excitement and satisfaction. I still can't believe we did it!

I think I'll set my mountain climbing aspirations aside for a little while... but who knows what could be next! 

Out of town

Hey Everyone,
Thanks for being such great followers! I hope you're enjoying my stories. I'm going to be out of town for the next couple weeks on safari. If all goes according to plan, I should return with some incredible pictures of Africa... from the highest point!
You can expect my next post around March 5th.
Wish me luck!
Christina

Teaching at Mwenge

I have returned to Mwenge several times to teach Advanced English to the adult students. I mentioned previously that the setting was not entirely conducive to teaching. What do you think?

Yes, that's the roof falling down. It's ok, because three of the six nights that I've gone to Mwenge, there was no electricity so we did not use the 'classroom' anyway. We sat in the field and talked for an hour.

Anyone that knows me well is going to agree that I love to play board games, or any games. It should be no surprise that I used Taboo as inspiration for my first lesson that lacked electricity. One student was given a word that they had to describe to the group. Many of them would tell stories or little anecdotes to help the other students guess the mystery word. My favorite explanation was "what you say when you have a girlfriend and you really like her." I was expecting them to say something along the lines of "a substance that bees produce," but their description of honey was far more entertaining.

My next lecture in darkness turned into a great conversation about everyone's current job and hopes for the future. Many of them are expert carvers who want to continue all their lives. One woman currently sells Maasai jewelry, but wants to become a receptionist at a hotel. The man who calls his girlfriend 'honey' is actually a bodyguard for all famous American rappers who come to Tanzania, including Jay-Z! My American friend and I made him promise to get us up close to the next big star that comes to Dar.

Then we started talking about the bizarre foods that people eat in Tanzania. I happen to LOVE Tanzanian food, but this conversation made me a little unsettled about what exactly is in the mystery meat that has been served each night. Some tribes eat dogs, bats, and millipedes! One student casually mentioned how he used to love eating monkey, but hasn't had it in a while. He proceeded to explain in graphic detail how he would go hunting in the villages with his bow and arrow and bring home monkey for his family to eat at dinner. Apparently it tastes a lot like pork... certainly not what I would've imagined. But I guess I'll have to let you know for sure in a few weeks when he prepares a monkey for me, after shooting it with his very own bow and arrow. I think that's a really sweet gesture...

One day I borrowed a book from Loyola High School to show the students at Mwenge a picture of the Periodic Table of Elements. They were so amazed by some of the things in this book. I swear every lesson seems like a new world is unfolding before their eyes. Each topic is new and exciting! They especially love science. My lesson planned for tonight was a personal favorite from all my academic studies: why is the sky blue? It seems like such a simple question, but many think it is a result of the sun's rays reflecting off the blue ocean. WRONG! Before I get into the details, I'd like to give a personal shout-out to Dr. Brienza for the best lecture of my college experience--a lesson I will never forget. The sky is blue as a result of the differing wavelengths of visible light. You remember ROYGBIV, right? Red=big wavelength, Blue=small. The small blue waves are scattered by particles in the atmosphere, while larger red waves continue on, so what reaches our eyes are the scattered blue waves. This also explains why we see the larger red waves at sunset, because the blue waves scatter so much as they pass through more of the atmosphere to reach our eyes, so we are left with the larger red waves that have not been deflected by small particles. That's still probably very confusing, which is why I had an hour lesson planned, as opposed to a few sentences.
I even brought a little experiment! That lesson has to wait for tomorrow, as there was no electricity again this evening, and I have a few excellent diagrams to accompany the lecture.

I could not ask for better students. I honestly look forward to meeting them every night. I think they like having me there too. Last week they gave 'Tanzanian Names' to me and the other American teacher. Out of all the possibilities in the Swahili language, they chose to call me "Malaika" which means "Angel."

My Tanzanian Family

I was welcomed my very first day in Dar es Salaam by my new Tanzanian family. It was strange to immediately adjust to their expectations of referring to one another as kaka (brother), dada (sister), baba (father), etc. My brother, Amani, is 24 years old, and a recent graduate of the University of Dar es Salaam as a Civil Engineer. You can tell we get along by that fact alone. Yeah engineers! He works full time at a construction company in Dar, and on occasional weekends he travels up to Arusha to manage construction projects for another company. Although he isn't home all the time, he likes to include me on silly adventures. He has a twin brother named Amini who lives in another part of the city, but I've only met him a few times. Amini likes to joke around... a lot. He brought a friend over once and convinced me that he was the chief of his tribe back home... of course I fell for it. I was pretty excited to meet this chief, and bombarded him with a million questions about his responsibilities at such a young age and how he manages to acquire his education so far from his people. Joke was on me...

Then there is my sister, Sarah. She is really sweet. She's actually my cousin, but all paternal cousins are called brother and sister. On the very first day, she took me to the “Dark and Lovely” salon where she got her hair done, and I stood awkwardly in the corner being stared at by everyone in the room. I guess they couldn't figure out why I was there... It was a fun experience though. She works at a company in Dar also.

There is a maid in the house, named Neema. This is very common in Tanzania, and she has become a member of the family. She cooks the most incredible food. Did you know that you can cook bananas a hundred different ways, and they can be the focus of the meal? It's so delicious! I'm in love with Tanzanian food. I warned my Baba that when I leave this country, I'm stealing Neema. I don't know how I'll ever go back without her. Communication with her is sometimes difficult because of my limited knowledge of Swahili, and her very small English vocabulary. It works though... we talk about all the important stuff, like when there's a big cockroach in the bathroom and I run out screaming. She saves me every time.

That brings me to Baba... he is very traditional. He is very kind, but his traditional customs are overwhelming. He also has some interesting perceptions of Americans, that he is quite confidant and vocal about. He actually lived in Iowa for two years, 25 years ago, so he thinks he knows everything about America—it's pretty comical. On the first evening, he explained to me that children of divorced parents are those that bring guns to school. They are all bothered and emotionally wrecked. I told him that my parents divorced when I was young, and I think I turned out fine... He seemed very concerned about me after that fact. I don't think it changed his perspective at all; he just views me as troubled... I'm sure he'll come around.

When I say Baba is traditional, I mean he maintains the old Tanzanian ideals of hierarchy in a family and society. Man knows best. This is very difficult for me to comprehend. I come from a society where men and women are generally considered equals. As an educated woman, I am respected. In this house, I am often treated like a child along with all the other people in their mid-20s. Except that Baba does not have many expectations for Amani—just the females in the household. There have been several occasions when he finishes his dinner and his hands are greasy. He will call to Sarah, no matter where she is in the house, and make her come out to wash his hands at the table. Logically, he could have walked 10 feet to the sink, but then she would not be able to show how she respects him... or something like that.

He also tells me when I must shower... and sometimes he won't allow me to leave the table until I eat all the food he wants me to eat. I think he is looking out for me, and that is why he often seems controlling. He wants to be sure that I'm eating enough of all the proper foods and that I sleep soundly because I have showered. Sometimes he'll back up his rules with “biology.” Did you know that the reason I wasn't eating enough (according to Baba) is because I hadn't showered before dinner? Biologically, my body needs to be clean in order for me to be hungry. I'd like to read the text book that came from. For a while I had to take a shower before anyone was allowed to eat dinner.

He teaches me how to be a good Tanzanian woman. Personality/submissiveness is important, but does not compare to a Tanzanian woman's ability to cook and clean. If she cannot cook, she could be the most beautiful woman in the world, but a man wouldn't care. Anyone who has ever seen me in the kitchen will agree that I'm never finding a Tanzanian husband...

You might be asking where Mama fits into this equation. She lives at their home in Morogoro, about an hour away. This is just a temporary home at the University because Baba works here. Every other weekend, Mama will come to Dar. On the other weekends, Baba visits her. Mama is so sweet! She greeted me with the biggest hug. She also has an incredible laugh and positive disposition. She took me shopping for a kanga—the customary Tanzanian wrap worn by women—and we got matching purple ones! Mama is a secondary school teacher, and she also runs a small farm at their other home. I don't know how she manages all that work! Of the few times I met her, I have never seen her rest. She is constantly helping around the house—cooking, cleaning, etc. One morning I walked into the living room where Baba was lounging and singing along to some music. I asked where Mama was, and he said she was cleaning his room. “If I cleaned my own room during the week, then what would Mama do on the weekends she comes to visit?” Hmm... maybe she'd be taking a break and listening to music... but what do I know.

I'm glad that I have the opportunity to witness this traditional household, because I don't think I'd actually believe it otherwise. I have spoken to many other students who live with host families, and they say that their fathers are not nearly as strict or traditional as my Baba. That is a wonderful thing! I'm very happy that this behavior is not considered typical anymore. But at one point, most families were managed in this manner. Baba grew up in a rural village, so he maintains those beliefs. The majority of families in Dar have become more modernized than that. I like to ask people my age to confirm the crazy stories Baba tells me about gender roles in Tanzania. More often than not, people will say that those are old Tanzanian customs, and not the way things are anymore.  

Hatari Kubwa

This morning I was informed that campus would be completely safe today. No students would dare to act inappropriately in front of the Minister of Education, a government official, who would be on campus to address their concerns.

This was entirely true... until he left.

A large crowd was gathered by his podium. Once he exited the stage, the police told the crowd to leave. As the students walked away, they thought it might be fun to incite the police officers by throwing empty water bottles and stones at them... not their best move. The police defended themselves and retaliated by bombing the crowd!

I had been innocently eating lunch on the outdoor patio of the cafeteria with two of my American friends. Out of the blue, masses of students start running toward us. I had a feeling they weren't all on their way to class... There were hundreds of students sprinting up a big hill in all different directions. The other American girls whipped out their cameras, but I knew there wouldn't be time for that. Just then a tear gas bomb was launched within 10 feet of where we were eating! It looked like a big gray pokéball (yes, I'm referencing pokémon) about the size of a cantaloupe with dark gas spewing out of a slot. The gas filled up all the air around, and the wind was taking it in our direction. We tripped over tables and chairs as we rushed into the closing doors of the cafeteria. I wasn't sure where to go. We were technically in a “safe area” where the police weren't expected to come. Why were they aiming tear gas bombs at the students eating lunch!? I wasn't sure if it would be safe to run outside, joining the masses, and potentially be followed by the police. I didn't want to get mixed up in any trouble. So we tried to wait out the gas inside the cafeteria. The only problem is that none of the buildings have windows, because they need the breeze to get through the walls. So the tear gas was slowly creeping inside! I begged the cafeteria workers to let us slip into the back kitchen where there was a bit more protection.

We could hear more bombs being shot into this area, attempting to fully disperse the crowds and force them back into the dorms. I was pulled down from view of the window because the cafeteria workers feared being seen by the police. I think they believed that if police saw crowds huddling in the kitchen, they would assume a mob was forming and try to gas us all out.

My heart raced faster than ever before. This was possibly the single most terrifying moment I've ever experienced.

If you think about it, I wasn't really in any danger. What's the worst that could have happened—my eyes might get a little itchy? It's the panic induced by the bombs that cause all the trouble... but, logic aside, I have no problem admitting that I was scared.

We waited until the air was safe to breathe and the crowds were mostly gone. Then I power-walked out of there as fast as I could.

My host family's reaction to this traumatic experience: “Oh, that's normal! ha ha ha Welcome to Tanzania!”

All classes resume tomorrow. The strike is officially over. Please don't be worried... I'm sure that's the worst of it.