Moshi, Tanzania
It comes in waves, but I think things are finally starting to get easier. Sometimes I am so excited to be here and interested to learn. Other times I just miss being around people I love and things I know. It feels like I have been in a time warp; I can't believe I have only been here for 11 days. I think experiencing so many new things makes you feel like more time has passed.
On friday a bunch of us went to visit the "hot springs". It was a pleasant surprise to find that they were actually pretty cold (they may be hot compared to Canadian water right now but definitely not for Tanzania). It was nice to have almost a full day of not being overheated. We drove for an hour over roads that looked like they were made from a pile of fist-sized rocks with sand sprinkled on them, through tiny villages where the children stared and waved and yelled "mzungu!" (SIDE NOTE: mzungu means white person. Although we would find it strange and rude to yell "black man" at someone in Toronto, they frequently call you mzungu or yell it at you as they walk by). The villages looked like they were built on desert with just a few lion-king-style trees around, which made the springs all the more shocking when we arrived. They were quite literally exactly what I would picture a mirage to look like. You approach this group of trees out of nowhere and as you drive in the entire ground is covered in dried leaves. There are so many trees that you can't really see much at first, then as you move in closer everything opens up. The spring is entirely surrounded by dangling trees with water so clear you can see the details in the moss on the rocks at the bottom. It was actual paradise. They also had a swing hanging from one of the tall trees that you could swing on to jump into the water. I was terrified the first time I did it, but it was crazy fun.
On Saturday Anna and I drove to Arusha with our host family. On the way there I got to witness a 50 year old muslim woman grooving along to gangster rap. The combination of the blasting rap and driving style gave me the sensation that I was in a highschool boy's car. As a special treat, the road to Arusha has actual lines on them, not that anyone actually follows them. Road etiquette is very different from Canada. It is very acceptable to come within three cars length of the car coming in the opposite direction before you swerve back into your lane. Motorcycles are generally expected to swerve onto the side of the road if someone is trying to pass. I also noticed that the relationship between car and pedestrian is different as well. In Canada, the driver takes responsibility for not hitting the passenger. If someone runs out into the street then the driver will slow down and generally honk at the person to get off the street. In Tanzania, the onous is generally on the pedestrian. From what I can see, the proper way to cross the street appears to be to look for an opening in traffic at any point on the road (whether neighbourhood street or highway), and it is your responsibility to get across the street alive. Cars do not slow down. It took me a while to get used to crossing the street with cars speeding towards me.
Arusha itself was a nice change from Moshi with it's multi-storey buildings, sidewalks, gutters, paved parking lots, automatic doors and even paved roads with lines! Best of all they had North American toilets, toilet paper, sinks, and hand dryers. I should explain this. I had my first experience with an African toilet when I went to the YMCA for my swahili lessons last week. It essentially looks like a sink burried in the floor that you have to squat over. I haven't really figured out how to use them yet without it resulting in disaster. I guess I will get some practice.
The house I am living in is beautiful and I am very spoiled. They clean my room, cook for me, and wash my laundry. I think Anna and I are going to try and find a house downtown for next month. If I get used to this kind of living I think it could mean very bad things for my happiness and ability to cope in my future travels.
I have my safari this weekend of the Serengeti and Ngorongoro crater. Will write again soon!
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Transportation
Moshi, Tanzania
One of the biggest problems that I can see in Tanzania is related to the lack of infrastructure. Electricity is not even sufficient to serve the people in the cities who can afford it, water systems are unreliable, and tap water is generally not safe to drink. So, as you would expect, public transportation isn't exactly at North American standards.
Rather than buses or streetcars Tanzania has Dala Dalas, which are Toyota vans from about the late 90s that I don't think anyone in North America or Europe would be caught dead driving. They are all gutted down to the metal frame and refitted with unique Tanzanian seats and metal handles. Dala dalas are then decorated with spray paint, stickers, fake snakeskin seat covers, etc. Anything goes.
Most Torontonians have experienced, at some point in their life, being on the streetcar or subway when it is completely full and you can barely move. Maybe it wasn't the most comfortable thing, but I can tell you that Tanzanians have created a whole new definition for full. The seats themselves are set up to hold the maximum number of people possible. The back seat is regular sized and holds three or four people unless someone is sitting on someone else's lap. The second seat from the back has a backless extension so it goes all the way to the wall, but people can step over it to get to the back seat. The next seat is normal to make room for people standing beside the door, and the van is equipped with bolted in handles for this purpose. Jammed in behind the two front seats is an extra bench that sits opposite to the second seat. These two seats are so close together that if they are both full, passengers have to weave their legs like a puzzle (with the person across from you's knee in your crotch and vice versa) in order to fit them in. The remaining area is used for standing room and you basically hang on to the handles bolted to the ceiling or lean on the person next to you because getting a solid footing is near impossible. Including two in the front seat and the fare collector who kind of hangs halfway out the window, this adds up to a maximum of about 27 or so passengers in one van. One trip home I spent literally on an angle in a balance halfway between leaning on my neighbour and hanging on to the handle bar for dear life. Luckily it was a short trip.
Similar to the buses, dala dalas rarely take off with everyone on board. The standard seems to be that the door is left open and the driver takes off slowly so those working on the dala dala/bus can run and jump on.
Despite all of this it is pretty hard to complain. One dala dala ride costs 300 Tsh which is equivalent to about 20 cents Canadian. You get what you pay for I guess.
One of the biggest problems that I can see in Tanzania is related to the lack of infrastructure. Electricity is not even sufficient to serve the people in the cities who can afford it, water systems are unreliable, and tap water is generally not safe to drink. So, as you would expect, public transportation isn't exactly at North American standards.
Rather than buses or streetcars Tanzania has Dala Dalas, which are Toyota vans from about the late 90s that I don't think anyone in North America or Europe would be caught dead driving. They are all gutted down to the metal frame and refitted with unique Tanzanian seats and metal handles. Dala dalas are then decorated with spray paint, stickers, fake snakeskin seat covers, etc. Anything goes.
Most Torontonians have experienced, at some point in their life, being on the streetcar or subway when it is completely full and you can barely move. Maybe it wasn't the most comfortable thing, but I can tell you that Tanzanians have created a whole new definition for full. The seats themselves are set up to hold the maximum number of people possible. The back seat is regular sized and holds three or four people unless someone is sitting on someone else's lap. The second seat from the back has a backless extension so it goes all the way to the wall, but people can step over it to get to the back seat. The next seat is normal to make room for people standing beside the door, and the van is equipped with bolted in handles for this purpose. Jammed in behind the two front seats is an extra bench that sits opposite to the second seat. These two seats are so close together that if they are both full, passengers have to weave their legs like a puzzle (with the person across from you's knee in your crotch and vice versa) in order to fit them in. The remaining area is used for standing room and you basically hang on to the handles bolted to the ceiling or lean on the person next to you because getting a solid footing is near impossible. Including two in the front seat and the fare collector who kind of hangs halfway out the window, this adds up to a maximum of about 27 or so passengers in one van. One trip home I spent literally on an angle in a balance halfway between leaning on my neighbour and hanging on to the handle bar for dear life. Luckily it was a short trip.
Similar to the buses, dala dalas rarely take off with everyone on board. The standard seems to be that the door is left open and the driver takes off slowly so those working on the dala dala/bus can run and jump on.
Despite all of this it is pretty hard to complain. One dala dala ride costs 300 Tsh which is equivalent to about 20 cents Canadian. You get what you pay for I guess.
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
The beginning
Moshi, Tanzania
Mambo! It is day 4 for me in Tanzania and I finally managed to get internet so I could start this blog. So much has happened already that I hardly know where to start, so I will start at the beginning...
Despite the fact that I felt I had plenty of time to pack the morning before I left, I wouldn't be a Cormier if things went smoothly. I had to set up my kindle again because my dad sent mine back into Amazon, couldn't find the iPod I was going to take so settled on a different one and just barely had time to upload my songs, and don't even get me started on my meds. I left the medication until the last day because I suppose I needed more excitement in my life. My Dad was angry with me the night before because I hadn't picked anything up yet (was supposed to start my Malaria meds a week before) and I kind of laughed about it, but I definitely didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. After a last minute scramble to get everything packed I ran out to the pharmacy to pick everything up while my iPod synced. Once we got on the road I realized that I had completely forgotten my medication for typhoid. We stopped by the pharmacy again on the way and as the pharmacist was handing me the pills in between two cold packs he said, "You know these have to stay refridgerated right?" Well obviously I did not and that would be why people generally take these pills before they leave. There wasn't much else I could do so I grabbed the cold packs and hoped for a fridge on the plane.
After my sister dropped me off at the airport, a sobbing mess, I spent the next 2 hours or so in the airport trying to remember why I was doing this again.
I got on the plane to London and found out that storing meds in the fridge is illegal, so the flight attendant gave me a bag of ice which, save a few hours of it spent in Denise's fridge, I would be burdened with for the next 40 hours or so. I landed in London and despite running on about 2 hours of sleep, had the greatest layover of my life. I had no idea where to go so I just hopped on the tube to the stop I was meeting Denise at for lunch and decided I would wander around there until then. By chance the guy beside me had what looked like a backpacker's pack, so I asked him if he was travelling also. He had literally just arrived from Kenya where he had been volunteering with the peace corps. It was the craziest coincidence ever that I just happened to be volunteering at the country next door. He ended up hanging out with me until I met Denise and we went to check out Picadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and went to the National Gallery (the leaking bag of ice came with me everywhere). The paintings were amazing and I couldn't believe how beautiful London was.
After lunch with Denise and a few of hours of downloading books on my Kindle (did you know there are literally thousands you can get for free?), I was back to the airport. Going through customs I put everything in a bin to go through the X-Ray including my leaking bag of ice. They pulled it to the side into the pile of items to be searched. As I waited at the end of the counter, I watched about four or five customs officers standing around examining and smelling my bag. It was clear they were gravely concerned over what it might be. After I explained everything to them, pretty well convinced them that this wasn't some sort of biohazard, and agreed to throw out the ice and get a fresh bag after, they let me through customs. Despite the fact that I had two hours at this point until my flight left, the day wouldn't be complete without me hearing the last call for my flight over the intercom and having to run to make my flight.
Nine hours, a fresh bag of ice, and another 3 hour night sleep later, we landed at the Dar Es Salaam airport in Tanzania at 6:30AM. At customs we filled out these elaborate forms that I painstakingly read over to ensure that nothing would cause me not to obtain my visa. It turns out finger prints and $50 US is really all you need to get into the country. They didn't even read the form and the customs officer just asked me what flight I was on and then waved me through.
When I walked towards the door out of the airport I immediately saw a man standing outside holding a sign with my name on it. Considering I was entirely by myself in a third world country where I didn't speak the language, I don't think I am exagerrating when I say I think that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. He drove me in a cab through the Dar Es Salaam rush hour to the bus station. Maybe I was over-reacting but this was the first time I was legitimately terrified. Driving in, there was literally a swarm of men gathering around the car and yelling things in Swahili. My driver called over the next person who was to help me get my ticket and put me on the bus. Now some people might think it seems silly to hire a man soely to escort you to a bus and help you purchase your ticket; these people have never been to Dar Es Salaam.
At this point I was starting to get extremely worried about my typhoid medication. My bag of ice contained much more water than ice and I still had a 10 hour bus ride ahead of me. On top of this, it was only as yet about 7:30AM and Dar Es Salaam was HOT: very very HOT. I informed my bus escort of the issue and then stood there dumbly and watched him arguing in Swahili with about 10 other people that were surrounding us (these people followed us around basically until I got on the bus). He informed me that he would put me on the VIP bus and that it had a fridge that I could put my meds in. We went to exchange money and then headed to the bus. Just before we reached the bus he stopped. At this point the group has grown and they were all crowded around us so that I had to hold onto my backpack so no one could get in it. My escort was still wearing my backpack and standing in the middle of the crowd while the entire group starting arguing and screaming at eachother in Swahili. This is the second time I was legitimately terrified.
As things started to die down I checked in with my guide and he told me they were arguing about who got to take me to the bus. I think one of the most difficult things about going to this area is the fact that the colour of your skin puts you in a position where everyone knows you are a tourist and assumes you have a lot of money which they deserve to have. I started to kind of feel like a piece of meat. Anyways the guy they hired to escort me turned out to to be a really nice guy and he helped me get my ticket and find a good seat on the bus. We locked my backpack in the compartment below and he showed me the specific person I should ask for to open it. The fridge it turned out was essentially a cooler that was built into the bus. It might have been useful as a fridge if it had ice in it. It didn't. So we insulated the bag as best we could to conserve the remaining ice, put it in the "fridge" and my guide headed out. I was lucky enough to have a university educated man next to me, so he spoke English. He also knew an insane amount of knowledge about the country so he was my tour guide on the 10 hour trip to Moshi.
As the bus pulled out of the station, one of the men who had followed us around, and the only one who had come with us when I exchanged my money, was still on the bus. He came over to me and informed me that I would need to pay 40,000 Tsh (about $27 CDN) for security of my bag below. I started looking for the man who was supposed to be unlocking the compartment but I couldn't see him. He told me he owned the bus and that I had to pay. I kept asking why my guide hadn't mentioned it and eventually, half laughing, asked why the bag security should cost more than my bus ticket. He smiled back but kept asking for money, now starting to lower his price. I am not going to lie, there was definitely a part of me that was worried he would get angry and go down and throw my bag in the street but I stood firm and finally when he came up and said "fine 5,000Tsh", I finally just shook my head and turned away. He hopped off the bus at the next corner. I told my neighbour I think I just survived my first swindle attempt. He said I passed.
I started to understand how difficult it could be to travel in Africa for a long time, especially by yourself. You just have to be "On" all the time. You have to be paying attention to your bag, you have to question everything because a lot of people lie, prices are never set so you have to negotiate; even a trip downtown to get a pair of pants can leave you confused and wondering how much less a local would pay for the same item. You have to learn a lot very quickly.
Travelling by bus from one end to the other of Tanzania certainly gives you a taste of the country. Pretty much every house I saw was made of mud brick or scrap wood and tin or palm leaf roof. The majority of them would scarcely qualify as a children's fort in North America and you could see that families with small children were living there. Along the sides of the road were women dressed in traditional dress carrying buckets and baskets on their heads. I don't think I saw one animal that didn't look like it was about to keel over from starvation. At one bus stop there was a man waiting there just holding two chickens by their feet. It was completely surreal that these were actual people carrying on their lives.
As I suspected when I first got on, I was right not to drink very much water. We got two bathroom breaks in 10 hours. The first of which was at a stop that had sinks, but no taps or running water. I didn't even make it into the stall. I decided to wait. The next one had a sink and soap which was very exciting. When I got into the stall there was no toilet paper but there was a dirty old bucket next to the toilet half filled with water with a bowl in it. I didn't want to know what that was for.
After buying some cashews off the side of the road and then having a minor panick attack thinking I was going to get typhoid, I stuck to my protein bars for the rest of the trip. By the time I arrived in Moshi I had had a total of about 6 hours of sleep in the previous 50 hours, hadn't eaten anything but a few protein bars since the plane ride, was kind of overwhelmed by everything I going up, and I was having a pretty intense freak out about the fact that my typhoid meds were probably toast and I was going to get typhoid from the cashews. I don't think I made the best first impression. As I was getting off the bus someone yelled in my ear, "Taxi!" No I don't want a damn taxi. Then the girl in front of me yelled, "Taxi?" No! "Your name isn't Cathy?" Oh, wait yes. We got my bags and headed to the house of the family I was staying with. I think I essentially went "fridge", then put my meds in the fridge, then said "shower", and immediately went to take a shower. When I turned on the shower it looked like the water was just spilling down the sides because the shower head was falling apart. I reached up to grab the top and pull it together and I can't say for sure because it has never happened to me before, but I am quite sure I was electrocuted.
They had waited for me to eat dinner so we sat down and ate when I got out of the shower. I met the other girl staying with them named Anna, who was from Germany. She probably said three words to me. She didn't really speak English.
I wasn't feeling the most optimistic about my trip by the time I went to bed that night, but the next day in the hot African sun with the birds chirping it was hard to feel anything but excited. We had our orientation and I met some of the other girls working withh the organization. Every single one of them is German so it could get a bit awkward when they just started having a conversation in German, but they were really nice girls and they generally went out of their way to speak English around me. I got a phone and my sister was the first one to text me. Best text I ever got. It felt like it had been years since I last saw her.
So much more has happened since then but I don't want to go on forever. The food here is amazing especially the food made by my house mother, Yasmin. It is kind of a joke that people told me to enjoy Western meals while I could. I have never eaten so well in my life. Everything I eat is made from scratch. The girls who I originally thought were Yasmin's daughters are actually maids. I think it is quite common here in Tanzania because electricity is so shoddy that everything has to be done by hand. Power is not sufficient for the whole city so they do rolling blackouts in order to meet demand. Even the wealthy Tanzanian's can't rely on washing machines or dish washers because there just isn't enough power. There is no A/C so everything is open to the outdoors. Bugs and animals just come as they please. On my first night a cockroach the size of my fist flew in the door and landed on the wall beside me. It is going to be hard to have a bug phobia here. One night I was talking to Yasmin and I saw a gekko just crawling across the living room wall. That is how it is, nature just comes and goes as it pleases.
One last thing to say before I go: This was the first day of my placement at the Chapakazi Children's centre. The kids were insanely cute but they wore me out after only four hours of work. The teachers had a schedule but they were really flexible with letting me teach and try out my own things. The kids are 3-5 years old so we worked on letters, addition, subtraction, and shapes. I taught them ring-around-the-rosy,which I immediately regretted when I realized that the game can go on forever (Imagine playing that game over and over in 40 degree weather). I finally managed to sneak away and find a seat in the shade and they proceeded to literally jump on me and on eachother as they fought to get a seat beside me. Hopefully my stamina will improve because it is round 2 tomorrow.
More to come. I love all of you and miss you already!
Mambo! It is day 4 for me in Tanzania and I finally managed to get internet so I could start this blog. So much has happened already that I hardly know where to start, so I will start at the beginning...
Despite the fact that I felt I had plenty of time to pack the morning before I left, I wouldn't be a Cormier if things went smoothly. I had to set up my kindle again because my dad sent mine back into Amazon, couldn't find the iPod I was going to take so settled on a different one and just barely had time to upload my songs, and don't even get me started on my meds. I left the medication until the last day because I suppose I needed more excitement in my life. My Dad was angry with me the night before because I hadn't picked anything up yet (was supposed to start my Malaria meds a week before) and I kind of laughed about it, but I definitely didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. After a last minute scramble to get everything packed I ran out to the pharmacy to pick everything up while my iPod synced. Once we got on the road I realized that I had completely forgotten my medication for typhoid. We stopped by the pharmacy again on the way and as the pharmacist was handing me the pills in between two cold packs he said, "You know these have to stay refridgerated right?" Well obviously I did not and that would be why people generally take these pills before they leave. There wasn't much else I could do so I grabbed the cold packs and hoped for a fridge on the plane.
After my sister dropped me off at the airport, a sobbing mess, I spent the next 2 hours or so in the airport trying to remember why I was doing this again.
I got on the plane to London and found out that storing meds in the fridge is illegal, so the flight attendant gave me a bag of ice which, save a few hours of it spent in Denise's fridge, I would be burdened with for the next 40 hours or so. I landed in London and despite running on about 2 hours of sleep, had the greatest layover of my life. I had no idea where to go so I just hopped on the tube to the stop I was meeting Denise at for lunch and decided I would wander around there until then. By chance the guy beside me had what looked like a backpacker's pack, so I asked him if he was travelling also. He had literally just arrived from Kenya where he had been volunteering with the peace corps. It was the craziest coincidence ever that I just happened to be volunteering at the country next door. He ended up hanging out with me until I met Denise and we went to check out Picadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and went to the National Gallery (the leaking bag of ice came with me everywhere). The paintings were amazing and I couldn't believe how beautiful London was.
After lunch with Denise and a few of hours of downloading books on my Kindle (did you know there are literally thousands you can get for free?), I was back to the airport. Going through customs I put everything in a bin to go through the X-Ray including my leaking bag of ice. They pulled it to the side into the pile of items to be searched. As I waited at the end of the counter, I watched about four or five customs officers standing around examining and smelling my bag. It was clear they were gravely concerned over what it might be. After I explained everything to them, pretty well convinced them that this wasn't some sort of biohazard, and agreed to throw out the ice and get a fresh bag after, they let me through customs. Despite the fact that I had two hours at this point until my flight left, the day wouldn't be complete without me hearing the last call for my flight over the intercom and having to run to make my flight.
Nine hours, a fresh bag of ice, and another 3 hour night sleep later, we landed at the Dar Es Salaam airport in Tanzania at 6:30AM. At customs we filled out these elaborate forms that I painstakingly read over to ensure that nothing would cause me not to obtain my visa. It turns out finger prints and $50 US is really all you need to get into the country. They didn't even read the form and the customs officer just asked me what flight I was on and then waved me through.
When I walked towards the door out of the airport I immediately saw a man standing outside holding a sign with my name on it. Considering I was entirely by myself in a third world country where I didn't speak the language, I don't think I am exagerrating when I say I think that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. He drove me in a cab through the Dar Es Salaam rush hour to the bus station. Maybe I was over-reacting but this was the first time I was legitimately terrified. Driving in, there was literally a swarm of men gathering around the car and yelling things in Swahili. My driver called over the next person who was to help me get my ticket and put me on the bus. Now some people might think it seems silly to hire a man soely to escort you to a bus and help you purchase your ticket; these people have never been to Dar Es Salaam.
At this point I was starting to get extremely worried about my typhoid medication. My bag of ice contained much more water than ice and I still had a 10 hour bus ride ahead of me. On top of this, it was only as yet about 7:30AM and Dar Es Salaam was HOT: very very HOT. I informed my bus escort of the issue and then stood there dumbly and watched him arguing in Swahili with about 10 other people that were surrounding us (these people followed us around basically until I got on the bus). He informed me that he would put me on the VIP bus and that it had a fridge that I could put my meds in. We went to exchange money and then headed to the bus. Just before we reached the bus he stopped. At this point the group has grown and they were all crowded around us so that I had to hold onto my backpack so no one could get in it. My escort was still wearing my backpack and standing in the middle of the crowd while the entire group starting arguing and screaming at eachother in Swahili. This is the second time I was legitimately terrified.
As things started to die down I checked in with my guide and he told me they were arguing about who got to take me to the bus. I think one of the most difficult things about going to this area is the fact that the colour of your skin puts you in a position where everyone knows you are a tourist and assumes you have a lot of money which they deserve to have. I started to kind of feel like a piece of meat. Anyways the guy they hired to escort me turned out to to be a really nice guy and he helped me get my ticket and find a good seat on the bus. We locked my backpack in the compartment below and he showed me the specific person I should ask for to open it. The fridge it turned out was essentially a cooler that was built into the bus. It might have been useful as a fridge if it had ice in it. It didn't. So we insulated the bag as best we could to conserve the remaining ice, put it in the "fridge" and my guide headed out. I was lucky enough to have a university educated man next to me, so he spoke English. He also knew an insane amount of knowledge about the country so he was my tour guide on the 10 hour trip to Moshi.
As the bus pulled out of the station, one of the men who had followed us around, and the only one who had come with us when I exchanged my money, was still on the bus. He came over to me and informed me that I would need to pay 40,000 Tsh (about $27 CDN) for security of my bag below. I started looking for the man who was supposed to be unlocking the compartment but I couldn't see him. He told me he owned the bus and that I had to pay. I kept asking why my guide hadn't mentioned it and eventually, half laughing, asked why the bag security should cost more than my bus ticket. He smiled back but kept asking for money, now starting to lower his price. I am not going to lie, there was definitely a part of me that was worried he would get angry and go down and throw my bag in the street but I stood firm and finally when he came up and said "fine 5,000Tsh", I finally just shook my head and turned away. He hopped off the bus at the next corner. I told my neighbour I think I just survived my first swindle attempt. He said I passed.
I started to understand how difficult it could be to travel in Africa for a long time, especially by yourself. You just have to be "On" all the time. You have to be paying attention to your bag, you have to question everything because a lot of people lie, prices are never set so you have to negotiate; even a trip downtown to get a pair of pants can leave you confused and wondering how much less a local would pay for the same item. You have to learn a lot very quickly.
Travelling by bus from one end to the other of Tanzania certainly gives you a taste of the country. Pretty much every house I saw was made of mud brick or scrap wood and tin or palm leaf roof. The majority of them would scarcely qualify as a children's fort in North America and you could see that families with small children were living there. Along the sides of the road were women dressed in traditional dress carrying buckets and baskets on their heads. I don't think I saw one animal that didn't look like it was about to keel over from starvation. At one bus stop there was a man waiting there just holding two chickens by their feet. It was completely surreal that these were actual people carrying on their lives.
As I suspected when I first got on, I was right not to drink very much water. We got two bathroom breaks in 10 hours. The first of which was at a stop that had sinks, but no taps or running water. I didn't even make it into the stall. I decided to wait. The next one had a sink and soap which was very exciting. When I got into the stall there was no toilet paper but there was a dirty old bucket next to the toilet half filled with water with a bowl in it. I didn't want to know what that was for.
After buying some cashews off the side of the road and then having a minor panick attack thinking I was going to get typhoid, I stuck to my protein bars for the rest of the trip. By the time I arrived in Moshi I had had a total of about 6 hours of sleep in the previous 50 hours, hadn't eaten anything but a few protein bars since the plane ride, was kind of overwhelmed by everything I going up, and I was having a pretty intense freak out about the fact that my typhoid meds were probably toast and I was going to get typhoid from the cashews. I don't think I made the best first impression. As I was getting off the bus someone yelled in my ear, "Taxi!" No I don't want a damn taxi. Then the girl in front of me yelled, "Taxi?" No! "Your name isn't Cathy?" Oh, wait yes. We got my bags and headed to the house of the family I was staying with. I think I essentially went "fridge", then put my meds in the fridge, then said "shower", and immediately went to take a shower. When I turned on the shower it looked like the water was just spilling down the sides because the shower head was falling apart. I reached up to grab the top and pull it together and I can't say for sure because it has never happened to me before, but I am quite sure I was electrocuted.
They had waited for me to eat dinner so we sat down and ate when I got out of the shower. I met the other girl staying with them named Anna, who was from Germany. She probably said three words to me. She didn't really speak English.
I wasn't feeling the most optimistic about my trip by the time I went to bed that night, but the next day in the hot African sun with the birds chirping it was hard to feel anything but excited. We had our orientation and I met some of the other girls working withh the organization. Every single one of them is German so it could get a bit awkward when they just started having a conversation in German, but they were really nice girls and they generally went out of their way to speak English around me. I got a phone and my sister was the first one to text me. Best text I ever got. It felt like it had been years since I last saw her.
So much more has happened since then but I don't want to go on forever. The food here is amazing especially the food made by my house mother, Yasmin. It is kind of a joke that people told me to enjoy Western meals while I could. I have never eaten so well in my life. Everything I eat is made from scratch. The girls who I originally thought were Yasmin's daughters are actually maids. I think it is quite common here in Tanzania because electricity is so shoddy that everything has to be done by hand. Power is not sufficient for the whole city so they do rolling blackouts in order to meet demand. Even the wealthy Tanzanian's can't rely on washing machines or dish washers because there just isn't enough power. There is no A/C so everything is open to the outdoors. Bugs and animals just come as they please. On my first night a cockroach the size of my fist flew in the door and landed on the wall beside me. It is going to be hard to have a bug phobia here. One night I was talking to Yasmin and I saw a gekko just crawling across the living room wall. That is how it is, nature just comes and goes as it pleases.
One last thing to say before I go: This was the first day of my placement at the Chapakazi Children's centre. The kids were insanely cute but they wore me out after only four hours of work. The teachers had a schedule but they were really flexible with letting me teach and try out my own things. The kids are 3-5 years old so we worked on letters, addition, subtraction, and shapes. I taught them ring-around-the-rosy,which I immediately regretted when I realized that the game can go on forever (Imagine playing that game over and over in 40 degree weather). I finally managed to sneak away and find a seat in the shade and they proceeded to literally jump on me and on eachother as they fought to get a seat beside me. Hopefully my stamina will improve because it is round 2 tomorrow.
More to come. I love all of you and miss you already!
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