Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka is so peaceful and relaxing. We spent our week up in Polonnaruwa (4+ hour drive from Colombo). The country is lush and green. The people are relaxed, open, friendly and quick to smile. It is like laying in a grassy area with the sun caressing you, a line of fresh sheets flapping nearby and you can smell the clean crisp scent. One morning I thought there was a thunderstorm but it was only monkeys on the roof of the hotel. We stayed in Polonnaruwa, along the lake. Almost every day we could see elephants come out of the jungle and down to the lake.

Polonnaruwa is both the name of the city there and the name of the ancient ruins. The ruins were the main factor in choosing this area. We were able to ride into town and to the old city by bike. It's a pretty incredible place, the best part (for me) of the ruins was to see the giant Buddha statues. We had a very kind and informative guide. It rained A LOT, we sat out for a long bit of it, then just rode back to the hotel in the rain anyway. It was warm enough air temperature and warm rain- not like Oregon!

A day trip took us to the Sigiriya rock fortress. Wicki, our Polonnaruwa guide, hooked us up with a friend of his, Shunil, to drive us for the day. Shunil was a long-time guide and former history teacher and was FULL of fascinating information. Pretty much the whole day, we felt like we hit the jackpot. Not only did our visit to Sigiriya pass our expectations but we also saw Asian elephants, birds, more monkeys and peacocks (native to Sri Lanka).

The food situation in Sri Lanka is fantastic. Personally, I ate the local rice and curry for pretty much every meal. Though, for breakfast, instead of rice, you eat string hoppers. These are little white noodles that are steamed in little individual discs, then served room temperature all stacked up, you peel off what you want. When I say curry, do not think of the Indian yellow curry flavor/mix or the Thai green or red curry dishes. Think of being served a variety (4 to 6) little dishes ranging from the green leaves from the outside of the banana flower (not the leaves of the plant), eggplant, okra, bitter melon, fresh tomato and onion, sambar (fresh grated coconut, salt, onion, lime, salt, pepper and 3 types of chilies) and papadams. You can have just vegetable, or fish, or meat but it's not typical to have meat and fish together. We hired Shunil to drive us back to Colombo when we left and he guided us to a local restaurant and ordered a selection of things for us to try. Sri Lankans eat these things with their hands and he gave us a lesson on that as well. They do not drink while eating, you may drink tea in the morning and around 3 pm they have tea, unless it's cold then you might drink coffee.

The hotel staff where we stayed was really attentive, as well. Seems there aren't too many Americans coming to Sri Lanka. Most people in the area where we were didn't know "America," "The United States (of America)" or "The U.S." In some ways, it's refreshing. It also seemed uncommon for tourists to stay in the area for an extended period of time. The management arranged us an extremely lovely, beautiful four-course meal outside by the pool, and all of the staff wore traditional clothing.They served us these big freshwater prawns, which were amazing, and I don't like shrimp, prawns or lobster!

I would not only go back to Sri Lanka in a heartbeat, but also recommend it to anyone. They do seem to have some strict rules, though. For example, the penalty for possession of illegal drugs is death.

PHOTOS!

We are home now... I have uploaded and semi-sorted all the photos from the trip. In the end, I have decided to post the photos that relate to previous posts as their own separate posts. I'd love to go tuck them back in with relevant text but seems messy somehow. I still have more posts about the trip as well they're just not finished.

People Make the World Go Round

Of course I know this isn't scientifically the literal truth. Tomorrow we depart for home. I am not sure I am ready. We have been beyond fortunate with all the amazing friends we have visited and made along the way. It's people that make a country, and our life, rich.

A Quick Taste of Dubai

Even walking into the airport in Dubai was a big change from our last three months spent in Africa, not surprising. Everything was shiny and had an unblemished feel. The airport was quiet, which was nice. No endless loud flight announcements, just the call to prayer. By the time we cleared our long wait in immigration and caught a cab to where we were staying, it was 5:30 in the morning. Again, we are so proud of the good little travelers the boys are- they complain so little in these sometimes trying situations.

The first day (after our nap) we went to a nearby mall, the one with the indoor ski and snow park area (yes- real snow in a mall in a desert). Even though I didn't like breathing all the burning garbage and dust in Africa, the recycled mall air was oppressive in a different way, with that artificial smell that malls have. What is it? Perfume, plastic, new clothes? It just felt fake or uncomfortable in some way. At one point we went to a toy store with the kids and truly 90 percent (or more) of it was just a straight waste of natural resources. Its the same things you can buy in the States, but it feels like it's all clean garbage. It made me feel awkward. In fact, most of the mall felt just full of useless and ridiculous things.

The second day, we went on a hop-on hop-off bus tour, which was good since it allowed us to see the sights of the city and gave us a bit of the history, all interesting. Dubai was a small pearl diving and fishing village just 200 years ago. Now it has a 7-star hotel, manmade islands and some theme attraction stays that offer things like GIANT aquariums where you can scuba dive and fake reefs with dolphins totally enclosed, just to name a few... I am glad we were there in the "cold" time of year, not when it is 110-115. I even saw one of the ultra swanky low police race cars. Sadly, I am so ignorant about cars that I can't tell you anything besides it was low-to-the-road, red color with two long doors that swing upwards like wings. I think it's a car in a video game for racing, too.

The food we ate was great. Shawarma- the slow spit roasted meats, shaved off, pickled vegetables (O was so happy, he has been craving pickles for months), a creamy garlic spread and bread. We also ate some great food from Pakistan. We weren't there long enough for me to talk my way back into the kitchen of anywhere for a cooking lesson. :)

We were only there for two days, so it was just a taste. I am now really interested in the Bedouin culture. They had a little bit of information at a museum we visited. We found out (a little too late) we could have done a tour that would include a 'dinner and dancing' among other things. I am feel mixed about those types of things. Interesting, but hard not to feel a bit voyeuristic or something- no doubt it would have still been fascinating.

I will miss being in cultures with the Arabic language and the Muslim religion.

Last African Night

Tomorrow we fly to Dubai. In my imagination, Dubai is a far off, imaginary city with shiny lights. Africa is here. It's been our home for 13 weeks. During that time, it has filled me and I will be leaving with a heavy heart. I think we were all ready to leave Kampala, though. I talked to the boys tonight on the phone and asked them what they thought about leaving Africa tomorrow and they were sad too.

The London School of Tropical Medicine had their graduation ceremony on Thursday afternoon and it was really sweet and heartfelt. A nice acknowledgment of sixty people who came together from all over the world to improve themselves and work toward the goal of making things better for others, in the process, becoming a group of wonderful friends. They were an incredibly diverse group of people, both students and all of the tutors who came to teach. I am sure they are all going to miss each other. There was serious sadness on Friday as groups were leaving our hotel.

I left Saturday morning before my family awoke to go to a Gorilla Trek (Mountain Gorillas) with one of the other doctors, Jace (the most perfect companion I could ask for!). Our driver made good time and we made it to our destination in less than the eight expected hours. We arrived at the most welcoming and homey spot perched on the top of the lush rolling green hills. The air was cool, clear and clean and it was so quiet. We were given a filling meal with a little charcoal burning fire next to us for warmth. When we were finished, we were escorted by kerosene lamp to our rooms which had hot water bottles warming the beds. I had no idea how much I needed some time alone. It was divine.

Jace and I got up early to go on our trek. The Ugandan Wildlife Authority sends out trackers each morning to find the family of gorillas and they report back on this "gadget" (walky talky) where they are. Today, the gorillas were not in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, they were out in the edges along the farms and buffer zone. We made our way along a thin slippery mud track between farm plots, then began our climb up. We were lucky it wasn't raining because we were climbing up a hill (imagine going up steps that were 6-24 inches high) over grass, brush, trees and bramble-like plants. After about two hours, we arrived. We were told we'd stay with seven meters between them and us, but that was not the case. We were so close to them, two (one being the alpha silverback of the family) walked within inches of us. It was so amazing, I actually don't really understand that it happened yet. When we finally scrambled out to the road (it was not a loop and somehow we went uphill the whole way), I was so excited that I just told Moses (our driver) "I am going to start running back!" I just ran down the road and it was exhilarating.

I will meet my family at the airport. They've been having a relaxing time in Entebee. It's been weird to be away from the boys since we've been together non-stop since leaving home.

Things Fall Apart

Things Fall Apart is a book written by the West African writer, Chinua Achebe. I bought it and read it aloud to the boys. They pretty much hated it. I am glad we read it and that we talked about it. It's simply, but poetically written and it's a sad tragic story of change.

I wanted to post a few quotes from the book:

"At last the rains came. It was sudden and tremendous. For two or three moons the sun had been gathering strength till it seemed to breath a breath of fire on the earth. All the grass had long been scorched brown, and the sand felt like live coals to the feet. Evergreen trees wore a dusty coat of brown. The birds were silenced in the forest, and the world lay panting under the live, vibrating heat. And then came the clap of thunder. It was an angry, metallic and thirsty clap, unlike the deep and liquid rumbling of the rainy season. A mighty wind arose and filled the air with dusty. Palm trees swayed as the wind combed their leaves into flying crests like strange and fantastic coiffure."

"When the rain finally came, it was in large, solid drops of frozen water which the people called 'the nuts of the water of heaven'. They were hard and painful on the body as they fell, yet young people ran about happily picking up the cold nuts and throwing them into their mouths to melt."

"The earth quickly came to life and the birds in the forest fluttered around and chirped merrily. A vague scent of life and green vegetation was diffused in the air. As the rain began to fall more soberly and in smaller liquid drops, children sought for shelter, and were happy, refreshed and thankful."

A few other quotes of proverbs, etc., that I liked:

"There is nothing to fear from someone who shouts."

"His feet were short and broad, and when he stood or walked his heels came together and his feet opened outwards as if they had quarreled and meant to go in different directions."

"A child's fingers are no scalded by a piece of hot yam which it's mother puts into it's palm."

Where Is the Land of Milk and Honey?

This is a post I started a long time ago, so some of it is a repeat of events. I just thought I'd leave it mostly as is.

As I wrote before, Kampala, Uganda is a big and congested city, not easily accessible when you're unwilling to ride a bota bota. When Paul left for his week of rural study and break weekend, we too left the city and went to Jinja. After a few days there, we departed and flew back to Zanzibar, Tanzania. Part of me feels like it was a move of weakness, of ease. Part of me struggles with having a 'real' African experience and staying directly within the culture, but that is a whole different topic.

When we were here in Zanzibar before, I met a young Muslim man with a bike on the beach. He stopped to talk to me. We conversed as best we could, he in broken Swahili and me in broken English. The basic conversation was "how do you find it here?" and I said it beautiful and amazing and he wanted to know why, with genuine perplexity. He, himself, had a dream to go to America.

If you are staying at lodging of any type along the beach in Zanzibar, you can't believe how ideal this place is. If you weren't sleeping on your way to and from your lodging, or coming in the dark, you see the truth that lies in the walls of your bit of paradise. The parts of the island "beyond the walls" that I have seen are scrubby with what looks like thin topsoil over dead coral and volcanic rock. Many of the small villages are made of simple buildings, some that are empty and in disrepair, some of cement, some little structures are cobbled together with scraps and what is lived in looks to be very basic. Some people are using open wells for their water. Today we rode borrowed bikes to the nearby village and it was so hot without the sea breeze. People sat in doorways while goats, chicken and children wandered and garbage fluttered. I see how he can dream of a "better place."

From my other discussions with Tanzanians and Ugandans, it is clear that they don't all have a clear idea of the States. Many are as familiar with the geography of the states as Americans are with the geography of Africa, which is to say: not at all.

They can't imagine that anyone is homeless, unless by choice, and think we are all rich. How do I explain to them that many Americans are chasing their own dreams? How Americans are often working to pay for their toys, but not really enjoying it, and that some dream of life like they have here.  A life where they can grow food all year round or pull it from the ocean. Who am I to know if it would be better for them? Many here know hardship (and empty bellies or untreated medical conditions) and can mask it as well. There are some who know hardship and ask you for food or some money.

You may imagine, as I did, that the cost of living here is low. Some things are low, I can buy an avocado for 20-50 cents. I can buy chipati (like a tortilla but made of bread and maybe better) for 50-80 cents. I can buy a local meal (chips (fries), rice, casava, sweet potato, or ugali with a side of meat or beans) in Uganda for about 2 dollars. If you want any other foods besides that (or street food) it can be about 8-15 dollars. Gas is more EXPENSIVE than the states. Many people in Tanzania make about 100,000-150,000 TSH (1,500 TSH to 1 US dollar). You can see why people in public positions are open to accepting bribes to supplement their small income.

Cooking Lesson From the Heart

I asked the restaurant staff at our hotel if the chef would tell me how he made the masala they served. I could see the whole cumin, cardamom, cloves and taste the fresh ginger in it, it was so good. Today they came by as I finished breakfast and said "the chef is ready to show you now in the kitchen!"

I went in and he had set EVERYTHING out in a tidy order: a plate set up with four types of whole spices and 3 types of ground, all neatly piled in a circle. A package of tomato paste was out and opened, a part of a sliced green pepper, a part of a hot pepper, a carefully peeled tomato, a cup of water, butter and a pan. Then, he carefully went though each step and showed me the entire process. Then, he took me to a simmering pot of it and said this was different, this was how they make it if they want to take an hour, and he verbally took me through the steps. Then he made me taste both and asked what I thought about the differences.

Tonight he came by our table after we were finished and asked how we liked each part of each of our meals. I wanted to ask for another lesson on how he makes his coconut curry!

It's interactions like these that are so heartfelt, sincere, and sweet it takes your breath away. I can't talk to many people with much depth and sophistication due to language limitations (in fact, the boys will sometimes turn and whisper "MOM they DON'T understand you!") but these times make up for it ten fold.

Mistakes Were Made for Comfort

Really, I should say I have shown lack of judgment in hopes of comfort.

Sometimes when you travel, you want a break from the new or different. Sometimes you want the comfort of something familiar, you just want EASY. Tanzania and Uganda CAN have a lot of diverse foods if you know where to look, depending on where you are in the country. For my family, eating out comfort foods are Thai, Indian and sushi. Believe it or not, we have found all those between the two countries (Thai and sushi not very often, only in Kampala, but Indian is frequent. In fact, tomorrow I am getting a lesson on how to make the best masala I have had yet). **

HOWEVER, I also love salad and I love feta and I love olives and I love MY idea of a Greek salad. I say "my idea" since I haven't been to Greece and they may taste what I fancy to be a Greek salad and say "what?! is this?!" After my second sad (in my eyes and tastes) Greek salad I told the kids I am NO LONGER allowed to order these unless I SEE it come out and KNOW it will be what I expect. They've stopped me at least once, good boys that they are.

Here at our table, for some reason. they put out mustard. Just yellow mustard and it stays on the tables each day with the other condiments they offer. I haven't had mustard since France. The mustard bottle is the yellow plastic squeeze type, the label has some brown/black mold on it, the top has some sort of black... something. I did inspect it the first day wondering what the hell that could have been. Today I came to shaking the mustard and squeezing some out on my plate, approximately 1/2 a teaspoon. It was a thick constancy that made me think it wasn't too newly opened (and then the spotty mold on the label should have been another clue). After I ate it, I thought that was probably a bad idea. Then I thought mustard is pretty shelf stable, it has a lot of vinegar, right? That is what I am telling myself.

** This reminds me of one of our sushi eating experiences in Kampala. One of Paul's classmates is from Japan. He looked up a Japanese restaurant and a group of us went out to dinner there. We all shared a big variety of foods. One of the group asked the Japanese classmate, "How would you rate this 1-10 in comparison to Japan?'. Without hesitation he said "2." Then the same guy said, "what about after being in Africa for 8 weeks?" Again, without missing a beat he looked up and said "6!"

Along the Indian Ocean

A few nights ago, the boys and I moved to another hotel. We loved where we were, at Panga Chumvi. We are here, on the island, for 17 days, so it seemed like a good idea to be in more than one spot. This second hotel is older, nice, has some wear to it, has a clean pool (sometimes goats come by to drink out of it) and is still quiet, but not in such an isolated sense, and has more of a Stone Town feel. We are in a little room with a nice breeze from the ocean. My bed is right next to a window, which is open all of the time. The boys have a fan and a window. On our transition here, I got to check off another new African experience: bribe an official.

We have traded mosquitoes for a breeze... and these wall crawling centipedes. I have stepped on 3 of them by accident, and it is an unpleasant sensation and sound. Honestly though, I'd step on 10 centipedes a day in trade for no mosquitoes! This, plus me stepping on two sole (flat fish) hidden in the sandy bottoms of the ocean (causing me to squeal like a baby pig, I am not proud, but they are shockingly squishy and tug, understandably, hard to get out from under your foot), has made the boys joke about how I will step on whatever there is to be stepped on. They "helpfully" point out any crawling centipede for me. At least I didn't step on any stonefish like Oso. The stonefish incident has made us a little gun-shy of the water here. The tap water here, as well as at Panga Chumvi, is brackish, and we will enjoy a nice sweet water shower once we return to Kampala.

Yesterday, when we were along the water's edge, a young man came over with a toddler. The 18-year-old was the toddler's uncle. The uncle chatted with me. The little boy, Eddy, interacted, in his way, with the boys. When we went out to the water, Eddy followed and had me hold and bob him over the waves. He was delighted, tt was quite sweet. L saw a little jellyfish in the water. I told our young man there was a jellyfish and he said, "that is dangerous, what color?" (sounds like "dan-jurous" with their sweet accent.) I told him it was brown and he said, "oh, is not a problem." They do, however, have man o' war here.

Today I went for a run along the beach. This beach has so many shells, but I managed to not step on any poky ones or any of the washed up big, clear jellyfish. Near the end of the run, a young Muslim girl ran along side me for a bit and asked for my hair tie. I gave it to her. I wonder if it's good to hand out these small things. It makes me feel nice to give her such a small thing, but does it continue this idea that you should ask the tourist to give you things, and that we are all rich?

We ate our breakfast in the restaurant with the ever so light and continuous sprinkle of termite poo as they slowly ate all the wood above our heads. The boys and I can hear them devouring wood things here, what a constant challenge that must be. We talked to our waiter some this morning. He has six children and one more on the way. His family lives in Stone Town, about a 40-minute car ride from here (also the only place you can get some things, such as banks/ATM). He works and stays here 6 days and has the choice to go home or stay here on his day off. He can spend 3,000 tsh to ride the dala dala (3+ hours total round trip) home or transfer money via the phone to his family. After the baby comes, he can go home on his day off to help.

I asked the boys if they could imagine that many siblings. "What would you think if you had 5 more siblings?" They had two responses: "How would you name them all?" Then I asked, "how would you keep track of them?" to which the answer was: "Oh, you'd get to know them."

We have had some serious challenges being able to keep in touch with Paul. The Tanzanian SIM I have is not one of the more popular ones here, so it's hard to keep charged with air time. I buy the little amounts here and there as I find them and they go fast, calling to Uganda. We won't be here much longer though, we return on the 16th and then we'll be with Paul until he finishes his class and we leave on the rest of our trip. It is hard to believe that we are close to leaving Africa.

I am coming back in to add something. We went out in the water and saw the brown jellyfish again and this one was bigger. I went back to get our swim goggles to see it better. A group of village boys were playing in the water nearby and wanted to use the goggles. There were two goggles and about 10 boys. They descended upon them like little wild beasts when I let them borrow them. When I took them back to leave, they asked for money and candy. I wanted to irritably ask them where on earth I could put money or candy in my wet attire. I suppose this earlier action, of giving my hair tie, reinforces they thought to ask for things. I think it's better not to do it at all but within a specific format.

The boys continue to totally amaze and impress me. They just stay so even keel about everything. They did have a little trouble transitioning into Kampala. Here, along the Indian Ocean, is a place of waves lapping and the breeze building as the day goes on. It is a good place to be inside yourself with the bright sun above you. You can imagine you are being washed and baked of any impurities of the soul.

All in a Day at Zanzibar.....

I wanted to say "all in a days work," but that doesn't really apply. It has been raining here quite a bit which makes the air pregnant with moisture and even things that are undercover and not directly "wet," are damp.

Yesterday, we went on a spice tour (wet but enjoyable) and they folded some really cool things from coconut fronds. Of course my eldest, being so capable in his 3D thinking, has been folding palm fronds since we have returned. There is one particularity kind security guard who has enjoyed checking in on the boy's activities. When he saw him folding yesterday he came over in his quiet way and showed O several other things which were really cool. Today after O finished his homework he looked up some instructions online and learned how to weave a small 3D bird.

An older Muslim man from the village came by to collect the dead palm fronds (I learned today that people save them and sell them or give them away. People use them to make all kinds of things). He and our guard friend folded some more things for us, then insisted I learn how to fold something. They didn't speak English and my Swahili is situational (and not for any art/craft or weaving) so I really had no idea what I was making, I though it was part of roof. The one showing me kept moving my hand and tapping them when I was mistaken then saying "Safi!" (literally this translates to "clean," but it's similar to "good" or "cool") and laughing. My hands became blacker and blacker with the fine mold of the leaves. At one point two of the gardeners were watching also and one couldn't stop himself from adjusting my hands as well. It must have been madding for them to see someone work so slowly. It ended up being a mat you can use on a table or a decoration for the wall. The one I made and the other one of them made are different and they kindly insisted I take them with me as a gift.

Later I convinced O to go with me to the water. The beach here has several areas of seaweed and some coral here and there, and there is a reef a ways from shore, as well. There is a minefield of sea urchins all along the way and we've felt the nasty spikes break off in our feet. Today when the two of us were walking back in, O was stung by one. I knew it was something new by the way he told me he was stung. He sat down so I could see it; a small, bloody hole on his foot. We looked where he stepped to see what it could be. He pointed to two areas he thought he could have stepped and said "maybe it was that fish." I looked and I don't know how he saw what he did so fast. There was a stonefish, but it looked like a clump of sand, the only reason I saw it was the two rounded fins. Even so, I thought, "that cannot be a fish." Clearly, these fish rely on their camouflage and stinging (vs. speed), since I picked it up with two sticks to look at it, and it did nothing. It didn't freak out at all. I thought perhaps I should take a picture of it, because I knew stonefish were an issue here, but I wasn't yet sure of what it was.

The answer is yes, it was a stonefish. Yes, they are poisonous. Yes, you swell. Yes, you don't feel great. The treatment is to soak the affected area in hot water for at least 40-60 minutes. The nice thing was that three ladies with four kids checked in today, as well as two adults. I thought the people with kids would have antihistamines, and one did. A year out-of-date (would have used anyway if it was just that), and without instructions in a language I could read and without dosage information, so we didn't use it.  Regardless, it was so nice to have them there with me, to have other concerned mothers who are mostly fluent in your own language, and are mostly from a culture similar to yours. Two of them lived here and had suggested numbers to call. They and the staff here were SO sweet and helpful. I was mostly concerned if he should or should not, and if he should, then I was concerned about my lack of, antihistamines. I was able to also text Paul who called back.

Of course, his younger brother was very concerned. I gave him the computer (more like push... "take this!") with the instructions, "look online to see how to treat it!" I had looked briefly myself, but found nothing more than soak your infected or the other option is you die. No real helpful middle ground. He completed his search, reported it to me, then 'thoughtfully' suggested his brother should be allowed (they've been without- only using computer for schoolwork, etc.) to play a computer game to "take his mind off" the discomfort. I allowed it because, actually, he was really in pain.

It is okay now. He said it feels like when he sprained his ankle and took the brace off. No acute pain and such. I tried to find a picture of it online to know more about the specific type of fish. It was on a "Top 10 Most Poisonous Animals" webpage. I swear, between both the blue-ringed octopus and the black mamba (which they also have here).

Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson seems to have a large and robust following here in Tanzania and in Uganda. The first few times I heard 'We are the World' and 'Man in the Mirror' was a fun trip down memory lane to middle school but now I wouldn't mind a switch up or two. Just saying.

Jinja and travel expectations.

Paul left last Friday for his away rotation with a group of his classmates. His group was focusing on several infections, sleeping sickness and Schistosomiasis being the two main ones that I remember. If you want to read about Schisto here is a wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schistosomiasis  If you happen to read about how this is spread and understand that they were only given infected lake water to use for showering you will also understand why there was no showering at all on their parts. Thank you baby wipes is what I imagine they'd say. Or I did get one text from Paul saying they were 'showering' in the rain storms.

His group was traveling to different places for the first few nights and on the long 8 hour drive broke down and never made it to the spot they were supposed to go to. As I understand it they waited all day along the side of the road and ended up in a closer town for the night. They are now up at one of the National Parks that is supposed to be one of the more stunning of the Ugandan parks. He will return this weekend (I think tomorrow- when it's the eclipse) to Kampala and the remainder of his classes are there.

The boys and I went to Jinja for a few days. Jinja is a lovely town on 'the source of the Nile'. Where the Nile meets Lake Victoria. I put it in quotes because there are other so called sources too and we went on a beautiful boat ride to the 'source' and saw some birds we hadn't yet seen and sever Nile Monitors, which was quite exciting for us. I also placed some of my Grandma's ashes right at the tip of the Nile. I think that would have been her favorite place of all so far. We also ended up seeing the group of classmates who were doing their research week there and meet them for a fun dinner. The boys taught two of the Tanzanians how to play BS (card game). That was fun to watch.

The day Paul broke down was the day we went for two tours. This was a good day to remember to hold your expectations lightly for all of us. The tours I thought we were going on were a weaving co-op of women and a sugar cane tour.

The weaving tour ended up being a large, crumbing textile factory, the largest in East Africa. We went in through a non working metal detector and waited. The man who arranged these things with us called someone, then was taken somewhere then came back then taken somewhere then came back. He seemed equally as mystified as we did with the process. After some time a group of 50 or so school children arrived and we all exchanged looks. Before we started the tour our guide asked if we could take pictures. The factory guide said No, that come straight from Management. There are monitors and it would make a problem for my job. Then he said I can let you take one picture, I will tell you where.

We set off in our sea of children, all in blue uniforms and with heads shaved close. The factory was interesting, I won't go into the whole tour but it was noisy and very dusty. In nearly each area the factory guide would bring Levin up (he had the camera) to take a picture or make me take one of the boys posing with him, which I found funny after he was firm there were to be no pictures. I understand so much more now how a factory line can lose money on inefficiency and lackadaisical attitude of employees as well as employees feeling bored and unmotivated. The last phase of the tour was printing and the large room had a haze hanging in the air with a slight solvent smell. I wondered exactly how much toxin I was exposing my children to and then - have I educated my children well or brainwashed them? Oso sidled up to me and whispers 'How much toxin do you think we are breathing in?'. Three hours later we were off to our next tour.

We drove along all the sugar cane fields and finally came to the factory security gate. There was an amusing process of checking in through 3 different checkpoints even though we didn't have the right papers or IDs then we waited going through another screening and metal detector (that I saw people just walking around going in and out) and waited. The short of it was we were unable to go and the kids were actually relieved. That was when I said how about we just go to the river and we had our nice boat ride.

In the end it was not at all what I had expected and had I even known I might have not had them plan the things we did but I am glad it worked out that way since it was all rather interesting and entertaining with the right attitude. Also had we not gone on the factory tour I wouldn't have known that I was running by a work crew of prison inmates later that day on my run (they made the prison uniform fabric).

Since then the kids and I spent a day traveling back to Zanzibar. When we were flying into one of our transfer points I feel such a familiar comfort at being back in the landscape of Tanzania. We are now just enjoying ourselves on the beach.

Here is what some of the kid's schooling has been the last few days:

Finishing a book (I read it out loud and we've been talking about it) that is part of a set they read at school in Uganda about a Ugandan boy, Moses, and his adventures with his classmates at his boarding school. Next we will start a book by Chinua Achebe. He is supposed to be a very well known African writer.

We learned the Arabic words and the translation, to the call to prayer.

The boys have discovered how to make rock hard balls of sand that stay for longer than a day, make them elaborate tracts to roll on through tunnels (of sand), made them buried storage areas that have 'survived' the tides and been dug up.

We have looked in the sea grass bed (not where we spent time looking last time) and have found new things we didn't see last time. My feet are a bit worse off for it but it's worth it.

Kampala

We have arrived in Kampala. Before we arrived Paul had told me over and over Kampala is a very big and busy city, Moshi is 'Africa lite' compared and you can't really walk to places in Kampala. To say this is a big city that you can't really walk around is true and also feel like it falls short of a very descriptive reality of what it is like.

Here is how I can describe it.

Imagine Lake Victoria, a vast and beautiful body of water. Kampala is the area to the north, the topography is rolling hills, some moderately high, with peeks and valleys between. Color it all with many shades of lush green, wild, farmed, tended to, and some landscaped. Now looking out over from one peek to the next you see a wash of green, with buildings between, running together with a semi sea of rooftops, red with tile or corrugated tin, grey to dusty rust color.

Once you drive among this you see the city is not quite as uniform as it may seem, looking at the buildings more closely there are about a quarter of them in some halted or continued state of building and half of these have a horrifyingly dangerous looking exoskeleton of scaffolding built from, what seems like large sticks, tied with twine (I am sure they are some hardwood that make them stronger than they look or I can tell myself that anyway) going up 4 to 6 stories. Houses are a mix of fancy stucco/cement like buildings fully enclosed with barbed wire topped walls, moderate brick structures (not enclosed), smaller rectangular dwellings of cement, very small clusters of (what an American would picture as) shacks the size of garden sheds made from an assortment of materials- some are planks of wood with various sized gaps between. Keep in mind that not all of these dwelling have electricity, running water or toilets. Also keep in mind that some people in this city still walk for water, some from a tap some from an open pipe running free.

Lining the streets are modern strip malls some sporting chain names foreigners would recognize, or low buildings with a jumble of hand painted signs crowded along the tops advertising a range of amusing names. There are banks, museums, universities, movie theaters, industrial sections of whole parking lots of tractors, dump trucks or lumber yards (these vary from milled wood stacked and covered to other areas with rough hard wood trees limbed and sorted by size and held upright between branches of larger trees). Shipping containers that have been cleverly transformed into businesses some full size, some cut into half. Small single shacks of wood or cut and flattened oil barrels are here and there, some the size of a phone booth, some 2 - 4 times the size, selling various things. Add restaurants, some small with someone cooking over a charcoal stove others with table and chairs, some with pool tables outside, some fancy and more high end.

To this keep adding open areas of differing sizes of farms (coffee, banana, fruits) land, green areas along the road are turned into a nursery, selling plants in plastic bags not pots, areas where people are hand mixing and forming cement bricks or maybe the red dirt earth bricks. The dirt bricks are then stacked in piles (some quite high) and set with fire under to harden them. There are also rock quarries with flagstone type rocks stacked up or places where people are breaking rock by sledge hammer into smaller and smaller units. Place some cows and goats out grazing, ducks and chicks are free, we even saw a troop of monkeys, there also seems to be a shockingly diverse number of birds some I've never seen. Many are the large (HUGE) garbage eating storks that clack and fly noisily sometimes near your head (I was told they eat 20% of Kampala's garbage a day). Drop in a few big open area parks. Carve in some roads, some wide paved, some dirt and bumpy. Put in some small streams that cut through the landscape and of these some run free, some are stagnant and green, some are choked with garbage, along some water ways are people washing clothes others are 'stands' where people are washing motorcycles- soap, dirt and oil running onto the ground to make a packed black area. There are several large markets stretching out for blocks with plastic covers to protect from the sun and plastic bags to keep food off the ground. All fruits and vegetables adding colors, stacked in their neat pre-measured piles for sale, also dusty graying bags of charcoal.

These are all in a quick rapid succession of each other and the small stores selling drinks, bread and what not are next to sim cards stands, motor repair shops,  small butcher stands with open doors and someone resting behind hanging cuts of meat or legs, organs hanging or the intestine draped over the counter hanging like folds of a curtain (I wonder if this prolonged dry aging is what makes beef more tender here and I remember the stories my father told me of the fly covered meat sitting out in the Ethiopian heat when he lived there, before I was ever born. He said the extreme spiciness they used must have been to cover the rancidity). Many of these little shops have neighbors two doors down that seem just exactly the same to themselves, I don't understand how they keep in business.

To all of the above assign a color and make drops over the lush ground then stir them so there are some colors more congratulated than others and yet they are all very much mixed together. We are still not quite done. For each road place people walking along the edge (some have sidewalks, some not), place drivers in cars, delivery trucks, taxis (which are what we thought of as dala-dalas in Tanzania, here the mini buses stuffed with people are taxis), private cars (what you'd think of as a taxi), a million bota-botas (motorcycle taxis which can sometimes have up to 5 people, young babies and children perched on the end or tucked between adults) and bikes all weaving in and out of each other in some rhythm that I do not understand. If you ride in the front seat of a car it's best to just disassociate or hold your observations lightly, just choosing to see what passes by rather than the way your life could pass before your eyes in a crash.

Of course you might be imagining a scratch on the surface of what it is like here. I didn't describe the sounds (including call to prayer which seems later than Tanzania, I used to know the time of day based on it), the smells and the temperature.

Hadzabe Bushmen

I learned about some bushmen, the Hadzabe, who live about 5 hours from where we were in Moshi. I arranged for an overnight tour to see them. They hunt only with bows and arrows and the women then gather supplemental things depending on the seasons. They speak with clicking sounds mid and between words. We had to do an overnight tour because they leave to go hunting about 6:30 in the morning. The night before we meet our guide for the next day, Benga, who was from a near by tribe, the Datgoga. He spoke some, self taught, English (like my Swahili he had a script of English, ask or replay too far off that and he didn't know what you were saying), Datgoga, Hadzabe, Swahili, and another local tribe's language. I asked the boys to describe the two days, I added details that are in italics the rest is them tandem talking.

We went on a bushmen tour and the bushmen speak in clicks, not entirely clicks just clicks every now and then. On the way there was a very dusty and long road that took 5 hours. The last hour to the campground was on a very dusty silty road. The dirt is a volcanic red. A lesser skilled driver would have fishtailed the entire way or slid off the road entirely. Dust billowed up from our tires and I asked about the wet season which seemed would make the road almost impassable. Victor said the only problem was the big onion trucks that could get stick, spinning out and making deep ruts. You could get stuck behind them on the narrow roads until a tractor would come and pull them out. You could be stuck an hour or a day you'd never know. On the way home we stopped to use a restroom and I saw I had a raccoon mask of white around my eyes from where my sunglasses were and a dust line to lighter brown on the rest of my face. Then we reached the 'campground. that was in the middle of nowhere, the staff lived there. It had showers that were really easy to see into from the outside, because the (shower) building was made of planks of wood with varying spaces between them.

That evening we drove to a partly dried up saline lake and got to walk on salt crispies and the mud underneath smelled bad. There were dried up dead fishies about one inch long, and in bigger cases one and a half all over, the dry lake bed. 'Mostly they were in footprints and had hoped to live in the small pool of water that had been there but they died anyway'. Meaning you could see water had pooled in footprints and the fish had found them and were dried up in dense clusters within them. We saw dried hippo footprints that were a little big bigger than the size of a basketball, lots of pelican prints, human prints (bare feet), hyena, and bush pig prints.

We slept in a small tent and woke up at 4:45 am and drank some hot chocolate and in mom's case, coffee (instant coffee and powdered milk in plastic cups with hot water). We also ate yummy biscuits, (they were totally gross, but it was all there was until we returned to eat and we didn't' know when that would be). It was dark when we left camp and it was light when we arrived at the Hadzabe camp. On the way there we passed through a lot of dried river beds. We drove through the grey light of pre-dawn. Along the way shadows would come into focus as single or multiple donkeys (or an occasional cart) laden with chuffed up yellow water containers to haul water for the day. Slowly color bled into chalky white landscape as we lost our night color blindness and the landscape became green and brown.

When the driver said we 'we're here' we thought we had to walk a little bit to get to the camp but when we walked forward and realized the rings of branches bunched around trees were actually houses, that had no roof and skins strewed across the dirt for a bed. There were 2 (small) fire with people around them, men at one and women at another. The men smoke A LOT 'that is probably why they coughed so much'. The men wore shorts and each had skin tied at their shoulder. The women wore kangas tied as skirts and another kanga wrapped around their shoulders. There were 4 super duper cute puppies, and the adults had big clumps of missing fur from scars. They adults were really skinny because they only got the parts people don't want to eat.

They had assortment of bows and arrows that were decorated with fur and markings that showed what arrows went to which bows. We (O and L) were given bows and arrows we all went out to hunt with them. Some of the bow stings were made of twisted tendons and such from animals. We shot but we missed every time and constantly lost our arrows in the trees. If it's stuck in the tree you are expected to climb up and get it, the bushmen got them out in about 5 minutes. Keep in mind almost every tree and bush had self defense in the form of sharp thorns of some kind. The bushmen hit almost every time they shot. They were hunting birds, squirrels and mice. They got really excited about the squirrels, all 4 of them hunted for about 30 minutes and didn't get them.

Mid hunt they made a fire in about 2 seconds with dried feces and sticks. They roasted and ate 3 birds, the birds were about the half the size of a baseball. We (O and L) didn't eat them, mom tried it. The boys were off trying to catch something and they did offer me some, I thought NO WAY am I going to eat one bit of that minuscule amount of meat the 4 of them are sharing for breakfast! Then Benga took some and I asked him what it was like and he tore me off a small piece. It was smoky and quickly dry in my mouth. The meat turned pasty, leaving a lingering and building taste of smoke and grit. Almost like guilt for how easy I can obtain food and water. They shaved off the beak with a knife and ate the head, whole brains and all. We saw how little they were eating and (desperately) wanted to shoot them a bird. We kept hunting, they shot a total of 7 birds and 3 field mice (bigger than a house mouse). The skeletal thin dogs got the bones and scraps, in this case, legs, feet and innards. I told Benga in the states people buy their dogs pre-made dog food and he was surprised and asked how much it cost. I instantly regretted even bringing it up and felt embarrassed and lied a low price, yet still high for them. We stopped at a murky pool the size of a twin bed and one squatted down and filled his hand to drink and the other man squatted down and put his lips to the water and drank the murky muddy water. The dog drank from a make shift trough cut out of a log. This water hole was used by more local people than just the Bushmen and had a 'fence' of brush around it, presumably to keep livestock from destroying it. Sometimes at night some of the men from the tribe will wait to hunt bigger game that come to drink.

When we returned to camp we had target practice and shot at a stump that was covered in holes and pretty hard to hit. We drove back to our camp and got a gigantic brunch and felt very guilty because we ate a lot and couldn't finish all that was fixed for us and they got so little and finished every scrap. It was about 11 before we ate. We were thirsty, hot, and hungry when we got back but we all had, I think, silently agreed if they can live that way we can deal with hunger, heat and thirst for a while without complaining, which yet again I was so proud of them for not a peep of a complaint.  If one modern American gave everything he owned to a bushmen, a bushmen would have the equivalent of way more than 10 bushmen villages (I am sure it's more than that since they don't have much that can be measured in terms of monetary value). Americans are spoiled. Bushmen wouldn't want to live as an American because they aren't used to rules. Their only rules might be don't go out at night. The guide told us the chief knows a medicine to burn in fires to keep wild animals away.

Octopuses in Paradise

We are now at Paul's mid-break time. We had a sad (tearful for me, and Grace) goodbye in Moshi and have arrived in Zanzibar, an island off the coast of Tanzania. We are staying along a rural stretch of the mid-east coastline and I GET THE HYPE about Zanibar now. It is nearly impossible to feel that there is anything amiss in the world when you are here. The beach is a blindly white, soft, smooth confection like creation of fine coral, the Indian Ocean is like a tepid bath, the warmest water the kids and I have ever been in (Paul already was in the Indian Ocean for his post rural party weekend). The kids were in the water as soon as we finished eating our late lunch yesterday and in all day today as well. There were only a total of 6 other tourists in sight this whole time and it turns out we know two of them. Yesterday the eldest repeatedly said this is truly paradise. We had planned on spending 2 nights in Stone Town (think big ornate doors with metal fittings and crumbling buildings, old Person bathhouses and Indian Jones movies) but we love it here so much we decided to stay one extra night here and one less in Stone Town.

After breakfast we all walked out to a sand bar/reef area about a quarter of a mile off shore. In order to get there we made our way out between the colorfully (fully) clad women harvesting and tending to their seaweed farms all the while treading carefully among the countless urchins carpeting the low recessed rocks (or more accurately worn down coral). The seaweed they harvest is one that looks like a semi firm/gelatinous tree coral. Apparently it is dried and processed into a stabilizer (like agar) for cosmetics etc (this along with tourism and spices is the main economic source), here and there were bursts of living coral making me wish over and over for a mask just to get a clear peak at them. I have limited Swahili and it's also situational. We learned how to get by in town, at shops, restaurants, swimming pools and the like. I am completely lost when the women here do more than greet us as we wade by. I am not sure if they are saying 'hey asshole get out of  my area of seaweed farm!' or 'don't go out to the reef there is a rain storm blowing in' (there was) or 'how lovely to see a family' or 'watch out for the urchins'. We did have an interesting conversation with a former Dutch man here who runs a seaweed farm here and on another island. He and a partner originally set the ones they run up as a way for women to be able to earn more money and then be more empowered. There are studies that have shown if women are able to earn more the rate of domestic abuse goes down, it is interesting how one conscientious business model can have rippling effects, just as an amoral business model can devastate an area.

Naturally we were delighted to be out at the sandy 'reef' area. I say 'reef' because it was very low laying old coral that was covered with seaweed and little bits of sea life. Exploring coastal tidal areas in any sea is just about my favorite thing to do and the 4 of us all enjoy it. There were a few fishermen (for lack of a better term) walking about with sticks. Some had bags and I began to feel suspicious that they might be looking for octopus. One man walked by us with dingy white pants, the front pocket areas were all grey/black (I thought he might handle a lot of charcoal and wipe his hands on his pants?) he had a bit of banana fiber tied around his chest and his shirt had a knot in the middle. This knot must have been to hold his shirt tight so it wouldn't flap ceaselessly in the breeze. It was a little unclear to me what he'd be hunting? fishing? for. He had one long stick and two or three short ones, he would be quickly poking them at a spot them moving on like an anteater. I kept him in sight for any exciting harvest and wasn't disappointed! Paul (he was the one to say I think he is looking for octopus) saw he had one and I sprinted the 20 yards over. He had one and let me hold the stunned mollusk, by the siphon. He was beautiful and I felt bad for him but that is the way it goes. He was creamy with yellows and blues and darling eyes, much smaller than our Giant Pacific. He then took him and quickly stuffed him in his front pockets, solving the question of the black stains: ink! Later on shore I found out that (and saw) people take and pound them in the sand to tenderize. I tried to get one guy to give me beak and either he didn't understand at all or he truly did toss it away so no beak. Maybe another time.

I have also realized that no matter what you think a little shower water gets in your mouth. I thought I did a good job not getting it in my mouth but the shower and tap water here is brackish and I taste the salt when I shower so I am obviously not doing a good job. The fun things you think about when your partner and his entire social circle are studying tropical disease is how many things you can get walking bare foot in the sand (I am anyway) and how very very small some cysts and eggs are that you can get via water and how you only need 1 to be infected.

Mother Africa and dicipline

Some of Paul's classmates have arranged a Yoga night for a few weeks (it's been lovely). The first one I went to was at the house of the tutors (what they call the teachers for the course). They have a large yard with 'grass', hard pack dirt with some green weeds and grass growing sparsely. We all just stood, sat and laid in the dirt for Yoga. Side note this week happened to be the week on parasites and the parsasitologists took a picture, and put it in the lecture, of everyone (unknowing to most) and I had a exposed legs and was singled out at the one most likely to get 'things' (infections) from the dirt. One of boys was at the lecture the day they showed it and was so delighted to retell me that story. Back to the point... At the end we did a meditation while in shavasana and I felt the hard earth beneath me. It was firm and my body continued to settle down into it as well as it felt the earth was reaching up to support me.

I began to think, laying in that dirt, I am really in Africa. I am laying in the dirt in Africa. My body is being supported directly by the dirt and earth in Africa. I think of Africa as the cradle of humanity where the divine force of God began the evolution of man and the slow diversification towards what we have become. I felt that mother Africa, the cradle of humanity and it feels like she is a supportive mother but she is not coddling. She has in some ways turned her back on her people, letting them go make their way as they should not being pampered and they have a hard life here. They are all so strong and beautiful. No one here slouches, they all walk erect and perfect, it seems like everyone has the most beautiful skin, even when scared.

We were just in a remote area where the dirt is a red volcanic soil, rich and now it is the dry season. The river beds are sandy and dry. The people walk so far for water and I watched as two men bent town and drank from a muddy puddle after spending half of there 3 hours of hunting to catch a few song birds and 2 mice for the small village to eat. People pound grain by hand. They toil here. Maybe it feels different in the wet season but I still think they toil.

 I talked the other day with Grace and Ben about parents and discipline of children. Here if you don't behave you get the stick. You get whacked with a stick and it can be harder or more than once or in more than once part of the body. Is this practical because there are still areas where if you don't hop to it RIGHT NOW and do as your parents say you can die? Is it practical because there are plants that the sap could kill or blind you? I see some complexities that make sense about it that I can not try to formulate or if I did no one would care to read the long paragraphs resulting.

Here is what I will say. They were so shocked when I said if you hit your child with a stick, punched them or hit them hard enough they'd fall down, bit, pinched or hit them hard enough to break skin or leave marks you could go to jail in the US. They just were shocked. Then they asked how do you discipline? This was after quite a long talk and so I actually found myself laughing at how absurd it must have sounded as it came from  my mouth and felt slightly embarrassed to admit the general things I know people do- which is not to say I am going to start striking my children. I told them people put their kids in time out, talk to them, ground them, take privileges away or may spank them. Grace said but if you took somethings away then you give it back? I wish I could show her exact expression and posture. She then sat with her head cocked looking up to the right with her eyes rolled up and a peevish look on her face and she shrugged her right shoulder and tipped her head down in a classic well you can try look and said 'hummp- I thinking I will get it back and I can do it again if I want'.

A couple of good quotes.

I think I posted this quote before but I am going to post it again. It was graffiti on the wall along a canal in Belgium:

"Death is not the greatest loss in life.The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live"                                                       -Norman Cousins

This internal death is what happens when we are too afraid to make change and try new things. This might be one of the biggest lessons Paul has taught me. I remember when I was just 19 and we started dating and we were talking about desires for the future. I have had tendency towards paralysis rather than action when uncertain, lacking confidence to just push forward in a direction even if that direction isn't 100% what I think I want to do. He said it's better to reach the end of life and look back at all the things you have tired even if you never found your hearts calling rather than to reach the end of life and have done nothing or one thing you didn't like. That understanding is a gift to freedom. I think of how much being with someone who has such an ability for future planning has created for me and the boys, and what it means to be here now.

I can't believe we have been here 5 weeks. We will be leaving Moshi in a week. It will be Paul's half term (something like that they call it) break, between Tanzania and Uganda. We will spend a week 'vacationing' here in Tanzania before we move up to Uganda. I will miss so much Grace, the woman working here where we are staying. She has been so kind so much a source of pleasant surprises.  I will miss our Swahili teacher, Sia. Such a woman who is kind, firm and so strong. I will miss too Ben, the gardener here who is quiet and will find a stick to lightly scratch Swahili words into his arm to show me how they are written. I will miss more than that but those three come to mind. Each day there are new things to tuck into my heart. Last week I found a group of deaf people who have a sewing collective and I signed to them (they use the same alphabet as us) in Swahili. They were so delighted to have a tourist try talk to them. When I was leaving one man was almost going to cry with gratitude, I felt the same way, another thing to tuck away.

Another guest was reading a book left here, Scribbling the Cat, and she read to me this passage and I had to take it down too. I feel so grateful we aren't just returning straight from Africa home. We will have some other stops along the way. I have a new appreciation for our friends whom have lived here returning home. This quote seems to sum it up well:

In late December I went home to my husband and to my children and to the post-Christmas chaos of a resort town, but instead of feeling glad to be back, I was dislocated and depressed. It should not be physically possible to get from the banks of the Pepani River to Wyoming in less than two days, because mentally and emotionally it is impossible. The shock is too much, the contrast too raw. We should sail or swim or walk from Africa, letting bits of her drop out of us, and gradually, in this way, assimilate the accesses and liberties of the States in tiny, incremental sips, maybe touring up through South America and Mexico before trying to stomach the land of the Free and the Brave. (page 72)

Scribbling the cat by Alexandra Fuller

Traditional Wedding celebration

Here in Tanzania there are supposed to be 120 different tribes. Many of these tribes had chefs and kings. Now the tribes are under the Tanzanian government but there are still Kings and Kingships that are recognized by those tribes as per tradition. One of Paul's classmates if the king of one of the larger (6,000) local tribes and they have become friends. Last Saturday he invited us to attend part of a traditional wedding celebration for his sister in law.

Paul and his classmates had a half day of review for the parasite test. The boys and I had signed up for a cooking class. It was really really fun and the kids really enjoyed it too. We made samosas (sadly samosas are extremely labor intensive and take about 3 hours to prepare and they are so delicious that you can eat an entire batch in minutes. A nice eye opener for the kids and they were so proud of them they saved one for Paul and one for Grace- so cute), a very common local tasty salad, Ugali (what I have written about before, the maize cooked THICK eaten with fingers and used as a vehicle for other foods), and cooked greens and meat to go with the Uglai. I bring this up because we thought we'd missed our chance to go with Paul to the wedding (long story) and when finished the class and ate our fill of food. 

Paul contacted us just as we arrived back home and said take a taxi and come out, have Kelvin (the taxi driver we use a lot) call this number and get directions. So, we excitedly, and hurriedly, changed into our nicest outfits and had Kelvin get directions. He had no idea where the specific place we were going was and he doesn't speak a lot of English and I try to jabber away at him and pretty much every taxi ride he laughs a little and tells me 'umm. I don't understand' and turns his head away as if wishing by not looking I'd quit. So now we are driving and it's becoming more and more lush and like the country side and we are more and more off the main road and banana trees shading coffee trees are all you and see. It's quite pretty, the road is more and more bumpy. He keeps stopping to ask where this place is and people answer with various degrees of confidence and length of speech. Each time 'I say what did they say?' He would then answer 'this way'. I keep offering my phone for him to call the mystery person to guide him in, all the time wondering if Tanzanian men have the same stereotype as men in the states asking for directions, I feel grateful that it's Kelvin we are with not someone I don't know because I feel like he won't leave us in some random place. At one point we are getting very close (but I don't know it) and he picks up a woman who guides us the last of the way. Turns out we have been directed the whole time by the bride's father who meets us at the road and walks us in. He introduces us to the woman who rode with us, who turns out to be his sister. He is a very funny, extremely warm and gracious host.  

We walk through the celebration area which is filled with chairs (and many are filled and I see people just watch us walk by) and back through a gate into one of the houses. The chairs are all along the open spot and back 3 deep between the banana trees as well as in the middle of the open area. Once in the house we are offered drinks and told to eat. The kids and I are not really very hungry since we just pigged out on our cooking food (and I found out later the kids were even more full since they had kept sneaking handfuls of the samosa meat mix all during the class because it's aroma was just too good). We are polite and take a little of everything. There are several traditional dishes, one of which has very firm whole green bananas and meat in it and another that has parts of the organs and what not, of cow. I ended up with a, very generous piece of black something. I think stomach or ruminant- I never ended up deciding if it was best to chew it with the smooth thick facial side against my tongue or feeling the geometric pattern of ruminant pressing down, if you ever eat a piece you will have a very long time to decide for yourself as you chew on it. Paul and his friends (the king and one other classmate) were drinking the traditional banana beer from wooden mugs. I was excited to try that having heard about it from another local person. It really does taste of banana and it is like banana and sort of like kombucha mixed. There is a thick chunky like froth on top that you have to blow aside or let just rest against your upper lip and drink the liquid underneath, a skilled drinker must filter it with their lips. It made me think if that is how mead used to be maybe? The kind they talk abut in Pillars of the Earth and the Songs of Ice and Fire books. 

The ceremony were able to attend was the groom's family coming to give gifts to the bride's side. We walked back out of the house and sat, at the very last minute, with the king (her father joked that his daughter was so important that even guests flew in from America to attend). They introduced everyone in the different sides of the family and elder members of the community. There is more ceremony and then bride's parents and grandparents are wrapped in blankets and the aunts are wrapped in kangas (the cloth they tie up as skirts and more) this is all happening one individual at a time. At any point a family member can refuse these things and the proceeding has to start over or they can say it's too cheap and you have to give them a little money too. The bride then pretends she doesn't want to come out and they have to bribe her and she puts on a show, then she has to go around the crowd and find her groom who is 'hidden'. He will then ask her, in front of the whole tribe, to marry him. All of this is done in good fun drama and her father was the MC (I am sure that isn't what he is called though) and I could tell, even though it was all in Swahili, that he is a very charismatic and funny man. Around this time some men come hefting out two big plastic open barrels of traditional banana beer. People in the Scio area will know these types of barrels as the kind the local farmers ferment hog feed in. The barrels sat quietly and bubbled the top froth over the sides. The bride then uses guards on handles and drinks a little herself before giving some to her husband then to his family, the elders and so forth. Eventually this drink is poured into small clean buckets and passed then large plastic cups. After that we all ate again! We were sooo full. After eating there are traditional dances where the women invite the men's family in and so forth. 

The boys sat very well through all this. L had a small pad of paper and was drawing various things after we had finished eating. This was very interesting to the local children who began to gather around. I gave one of the sheets of paper to O to fold into origami, I told him do the balloon, the kids eyes got so wide when they saw a flat piece of folded paper get blown up into a cube. That sealed the deal and the mass of children grew and O kept folding. They all wanted one. They were also taking L's drawings but I discovered it was to just run them around to O to fold up! L and one of Paul's friend's each took turns drawing the parasites they'd been looking at under the microscope. I had Paul's classmate label them in Swahili but I kept that one! By the time it was suggested we could sit and visit in the house there was a crush of kids about 3 deep around them.

The boys both knew the two of Paul's classmates from their time at school in lecture and they seemed at home chatting and joking with them. Later in the night Paul's friend, the another classmate, his father and brother in law give us a ride back to town. It was so incredible to be included in the event and they were all so very sweet and generous. We felt really special to be included. After we arrived home Grace told me she had set out some of her dinner for me to try. So I ate another helping of food, this time it wasn't a full serving at least!

Tonight I tried to tell the night guard I want to run tomorrow so I will need the gate unlocked at 6 am. This Massai man doesn't speak English. I told him what time, in Swahili. Then Grace said I had to go tell him in Swahili but in Swahili time as well, so I did. But that ended up confusing things because he had a cell phone and he showed it to us then she asked me 'is it English time?', I think because she uses the 24 hour clock. In the end the three of us worked it out, and he tells me I will not need to find and wake him up like the other morning (this is all Grace translating of course). By now I know where all the keys are to the pad locks and doors so I can let myself out of the actual B&B (and Grace sleeps in another building out back) but not to the gate to get OUT onto the street (no, dirt road really). The other morning I knew my cab was waiting but there was no way out until I got the guard up and it took some doing, who technically wasn't supposed to be tucked away sleeping. When I signed/English/Swahili-ed my explanation about the guard sleeping and me trying to wake him for so long, Kelvin the cab driver, just laughed. 

What time is it? Where did that come from?

Understanding what time people mean can sometimes be tricky. Most of the world uses a 24 hour clock and not am or pm. Here add in that with the fact that locals use Swahili time. You start counting at 7 am with the start of the day. 7 am is 1, 8 am is 2, 9 am is 3 etc until 6 which is 12 then you start over. Levin keeps his watch on Pacific time no mater where we are so if you ask him the time he (or you) will add 10 hours (or subtract 2 is easier) and flip the am/pm. Most locals know if they are talking to a muzungo (white person) the time the muzungo gives is not Swahili time but it can cause some confusion. I had a mix up with the taxi driver the first time I asked him to get me at 6 am to go running, we got it figured out. Today I texted with our Swahili teacher about getting a ride from her husband tomorrow and she texted me in Swahili with Swahili time. I had to have the boys verify that I calculated it correctly because of course they understood it the FIRST time she explained it to us. Curious to try your hand? We will be picked up at 3 and return home at 10.

When we were on our way back from the safari I saw some people outside of smaller villages walking with big home sewn sacks full of empty plastic bottles. I asked where are they doing with those bottles? Since there is no 'recycling' in the sense that we think of but there is recycling in that people use and reuse things. Victor told me they collect them, wash them and sell them in town. Then people use them for kerosene, gas, cooking oil, etc. I have seen oil being sold this way at the market (not store but market). Later we were stopped at a tourist shop (perhaps he gets a commission? He said they have nice washrooms) to use the restrooms and stretch and I saw the staff picking bottles out of the garbage as well. The thing is.... I am now less interested in that oil at the market because I find myself over thinking the washing method as well as what might have been in the bottles previously.

I also now understand why all the milk served warm at the local restaurants. Milk here, as well as many places, is sold in the shelf stable boxes and I somehow imagined the restaurants using this. Of course it makes more sense they would not. I saw the daladalas (small buses, like a van but that somehow pack a lot of people in) returning from town with various scratched up (and dirty on the outside) buckets and containers all tried up along the back and top. I asked Victor what they had sold in town in those buckets. He said milk, they go into town and sell it to restaurants and hotels. On one of my morning runs I ran by women in town selling them out of these buckets on the sidewalk and the buckets smelled a little sour. I saw them pouring them into re-used bottles with big funnels. Back at he hotel, where I meet Paul's classmates for the run, I saw their Massai night guard walking a giant plastic bottle back to the kitchen. So now, as I understand it, when I am out and we get milk we are getting that milk and they heat it for safety rather than service. Only now I wonder about the place where the boys and I found thick milkshakes (rather than the one we had early on that was an interesting take on milkshake: frothy milk, as if whisked, and a small scoop of ice cream)..... What are they doing with that milk since it's cold? Sometimes knowing too much isn't helpful.

Safari!

The boys and I went on a four day Safari this week. It was more than words can describe. Everything we'd hoped for and more. We had a driver and a cook (all standard I learned) and camped, they provided the equipment. It was really comfortable but not luxurious.

We left here on Tuesday and drove to Lake Manyra, after at least 4 hours of driving we got to the camp ground. Since it was hot we set up camp and had lunch then went on a drive after it cooled (you won't see animals in the hot of the day so much). Lake Manyara is known for it's tree climbing lions, the only place they do this. We were permitted to come across 3 in a tree and see a 4th climb up, 2 males and 2 females. We also had a herd of elephants slowly crash through the brush and surround the safari car and browsed for a while there RIGHT next to us. We saw many animals and birds. Baboons and monkeys are really they are so plentiful you may start to dismiss them but they are so amusing to watch. Here we saw some baboon behaviors close up, one grooming a younger one held it strong and forced it down then finally it scampered away. You could just imagine the dialog as if it were a child. Similarly when one adult baboon reached around and grabbed a youth by the neck and yarded it quickly across the road as if to say there is a car coming! watch where you are going. Of course I was excited to see one up close nursing while being cradled on it's mother's lap.

That night our camp was in town and walled and had hot water as well as a small pool. The kids enjoyed the pool along with a giant type of crane that is a scavenger. That night I could hear so many insects I tried to listen and tell how many types of sounds I heard, but couldn't it was a loud constant noise. One was so high pitched like a squeaking bike tire. Before I feel asleep a drum circle started in the distance. I had to tell myself I was in Africa not at Oregon Country Fair.

We set off the next day for another long drive to Serengeti. This time we drove through the Rift Valley, along the rim of Ngorongoro Creator, through Masai Paradise, before arriving at the edge of Serengeti.

Along the way we stopped and visited a Masai village. They sang us a song and showed us a dance, had us participate, showed us a home, where they keep their herds, and the school house. Their life is one full of hard work. Their homes are small oval like wood structures covered with mud and dung. You need to duck to enter and walk and there is a small pin for a suckling calf (since they drink the cow milk they take the calf away and, I presume, each house tends to one if needed), 3 very small low wood beds covered with a hide and upright sticks between. Between that is an area for one to sit and cook. They cook over a wood and dung fire and eat meat, milk and blood (they don't cook the milk and blood). The entire house had one window the size of a softball. This village had to buy water. The school house was also a small wooden structure with mud and dung walls. They said it was kindergarten only. They were all wearing the traditional blankets and the ones who had shoes had the homemade ones from tires. That was all they had. They may have had a change of clothes (blankets), the one L sat in had a basket in the area and our guide the Chief of the Boma (Boma is a village), said it was for extra clothes or personal things.

That night we camped in an open camp in the middle of the Serengeti, which means endless plains and that is no joke. When you drive in you really see nothing but plains and some very distant mountains. I can only imagine how it felt to navigate on foot. We were lucky enough to see two lions right in the road it the shade of a small tree. It was so hard to not just open the door and snuggle them, you want to, they were only 2 feet out the door of the car!!! Their paws are the size of my hand and they are killers but they still look sooooo cute and they look like they'd be so soft. I asked our guide, Victor if he'd ever petted a pelt. He said the fur is soft and the mane was wiry.

That night we camped in the middle of the Serengeti. There were giraffe eating in the near by trees and a good sized group of mongoose ran through the camp. We had a nice chat with a Spanish couple who told us a hyena came into the camp the night before and they thought it was a lion by the sounds it made. Also that day they'd seen a pride of 17 lions. That night I just laid in the tent thinking we are actually in the middle of the Serengeti, camping. It was hard to believe.

The next morning we got up at 4:45 am and put on all the warm clothing we had because we'd booked a hot air balloon ride. We had our hot drink 'to warm the body' and were watching the shooting stars in the black, predawn sky. The camp had an enclosed area for cooking and one for eating but otherwise it was open. We were standing between the two enclosures and our tent was maybe 30 feet away. One of the boys was going to do something back at the tent and Mohammad, our cook, said he would go with them since it was not safe a hyena could get them. I was then conflicted with a slight wondering irritation that, 'I wasn't informed of this the night?' and relief at not knowing this since a hyena had come into camp and tried to get the hanging garbage can. I did feel gratitude to him being so protective of the kids. He was so sweet and made us SO MUCH food each meal, I felt bad we never could finish it. The boys loved his soup he made each night, one night was cucumber soup.

The balloon ride was incredible. None of us had been on one. This one held 16 people plus the pilot, Nick. Nick said it was the 3rd largest size around. We saw animals (hippos in the river and a mother cheetah with two juveniles running were highlights) but the scenery along was spectacular.  I quietly spread some of my grandma's ashes as we drifted, I thought she would have liked that. After we landed our balloon took a little time meeting up (there were 3 balloons total) because there was a herd of elephants passing that we looked at. One had a shortened truck by half due to being caught (Nick said most likely) in a snare. We enjoyed a story of the history of hot air balloons and champagne going together (ask the boys to re-tell you sometime),  they served us cava, not champagne, and then they drive us to an English breakfast. At that location they set up 3 loos (everything here is Queen's English so it's swimming costumes instead of bathing suits, and loo instead of restroom etc) and they had 3 sides around them and a sign that said 'A loo with a view'. Which was quite true when you saw a big herd of elephants pass by in the distance. We were picked up by Victor and had a game drive before the long long drive to Ngorongoro Crater.

The Ngorongoro Crater is considered one of the seven natural wonders of Africa. I was told the world as well. It is the largest unbroken crater in the world. Our camp had a beautiful view, set up at the rim. It was quite chilly, again all the clothes we had came on, and zebras were eating the camping area grass. I guess they never have to cut it with them eating away. This night Mohammad tells me the boys can not walk alone at night because of the buffalo. Although there are so many tents I think the tents are as likely as getting trampled as an individual walking. That night I realized that the moon is enough light to navigate easily to the bathroom but maybe not enough light to avoid the piles left behind by the grazers. I also learn that when you use flush squatty potties with vigorous power you are best to navigate yourself behind the door and reach to flush with a hasty retreat to avoid over spray. All these restrooms in the parks and conservation areas have a very specific pungent smell. I feel certain that it's the big predators coming and marking their territory.

The next day was clear and beautiful but windy so we had good views but no rhino sightings. The rhino apparently, with his tiny ears, doesn't like the wind because it whistles directly into it's ear hole and causes it discomfort. So, the 25-30 they have there were hidden in grass or the woods.

We certainly can't complain though we saw so many things to the point that it was emotionally overwhelming, to see the animals so close and so beautiful. I also was excited seeing what I 'asked for' nursing animals (elephants !!!!! SOOOO cute) and young ostrich, hippos etc. Amazing. The boys loved it. They, once again, impressed me so much. They were never complaining, never. It was hot and so so dusty, bumpy, and hours of driving. I think I consumed a quarter of a cup of dust at least. The one thing we (the 3 of us) did complain about was the tsetse fly, not only do they bit so hard though your clothes it hurts!! Then when they hit bare skin they leave a raw spot lasting for more than a week, but they are really hard to kill. You feel really satisfied that you killed one then you didn't and it flies away and you feel cheated. We agreed we'd rather the mosquitoes, no seems, and the other small sneaky black fly to the tsetse fly.

Now we are back in the busy city at our walled B and B. I wonder if it really happened.

Paul comes back tomorrow. Sounds like he has had a great week, his team is a good group, they finished their project, and he is already really enjoying his time at the beach (they were suppose to snorkel today). We will get to hear more about it when he comes home. I think he'll be tired, it's a 6 hour drive. It's weird how those long bumpy drives exhaust you but they do.

It happened

After 40 days on the road a child has mentioned being a little homesick. They have been AMAZING little travelers, so good. The only thing to entertain them being our surroundings, each other, paper, pens and books.

Beef Tounge

Part of what I love about traveling is trying new things and learning about new food. Things that sound gross to me because of my cultural socialization I try to override and try anyway. Maybe some of you heard my story about making my own beef tongue at home. To summarize it, gross not a really super fun experience in touch, smell, sight, and then I couldn't bring myself to taste it. 

Yesterday the boys and I went to a place that serves Tanzanian food as well as burgers and fries. I told them they had to order something Tanzanian. I asked the woman which items were most Tanzanian, I ordered what she said was a typical dish of cow tongue. I choose to have Uglai with it, a thick cooked substance you use to eat foods with your hands. I think I wrote about how I learned to make it here as well. 

The tongue came and it had some vegetables and a brown thick sauce, a side of cooked greens and they gave me utensils wrapped in a napkin. I did wonder if everyone gets them or I did because I am not local. It had a nice enough flavor but some of the pieces I ate had big fat chunks in it and I wasn't sure if I could discretely pull those out and set the aside. I did sneak a few out and wrapped them in paper. I asked the boys to taste my dish and L did then said 'My bite had something crunchy'. O later told me it looked like tongue but I didn't' think about it and if I had I would have said 'No thank you, tongue!'. There were a few pieces with big vessels in them and that began to disturb me as did the strong taste that started to build in my mouth. Then my fingers ran across the slight sand paper like taste buds that were not trimmed off and I began to recall my time with my cow tongue at home. I became more disturbed. I managed to eat all but 3 pieces of meat. That felt pretty successful.

monkey post script

Yesterday the boys and I went to a place called Honeybadger lodge. They have a swimming pool and you can pay to use the pool and eat lunch. The lunch comes with a dessert. We had finished our lunch and ate a bite of dessert and wanted to go swim then eat the rest. I told the lady we are going to come back to this, I didn't want her to clear the dishes. She said we should cover it otherwise the monekys will come and try to take it and that they are very cheeky.

I loved that she said they were cheeky. I told her the bathroom story and she shook her head and said again they are very cheeky. I asked where they are and she said probably resting.

Non native speaker

This is a post I stared when we first arrived in France, which is why it kind of goes back to the start of our trip and then to now and back again etc.

I am envious of people who can speak more than one language. When you meet Europeans, in particular, they can often speak a minimum of 3 then speak or understand more. If they say 'I speak a little English' then they have better grammar than you do. I tried to pronounce Flemish words and pretty much failed. When you listen to it spoken doesn't sound as hard as German to me but similar. I have had the conversation with my Spanish friends before that 'American English' seems to be spoken more at the back of the mouth and Spanish is at the tip of the tongue. Flemish seems to be with the front of the tongue but maybe at the roof of the mouth. When I can get a word right it feels like my tongue is dancing. I have teased them that I can throw in a t, k or q sound in the middle of the word then maybe a en or ir on the end and make it Flemish.

In France I felt like I could glean the written words but not always understand the words spoken. They letters they pronounce disappear to my ears but they say they are saying them. I expected to understand more Italian because of my ability to get by in Spanish (notice I say get by not conversational). That was not so for me at all. I was trying to say the word for lemon in Spanish to Gesi's mom then I tried French (not knowing it in Italian or Albanian) then come to find it's lemon with an accent.

When we first left Belgium it felt like if we had just been there a bit longer I could start to make sense of what I was hearing. You can get the gist of a conversation even if you don't know the words but you can also be really really wrong about what you THINK is being spoken about. Today I wonder how I could have thought that. On my morning run today, one of Paul's class mates had a shirt that said Hakuna Matata (like the lion king, no worries) and when we returned from the run the man at her front desk said nice shirt. Then she asked him what Hakuna (then some other word, I have no idea how someone can remember words like that) and it turned out someone had said 'nice boobies' to her. I tried to re-tell that story, upon the return here, to Paul. I couldn't get Hakuna matata quite right and was asking Grace how it is said. She was pausing and saying 'who said that to you? What are you trying to say? What in English?' But I couldn't remember exactly what that translated to. She said 'no, you are saying something bad'. Then I figured out what I wanted to say and she was like 'oh, okay yes that is fine'. She went giggling off into the kitchen and kept laughing. Paul and I were wondering what I had ended up saying. Moments later when he left the room she whispered to me what I had said. Turns out if you change one letter in Hakuna you are talking a woman's private parts. So close yet, so very wrong.

So far I think we haven't had any giant mistakes. L-man and I each had some missteps on our first showers in Belgium. He washed then conditioned with two types of liquid body soap where as I choose to shampoo with conditioner, then condition with facial soap, finally I washed with a bar of special soap for the skin we got that all clarified pretty quick.

I just asked the kids what is it like to be somewhere you can not speak the language.

O says:

It's like being normal, it's normal, but it's like a different dimension. Everything is kind of the same but not the same at all. You can kind of understand what people are talking about by looking around.

Me: The above is when we were in Belgium. Bellow is me asking now, in Tanzania. I re-asked the same question.

O: It's the same as Mexico kind of. Because we have been there enough, it feels the same. Maybe further along in the trip it might be different because it will be a really long time instead of just a few weeks.
Me: You realize it has been more than a few weeks now? It's been 5 weeks.
O: Here in Africa (feeling like a few weeks), Europe was kind of like America. So, it didn't feel that different. Because everyone mostly spoke English. It's just like being at a friend's house who's parents are immigrants.
Me: Ok- that is interesting for you to say because I think more people here speak English than some of the other places we were before. Are you talking about speaking English or the familiarity of the cultural expectation?
O: The culture felt more familiar and everyone there was more familiar because of Lennie and Gesi.
Me: What is the biggest cultural difference you notice here?
O: Europe and here?
Me: Either Europe and here or Home and here.
O: Ummm I would have to say home and here.
Me: What is the biggest difference you noticed
O: Sanitary things.
Me: Like what?
O: Like trash burning and stuff like that.(I think he also mean because trash can just be a pile on the ground, and you feel like you are just littering).
Me: What other things do you mean by 'stuff like that'.
O: America and Europe feel cleaner than here.
Me: Just because you see less trash on the ground at home?
O: Yeah, and kind of maybe because in America things are put together more smoothly and you don't see as much the stuff that is holding everything together. But it is different than Mexico because you don't see re-bar sticking out everywhere.

L says:

It's kind of normal for me because we've been in Mexico and it's slightly normal because they speak Spanish.*
*meaning he has been around people not speaking English.

Me: Same as O, the above being Belgium, below being now.

L: I feel fine because I have been in a lot of different languages that speak different languages.
Me: What if you need help?
L: Most people speak English.
Me: Is that okay to assume?
L: I am not assuming it just saying most people do.
Me: Do you mean they are fluent?
L: Depends on who you talk to.
Me: What do you do if someone doesn't speak English, has that happened to you?
L: It hasn't happened yet.
Me: Have you seen me trying to talk to someone who doesn't?
L: (giggle) yes. (Oso next to him laughs too).
Me: Why did you giggle?
L: I didn't giggle, I just laughed. Because Gesi thought it was funny when you tried to talk to her mom.

When I ask what they think it must be like for someone to come to the US and not speak any English (like an exchange student):

O: It would be really hard, like going to an Alien plant. You wouldn't understand anything. But then again why would you go to America if you couldn't speak English.
Me: Well we travel to places where we don't speak the language.
O: Yeah but mostly when we go mostly lots of stuff is in English.
Me: So what if you want to go to the US?
O: I don't know. Learn English or get someone to translate.
Me: Why should someone have to learn English to come to the US?
O: No you don't have to learn it.
Me: Do you think it's easy to come to the US or to go together places?
O: Maybe go other places.
Me: Do you imagine people in the US are very friendly or helpful to people who come who don't speak English?
O: Not really.
Me: Why?
O: I don't know just how Americans are.
Me: Well are you saying that because you think most Americans don't speak other languages besides English?
O: And Spanish.

At this point I am a little surprised at his answers and we just had a conversation. The point he was trying to make was that the US is very large and in the other parts of the world that we have so far traveled they are used to more cultural diversity than we are.

This is interesting to me as well, since we, the US, is the 'melting pot' where so many different things come together and I have noticed that the US culture places so much value on independence and doing whatever you want. In some of the other places we have been they are used to people all doing things a specific way but they are used to seeing other travelers with other languages and culture........

Here is for L and what it might be like.

L: Same thing that I feel kind of except it depends on the student. I have traveled to Mexico and I am used to being places where people don't understand me.
M: Have you felt confused about how things are done at any point on this trip yet?
L: Yes. Uh. Probably that you have to tell when you want when you want your food, when you order food to be delivered in Africa. You have to tell him when you want it. Because we ordered it at about 5 and it didn't come until about 7 (meaning it isn't like America when they food will be made when ordered and delivered at next time ready depending on how busy they are with other orders). You have to pay for bathrooms and water. I thought it was interesting if you had a train ticket you just have to validate it and use it, you don't have to buy it for a specific time.

I realize I should have asked them if they notice that everywhere we go people have known a measure of English but there are many people in the US who only know English and no other language and don't even attempt to try. As I make this statement I realize I am saying it from the experience of living in Oregon and Colorado and not the East coast or some other really big culturally diverse city, I may totally be putting my foot in my mouth. I also wonder if they are slightly buffered by some of what I am asking since I am the one who has been figuring things out, finding the way and following the map, so to speak.

I say, I totally can relate now to how hard it must be the first few months. Here it's not even like I am trying to speak with everyone in Swahili but I try and my brain feels fogged up. I only know how to say a few scripted things and if you respond to me off my script then I have no idea what you are saying. It is the same in Spanish. I know what to say or ask then they give me a slightly different answer or try to ask me something else and I am lost.

My feet under me

I finally feel I have my feet under me a little more. It is the small kindness of strangers in a crowd. A woman taking the time to understand my attempts to understand what I am looking for when it is not in her store, then directing me to the corner. The woman in the corner helping me and saying karibu tena (welcome again) and helping me write to down to remember. Another word open to me like a gift. My tired mind feeling shapes in the dark that slowly one by one become familiar. Slowly I am making connections. If you hear a rattling can or coins a young male is selling cigarettes (a pack or individual) and peanuts. Why do they sell them together? I do not know. Because people who smoke like to eat peanuts? I don't know but they go together. All these little things are like small hands helping me along.

I finally connected with two other women from Paul's class and went for a run. I am so happy for that. Running along the road inhaling the exhaust, the morning sidewalk dust sweeping, the burning garbage, creating a burn in the top of my lungs was still worth every bit. We had a view of Kili too. Some men yelled 'Polepole' as we passed (slow or slowly). The women I ran with keep a respectable pace and we briefly wonder aloud to each other what he meant. Later I saw two Tanzanian men run by and I said 'Look that is why they said it'. The men were running at a 7 minute mile pace. We can only run after sun up or before sun down. You should not walk at dark. Even a group of 4 of Paul's classmates were walking a few blocks and got mugged, no one was seriously injured.

Back at the hostel, where Paul's classmates are staying, I wait for my taxi and talk to a young Massai man. He is tall, wrapped in the traditional clothes, the circular tattoo cuts on his cheeks. He asks me 'why' and gestures to his face to indicate my sweat, why are you sweating. I say 'I ran' and I mine pumping my arms. He asks to the bus station? I tell him (best I can) where we ran (much further than the bus stand). He seems surprised then he studies my shoes, I have trail running shoes that I thought I could hike and run in. I look at his. He wears the same all the Massai I see have, tires with straps. I think his are probably better than mine, I would wear them. I wonder if my shoes seem pointless to him. I ask him if he has cattle (or I try to say do you heard cattle) then I think- did I see a glimmer pass his face? I probably  have just been extremely extremely offensive. I feel bad, I ask or you work here? Of course he does, he is a night watchman (as is the man I had to go wake up to open the padlocks on the gate of our B&B just to leave this morning). He is tolerant as I struggle to remember how to answer back in Swahili what my name is, he asked me in English of course.

I hope by the time I leave I will find someone who I can ask how you, logistically, use the dipper and water bucket in the squatty potties, for the front parts of a women. It just seems the wrong angle, I get the back and of things. Finally after 14 years of travel to countries with bidets, I had someone explain to me the exact way it is used and how it fits into daily life. I was happy to understand that it made more sense then 'I use it to wash my feet' and some other things became clear to me as well. All the small cultural things that are so normal to others they don't think to tell you. I was told I am not allowed to publicly name the person on the blog to thank them. But if you read this you know who you are :)