Friday, February 29, 2008

I'm Baaaaack

When it takes 25 hours to make it home, you're bound to encounter a tad bit of drama. Nothing serious, actually, more like comedy but still entertaining.

First, before we even get to the from airport-to-airport-25, the story of the trip to the airport -- Jolene and I headed for Kilimanjaro a bit after noon. We made some stops in Arusha for Chinese food, one last minute coffee purchase and one last stab at Azam ice cream (though alas, they didn't have our favorite and I left the country without that tasty treat on my tongue ... guess I'll just have to go back!). We decided to give one last chance to the ever so shy mountain that I had tried to see FIVE times previously, so we went in that direction (also the direction of the airport named for said mountain). You'd think that one of the largest mountains in the world might actually be visible. But, no, I had yet to see it ... even at its base!!!! As we approach, I finally note the ridge going upward and then on the other side .... far, far away is the ridge going down. This is more than I've seen thus far and I'm ready to be satisfied with that when .... Jolene sees it! The patch of snow is undeniable! I'm seeing the top of Kilimanjaro!! Wooohooo! Mission accomplished!

Now to accomplish this mission was no small feat given that our vehicle also gave me one last true Tanzanian experience -- a flat! We were soooo very fortunate. We were on the road to the airport (a better than average road) and less than a mile from a gas station when it happened. Though the vehicle was sans some of the proper tools for fixing flats on it, the guys made do with what they had and Jolene tipped generously.

At the airport and after a tearful goodbye that made me know I had lived well and deeply in these six weeks, I entertained myself with Solitaire. The cards attracted a bit of attention and that was pleasant as Tanzanians passed by quietly to observe what I was doing. Then in the holding area for our plane I found a table and kept going. Soon a band of Italian men came in and I assumed they were some sports team. One plopped himself beside my table and began watching. Intently. Very. And even corrected one of my moves with a very vocal, "No!" I laughed. He laughed and I discovered he knew "no" but not much more English. He continued watching and I asked a couple of questions. Took a while but I learned that he had just climbed Kili and that he liked cards. So I taught him Blackjack. Then with more hand gestures and mime, he taught me an Italian card game that was a comedy in the making given that ... remember he knows NO English. The first few hands I was just tossing cards down like he was doing, totally clueless as to the point! Eventually, though, I won! Lewis (I eventually learned his name) made a date with me for more cards later but that was not to be due to seating arrangements but it was a cool moment.

Hour 21 of the trip home was my breaking point. I thought I was going to have to rush the upstairs first class section and demand a TV of my own with something more entertaining than the small screen of Rush Hour 3 that was playing a full 10 feet away and behind the luggage rack. Instead, I opted for walking around. I wound up in conversation with a man from Trinidad now living in the Middle East but also with a home in Houston. He was fascinating and we exchanged travel stories and cultural observations for well over an hour. He asked about what had brought me to Tanzania and I told him. I also told him about a few other volunteer endeavors I'm into and he bombarded me with questions and a need for details. Seems he's at a point of wanting to give back after having just lost a sister to cancer. When we were finally having more pauses in the conversation than we'd started with, he said he thought he should go get an hour's sleep but before he left he said, "You have been a medicine to me ... a medicine to my soul."

I was surprised, pleased and reminded that healing comes in many forms. While I may not have a great realization to share at the moment about my time in Africa, I do know a few things. I'm a healthier woman for having been there. I'm a better student of humanity for having experienced life from outside the role of pure tourist. And I totally understand how a person . . . or even a group of people ranging from students to about to be medical doctors to a staff of complex and diverse personalities to an incredibly gifted country director can all serve as "medicine to my soul."

I'm glad to be back. But that comes from being most certainly glad to have been away.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

For those of you who thought I was just trying to photograph giraffes . . .

Summary Report of Six Weeks of Volunteering
Karen Campbell
February 26, 2008

When I arrived in Tanzania, I first noted the darkness. No street lights. Very little traffic at such a late hour. As I conclude my stay, I must note that I have indeed “seen the light” . . . in the form of a dedicated project director and a staff working towards awareness of survival of mothers and their children.

Though the five-year project focuses on health (and we all know I'm NOT a doctor), as a communicator and educator, I easily found a role. Over the course of the six weeks I served with Minnesota International Health Volunteers I:

 Tutored one young woman on writing and another two on intensive Powerpoint training. Worked with four others on some aspects of Powerpoint
 Presented two presentations to staff – one on planning and one on Powerpoint
 Scanned and created Powerpoints (so we could print out slides as flip charts) on Safe Motherhood and Home-Based Life-Saving Skills. Helped do some laminating of what will be 85 sets of 67 pages.
 Created Powerpoint presentations and suggested learning activities for MAISHA and Drug Shop Keeper training
 Working with doctors, developed a picture-based simplified partograph for TBAs to use on the field
 Wrote two news features and two press releases
 Consulted with communication staff on marathon preparation & planning
 Designed logo for health communication plan and accompanying interpretive presentation
 Tweaked and developed logo for marathon t-shirt
 Consulted with project management in weeklong appointments with nationally-based business leaders seeking marathon sponsorship
 Proposed potential curriculum outline for volunteer orientation
 Developed series of templates for MIHV presentations
 Compiled file of teaching pictures for use in later presentations
 Blogged regularly

Here’s hoping that the light that this relatively small group of people shines forth extends even further and brighter in the future. They have already surpassed one five-year goal in that rather than train 90 village health workers in five years, they’ve already certified more than 150! Their education efforts have translated into an almost complete reversal of the dispensing of dangerous (though profitable) half dosages out of some tested drug shops. And they are planning on raising awareness of malaria with a first-ever-in-this-district-half marathon! Add a three week training that will offer home-based life-saving skills and a strategy for multiplying that learning across not just the district but the country and well . . . even in rainy season, you’ll need shades.

For those of you reading this blog post who have heeded my pleas for funds in the past, I hope you’ve stayed with me long enough to pay attention one more time. If you make a donation to a group this small you add immediately and significantly to their incredible impact. To give some financial support, make donations to Minnesota International Health Volunteers, 122 West Franklin Ave., Suite 510, Minneapolis, MN 55404 (and note on the check that it's for Tanzania). Or check out their website for needs you might turn into volunteer opportunities (they could use office support, documentary filmmakers, trainers, writers, computer experts, and more!) at www.mihv.org.

My plane leaves tomorrow at 9:30 p.m. About 24 hours later, but around 1:30 p.m. Thursday, I land in Houston with enough warmth in my soul to illuminate anyone who cares to listen, to see a few photos, and to catch up. Until then, I close with a phrase I've employed continuously since arriving, "Asante sana." To whoever is paying attention, "thank you very much".

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Didn't Think I Had It In Me

Masai markets are common in these parts. Roadside stands with the outside walls serving as easels for numerous large and brightly colored paintings of women carrying baskets on their heads, men and women dancing, etc. pop up frequently along the route to the major tourist attractions.

I hate shopping but this trip I felt some souvenirs were in order so I dug deep to what resolve I could and we headed to the nearby city’s Masai market.

We drive in and I immediately think of Santa Fe, New Mexico where Native American women (usually) are seated around the square with their blankets of silver before them. Here it’s Masai women with beaded everything displayed shukas (Masai cloth).

Once again the stall architecture (a la our food market) is employed to show off the kinds of things I often see at Cost Plus back home – statues of wildlife, masks, “ebony” carvings, batiks and more. And every vendor has a young man (usually) eagerly suggesting I check out what’s in his stall.

I have a few things in mind and we head where we see those items (which, of course, I can’t name here or it would ruin the surprise of those who will receive them). The man quotes a price comparable to what I’d find in the hotel/lodge gift shops – about three to four times what he’d sell it for if he knew me and maybe ten times more what he’d ask of a fellow Tanzanian (except they wouldn’t be buying this stuff to begin with!).

Suddenly, I’m overcome. I know he’s jacked up the price. I know it’s what he’s supposed to do in this setting and I know that my usual response is just to give in. But this time ... this time ... I haggle.

I cut his price in half. He says he’s going to lose all profit. I say, “But that’s what I have to give.” He tells me his hardship story and that he needs to do better. I tell him that I know I look like a rich “mzungu” but I am a volunteer, working for no money and that I have a limited amount to spend on my friends and family. He says, “Give me just a little more.” And I reply, “That’s what I’m offering and it’s ok if you don’t want it because I’m thinking any one of those guys standing in front of all those other booths will take this price.”

They gave me what I offered every time.

Except … for one woman and I’m glad because I love what I got instead. And one elderly gentleman whose teeth were brown and one seemed ready to fall out. He had EXACTLY what I wanted to get a very special man in my life and when I asked “bei gani?” (how much?) he quoted me the fairest price I’ve been offered by anyone in this country for anything! I was so shocked I didn’t bargain at all. In fact, I found something else to buy.

And finally, I had been looking for a requested item since I arrived. My friend, Beth, wanted some fabric and had given me some suggestions and even the cash with which to make the purchase. We had been less than thrilled with what we’d been seeing the few times we had a chance to look so my director, Jolene, had kind of taken this on as her special project. We still hadn’t found it.

The men at the end of the first line of stalls began their onslaught of me and already knew I knew a few words of Swahili. They greeted me enthusiastically and I didn’t even lie. “I’m not mzuri (good)!” I exclaimed as I feigned almost fainting. Suddenly, they dropped the hard sale.

“Pole sana, madam,” they offered a quick apology and then inquired about what it was I was searching for. I explained and rather than dig into their stuff to show me yet more “almost-but-not-really” possibilities, one guy became the spokesperson.

“You’re not going to find that here but in town . . . “ and he continued with directions. I was shocked.

Jolene brought me out of my shopping shock and stupor to tell me she had at least found an example of the pattern we were looking for and the woman she had been talking to unfurled a hand-painted, modern take on African art. The thing, I think, was EXACTLY what I think Beth will like. So I asked the woman how much.

I’ve not seen such honest, worn, resolution as I did on that woman’s face as she folded the cloth and said with absolutely no enthusiasm, “Fifteen thousand.” And you could tell she was about as eager to bargain with me as I was with her.

“That’s absolutely perfect,” I said and dug in my purse for the bills. She looked up. She smiled and she gave me the cloth as Jolene said, “See you did get a first purchase of the day!”

I found out that Jolene had liked some key chains she was selling but had declined once she determined the coins dangling were Kenyan and not Tanzanian. The woman must have had her hopes dashed slightly and I got to redeem the sale!

I walked away quite pleased with my purchases but especially with my performance. I don’t like the idea of haggling. I rarely do it and consequently usually bring home very few sounvenirs. I don’t like the system that has built up around tourism and the bad name some of us give others as we bully our way to what we want. Neither do I like the fact that because of my complexion, I’m a target for gouging.

But I love fairness. And so I treated it as I knew I should – fairly.

I told Jolene later that I have no intention of trying to cheat these folks out of what they need. Enough people from all sides do that to them on a regular basis. But I don’t want to be cheated either so I love it when the price I’m offered is a good one. I then asked if Jolene would sign an affidavit indicating she had actually witnessed my bargaining. A few of my previous fellow travelers are simply not going to believe it without proof!

Walgreens ... EAST

We’ve decided I probably am deficient in a needed vitamin or two. My gums are bleeding. So yesterday after we did our first presentation (of what will no doubt be many to sway the thinking in what is definitely an outside the box arena) of a tool for the Traditional Birth Attendants to the area government medical politicos, we stopped in at a drug shop.

Amy, the fourth year med student and our resident Swahili translator, greeted the young female clerk with enough “hello, how are you, how’s your work” to satisfy the social graces. She then moved into the fact that we needed multivitamins. The young woman quickly and easily pulled the bottle off the shelf to count out our 15. And THEN . . .

She pulled out a square yard of brown paper (of cheap paper sack quality) and then pulled out the scissors. With origami-like precision (and I know that true origami doesn’t use scissors) she sheared and folded and glued until she had formed the perfect little envelope in which to put those 15 pills and taped the container shut.

I marveled and couldn’t help but wonder what my sister, the pharmacist, would say should she have to do the same on a day when she was filling 400 “scripts” at Walgreens.

Oh, one more thing, my big purchase cost all of 300 tshillings which isn’t 30 cents total.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

For those who've been waiting . . .










If you knew what it took to upload these, you would gladly just turn your computer so that you can see them correctly!

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Sampling the Serengeti

For those of you who know it, think west Texas without the windmills and with giraffes. (Someone needs to help me understand why wide expanses of land feel the need to populate their plains with tall, thin creatures reaching toward the sky! Gives a whole new flavor to my childhood song of deep and wide!)

The Serengeti elicited various emotions from our safari band of volunteers (two fourth year med students, a soon-to-be med student who is a recent Yale grad, and me). They rode quietly in awe of the "endless plains" as the name translates. I remembered my recent trip across my homeland, shifted in the seat numerous times during the hours-long trek and wished I could have seen more animals.

We did see giraffes and I fell in love with them just as I did the zebras on my earlier excursion. What's not to love? They are dressed for a party, always eating and travel with a crowd -- my kind of creatures!!

The driver and guide were wonderful and given that we managed to finagle (or really, our office manager pulled all the strings) this trip that costs most people somewhere around $1000 to get there and back for around $300.

"Getting there" was an experience though. Landrovers are the transportation of choice for the roads you must travel. And our vehicle this time had more scrapes, bangs and tears than a 9-year-old boy on summer vacation. But we traveled safe ...

And silently. Because even if you have seen west Texas, you can still harbor a sense of awe and between bumps, I did.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Powerpoint Princess

I sort of made a name for myself when I first started my old job a decade ago as the go-to person regarding Powerpoint. I really wasn't that technically inclined but I intuitively knew how it worked because it was really based on the idea of strip posters and animation. Through the years, I was often seen crouched over the computer screen creating and recreating presentation that we would be using in leadership training the next day (or sometimes the next hour).

Today, I reclaimed my role as the Powerpoint Princess. I taught a beginner's class in the morning and an advanced class this afternoon. We went from "this is a text box where you put the words" to animating slides to the point of video quality (ok, I'm a princess I can exaggerate a bit!).

For all of you reading this who have suffered through and/or enjoyed my Powerpoint prowess, you were on my mind today.

My Yuck Lasted Less Time than Houston's

I had food poisoning on Monday night and recovered all day Tuesday. By Wednesday I was back at the office, helping out with powerpoints, and teaching little communication tips to all that asked. (And at this point, more folks trust me and are asking!)

I heard today that one friend in Houston is still not recovered from whatever hit the city about the time I left, another got better and then got hit again, and still another has a new sore throat due to the on again off again yucky weather H-town is currently enduring.

Who would have thought I would have been healthier in Tanzania than at home?

I'm Already Missing . . .

I’ve come to loathe photographs (and not just when they are really bad ones of me like the one in the entry below). No, I don't like them because I know they won’t capture the grandeur of a scene, or in any way conjure for the viewer the sense of wonder, or shock, or awe or whatever emotion flooded me when I rushed to take it. The details are lost.

I hope to never, but know I will -- save for these few ramblings -- forget the feel of the red clay inches deep on my shoes and the daily regime of wiping said shoes on the grate provided. I wish I wouldn’t lose the thought but soon enough won’t be able to recall the name of the woman who cleaned the concrete floors throughout the day as we tried in vain not to track the mud. We’ve had a running battle of etiquette with her. Shel tsk-tsking our removal of shoes at the office door because we were taught not to bring the mess inside and then dutifully and against our wishes retrieving those shoes, cleaning them thoroughly and returning them to our naked feet. Our dual “polle sanas” (“I’m very sorry”) drowning out the other.

Other details sure to be lost are the sight of the other women who clean our homes sweeping the dirt on the “lawn” out front, bent backed and with straw, handle-less brooms in hand. Or the rim of brown that’s left in the pot when we boil the water for eating and drinking.

I’ll have photographs of elephants and lions but I’ll never be able to recreate the smell of the African male sans deodorant in his immaculate slacks and ironed cotton shirt. Nor will the sound of two introverted speakers become more animated by the syllable ever be shared.

Meryl Streep’s voice rang through my head the first weeks I was here. She may have had a farm but I’ve had a compound. Two houses, three bedrooms each, two bathrooms – one Western toilet and one not -- a den and a small kitchen. I’ve cooked more in the weeks here than I did all of last year.

My housemates are half my age and in some cases have twice my experience. I marvel at their adventuresome spirits and their willingness to take a crowded bus halfway across the city knowing only the words to “Does this go to the hospital?” Or their cleverness in picking up the vowel-ladened language with such ease.

“I’m already missing you,” the country director calls out each day the office manager begins the lock up for the night.

I’m feeling that now I guess.

I’m already missing the sounds of the crows cawing each morning, the tiny, silly bird that bangs at least ten times on my window as the sun comes up. I’m trying to listen really listen as a result. Today I heard flies buzzing in mass along the path I walk toward work. They were investing in yet another pile of dung.

The corn growing across the street. The cows that are penned in about 20 feet from my office window. The blue sky serving as a background to the Tanzanian flag flapping above the nearby government building. The faces of the kids as they call out “Hello” and then ask for pens. The school uniforms using various shades of blue and either orange or brown. Kongas. Lots and lots of kongas. Women walking along the streets dressed in bright patterns with sacks of rice on their heads or buckets or whatever is in need of transport that day. The heat on my neck as I walk the one paved street in the town, followed by more of those children.

The list continues but like that inadequate, imaginary photo that won’t convey what I want, neither do these words.

Yep, I’m already missing Tanzania.

But I’ve been missing home just as much. And in less than two weeks, I’m heading that way. Until then, there are more photos and word pictures to compile.

For those of you waiting for me, remember the old slide shows folks used to make you endure in years gone by? Remember? Ok, then prepare to be really bored! Because I've got photos to share and stories to tell.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Lions, No Tigers, No Bears

We saw these two at the Crater. Don't believe me? Look over my shoulder in the next one.

I know these are small but I had to make it quick and compact in order to upload it without it costing a fortune. One of my fellow vols is a great photographer and will be giving me his best so you can count on much better than these when I return to the U.S. Until then, these were actual shots taken by me with ... yes, my phone!

THe Birds Sing for Everyone Else . . .

Friday began with my discovering that I’d lost one of the few pairs of earrings I brought. Oh well, I hadn’t included anything of great value in my packing.

At work, I learned that I had mislabeled 67 slides, so I explained to my Pennsylvanian co-worker the Southerner’s meaning behind the fact that I was having a “bless my heart” moment.

Then we found that the new color printer’s driver wouldn’t load on my Mac. Neither would it load properly on my co-worker’s Dell or the office manager’s PC. Without instructions (they weren’t included), we methodically (I have mentioned that all the volunteers excluding me are science-oriented, haven’t I?) explored every rationale for why the printer wouldn’t print. By lunch time we still had no answers.

I was now in the mood for carbs. The other vols decided to reheat the tomato soup we’d had the night before but having been the creator of said soup I had smelled it for quite some time and couldn’t fathom another go at it. My California connection and I decided to head for Parrot, a cheap place for good basic rice and meat.

But first a stop at the house because dehydration (I know! I’m supposed to be drinking more water at this altitude!) had left my stomach in knots and I wanted to check in with the Western toilet for a few minutes. That’s when I learned that we still had not received our refill of the water tank. And I had to turn the vols back to the second house in our compound (where the fridge is and where the soup had been stored) because we also still didn’t have a new full gas tank for cooking. Of course, all of this was after we had finally retrieved the keys to get into these houses after the woman who cleans them had determined that our hiding place was evidently too obvious and had locked them INSIDE one of the houses.

My fellow carb hunter and I started heading toward the oasis of food that was intended to make this day brighter and that’s with IT happened.

I felt and heard it. The feeling suggested someone had thrown a rock. The direction from which it came and the subsequent oozing on my fingers when I reached for what I thought might be the wound confirmed that no one in Karatu was stoning me, but a bird had done his business in my hair.

I’m wondering, dear reader, at this point what would you have done?

I directed my friend to carry on and turned quickly around to go wash my hair in what limited water we had on the premises. With my shiny clean hair, I marched to the other house and prepared a delicious fried egg and cheese sandwich.

I then proceeded with my fellow workers to tackle that printer problem with gusto. The day had started anew. I couldn’t continue to catalog how bad it was. The negative energy had already resulted in a handful of … well crap!

Thanks to minds sharper than mine, we finally got one computer to talk to that printer, finally got one set of colored prints to come out right (we now have 79 more sets at 67 pages to go!) and the day ended with me winning one game of Scrabble and one game of Farkle and dinner at Bytes (where we get cold drinks and meat that I can not only eat but last night’s lamb was so tender I could cut it with a spoon.)

All this reminded me of my brother Bart. He used to frequently remark that “the birds sang for everyone else but shit on him.” He said it though, with great irony, because he was one of the most content men I knew or have ever known.

Shit happens, I think he knew, but your response is up to you. As for me and my house, we had a good laugh and then a very good day.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Different, Yet the Same

When I was traveling in Vietnam, we often heard the comment, "Same, same." Which was the equivalent of "no problem" and "yeah, yeah." Tourists were even found wearing t-shirts with the phrase on it.

I thought of that when my brother who works in the Appalachia area of the states told me of seeing “old school satellite dishes converted into the world’s largest bird baths. Or in some cases a wading pool for the little ones." He also said that he was working to secure a grant for a family in upper east Tennessee "so that a well can be purchased for their home. They did not have an indoor bathroom until this summer. They still do not have water running to the house. They have a foot path out back where they travel to the creek and draw the water needed."

Much like the house next door to where I'm staying in Tanzania.

Same, same indeed.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Stuff You Might Find Interesting . . .

- We boil the sandy brown tap water and then filter it or use bottled water in cooking. Simple things like not boiling water are causing disease and death here. I try to remember that when I get frustrated that the filtered water drips out rather than flows.

- I brush my teeth with bottle water as well. We go through a lot of bottled water.

- Sleeping surrounded by a mosquito net is strangely comforting. Reminds me of camping out in my bedroom as a kid under a sheet.

- "Squatty potties" are the norm. We have them at work and they are at most businesses. The guest house where I stay has one Western toilet and one with standing room only!

- Radios and TVs are rare. Our only connect with news is the Internet and English newspapers. If you haven't read the headlines on MSN or AOL in a while, you should do it. Read with an eye toward what folks who aren't from the U.S. might think of us. One thought has to be that we are worshiping at the feet of Britney.

- Most homes and businesses have grates at the door for you to scrape the 2 or more inches of red mud that will cake on your shoes walking from home to work or the market or wherever after a rain.

- The mud is really more like clay and many, many houses are made out of mud bricks. I'm assured the rain doesn't affect the stability of these homes. Still it's an odd sight to see mud houses and folks walking everywhere with cell phones.

- The average life span in Tanzania (due to the child morbidity rate) is 47 years old. Yet some can't get their pensions until 55. (I told you that you might find this stuff interesting!)

- I learned last week that probably all the staff I work with has malaria. I was then assured without even a pause for breath that it was mostly likely in my blood by now as well. Seems the biggest killer in this country just doesn't discriminate even if you take your meds and sleep under the nets. We as the informed ones simply sleep easier knowing that those meds are available. For some ... probably too many ... they're not. So that's why I'm here ... to insure that more and more become part of the informed.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Seems Like Good Advice to Me

We spend our down time watching DVDs (they get 30 films on one disc and they usually come themed like Angelina vs. Julia Roberts), walking (one or two are runners but not me), playing games, cooking and reading. I received Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert as a gift (thanks T) and I have captured a few thoughts from it to share with you for your reading (and maybe thought-provoking) pleasure.

The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:

INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passed from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.


Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)

Seems Like Good Advice to Me

We spend our down time watching DVDs (they get 30 films on one disc and they usually come themed like Angelina vs. Julia Roberts), walking (one or two are runners but not me), playing games, cooking and reading. I received Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert as a gift (thanks T) and I have captured a few thoughts from it to share with you for your reading (and maybe thought-provoking) pleasure.

The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:

INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passé from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.


Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)

Saturday, February 02, 2008

I'm Satisfied

5 rhinos, 10 or more hippos, 16 elephants, 9 lions (including a male and female who lounged, mounted, dismounted, and roamed witn 10 feet of the Landrover I was in), and too many to count of zebras, wildebeasts, buffalo, giselles, pink flamingos, warthogs and even a few baboons as we were leaving ...

We had a good day at the Crater.

The experience of being inside was almost as mystifying as the story of its creation. I learned that our Crater was once a volcano that collapsed on itself. We were completely circled by a ring of mountains. We saw at least two large lakes and green of every variety -- light, dark, luscious, and sparse.

At one point my companion from California noted that no matter how long we'd been driving it didn't appear we were any nearer to the mountain ring.

I said it was just like West Texas.

I went in with zebras being my favorite and came out that way too. Like a horse dolled up for costume party, the zebra is an animal of community. Traveling in herds, they are usually quite close to wildebeasts.

I've heard zebras usually take the lead until they're in a predatory situation. Then they allow the willing wildebeasts to forge ahead . . . and right into the mouths of the predator.

Yeah, I like zebras.

But the lions had me in their paws as well. (Breathe, people, I'm speaking figuratively.) The two we spent the most time snooping on lounged, dallied with one another, lounged some more and then took a stroll to the watering hole where an elephant was takign lunch and hippos were having drinks.

But what amused me was the mall behavior those two lions were following. I swear the male was always at least 3-6 feet behind the female, faithfully following and looking totally clueless as to where they were going.

Today is not why I came to Tanzania. I came to make a difference and I really believe this project is doing that. But today ... well today was a payoff more satisfying than any paycheck I've ever received.

The Contrasts Continue

No flies. No dust. No smells of goats and cows competing with overripe bananas and dried fish. The air was frigid and frost could be seen on boxes. But in Karatue, we don't buy frozen because we have no freezer ... no fridge for that matter.

This Dar es Salaam mall was surreal. Think Kirkland's The Limited, Target, Kroger and Ewards Theater under one roof and you've got the picture. Add in the wandering teenaged boys and overdressed young women and you've got a shot ready to print.

But ather 12 hours there and 12 hours back, I can assure you that's not the whole of Tanzania. In fact, it's merely a corner.

Sure Karatu, where I live, has grand lodges with $35 buffets but to get to any of them is a roller coaster ride down mud paths any American would consider a closed road. And even when you arrive the subdued lighting is your first hint that this is not a Hilton-neon lights-screaming for attention. Quiet welcomes. Quiet spaces with lots of dark wood and batiks on the walls. That's the high life in Karatu -- for tourists with several hundred to spend a night.

For the majority of the town, an after dinner drink is a Serengeti beer at a mostly oudoor bar and grill. Sitting in a plastic chair postioned to see the nightly entertainment happening along the darkened streets(remember no street lights) . Maybe a TV is blaring. Maybe not. The food will be simple -stew meat, rice and greens. And the Swahili will flow.

I like the night life. I love the city. But I'm glad that for a few weeks, Karatu is where I call home.