A Couple of Reasons Why the Blog Posts Have Been Fewer of Late

Volunteer Update

As of April, I will move from having no paying positions to having two!

I'm still not making the kind of money I once did, but as I told an acquaintance recently, I made the choice for having less and doing more when I left the career I'd invested 23 years in.

I'm not complaining! By all accounts, these last six months have been every thing I thought they'd be and maybe even a few things I didn't fathom were possible!

Will Volunteer for Food

Asked what I was up to this weekend, I replied:

As soon as I leave my volunteer position with the campaign, I'm heading to the theater to serve as a volunteer usher and then will wake up on Saturday to volunteer at the AIDS hospice after which I'll go to the rodeo where I was a volunteer in order to now be getting in free.

My thought later ... I may not make a lot of money but I have a lot of fun!

60 Miles from Crazy and Driving Below the Limit

I have a new "job."

My buddy asked me yesterday if this was like my other jobs with the theaters where I usher for free, and Bering Omega where I work at a hospice for free, and the rodeo where I speak for free and Africa where I did my communications stuff for free.

So if you're wondering if that's what the quotation marks are about, then yes, it is.

Still, I feel I'm going to be employed. And, in fact, I may eventually make a few dollars. But the point of this year is to gain experience more than income (and I can happily report that part of the journey has been tremendously successful).

So Monday morning I'll report to my new office -- running the campaign headquarters of my state representative.

I'm thrilled.

First, I really respect the candidate. She won her first term a couple of years ago and has proven herself over and over to be beyond the barriers of party lines and about education, health, and things I hold dear. Plus her right hand woman is a good friend of mine and soon to be my boss.

I told the rep during the interview that I took this year off to do the things I could have never done in my old position. I explained that in Africa, I had regained the passion that I had once held dear whenever I helped a person live into a passion that drove their every step. And I readily admitted that I was clueless about most things political.

Still she "hired" me. I think her only reluctance was the thought that my church background might make me a tad sensitive to what she described as her irreverence.

Is that laughter I hear coming through the Internet???? Yeah, I laughed too.

My friend/and now boss is beginning to send me emails for my to do list on Monday. Today she asked if she was driving me crazy.

"We're 60 miles from Crazy and driving below the limit at this point. No worries," I replied. And, frankly, it's true. I'm sure it's going to get strange, wild and maybe even hectic.

I plan on enjoying every minute of the ride!

Sweet Life Is the Sweetest Revenge

Some of you may remember the car dealer who "traded up" last year (my phrase) by dumping me for a woman who he felt would help him make needed connections for his business.

I saw him Tuesday night.

My girlfriend and I were at the rodeo and, I have to say, looking the part. We hadn't crossed the line into cowgirl costuming (this year's trend seems to be mini-skirts with boots and/or short shorts that make the hot pants of the 70s look like Scout uniforms). We weren't trying (as many implanted and tucked psuedo-blondes our age) to pull off younger or hip or anything other than comfortable.

Jeans and good living were are only adornments as we checked out the scene. A quick survey of the second gathering point netted me my prey. After a year of tsk-tsking his behavior and knowing that no matter what his choices did to his bottom line, he was the one who would come up empty, I saw him standing three feet away.

Now, at this point, I could have walked away. He didn't see me. But where would be the fun in that?

I called his name . . . He didn't hear me. . . I added his last. He looked up.

Nothing. I didn't register. And then . . .

He almost gasped. I smiled ... actually, I beamed. He was at least 20 pounds heavier and showing wear and tear. I was . . . as I said . . . totally comfortable and happy with the moment and me.

He stared then and took in every inch. I knew that the longer hair, the post-Africa glow, and the cowgirl confidence was making thinking a bit difficult on his part.

He asked how I'd been, checked on my dating status, introduced me to his friends (which I did as well), told me about his rodeo involvement, asked more questions. I answered, offered up juicy bits like the whole "I-quit-my-job-have-been-traveling-and-just-spent-six-weeks-in-Africa" line that elicited the now all too familiar "holy shit" look.

In the midst of the interview, he stopped short to add parenthetically, "My God, you look fantastic!"

I merely patted his arm and complimented him on the fact that his taste had only improved.

Two minutes into it, I realized that living well is the sweetest revenge when someone somehow thought you didn't live up to what they needed. Less than five minutes into it, I knew all I needed to know.

I suggested he might want to get back to his friends as I had merely wanted to say hi. He hung on a bit longer and finally, complied.

Later I realized that I had actually used the "shoo fly" motion as I directed his attention back to them.

The music that night was adequate. Our energy fell short before really getting to enjoy the dance floor. But nevertheless the wild, wild west was alive and well on Tuesday at the rodeo. Sweet life indeed . . .

Since Landing on Thursday (And Now It's Saturday)

My hairdresser and good friend was able to fit me in and I got a cut and color before anyone other than the MIS (man I'm seeing) had a chance to explore the wonders of my roots becoming the dominant feature on my head!

I ate the first Mexican food I've had in over six weeks.

I drove my VW once again.

My feet are now actually clean . . . and the nails are nicely polished, thank you!

I attended my first ever BBQ cookoff and when I put a piece of chicken, a couple of slices of sausage, and some brisket on my plate I realized that was more meat than I'd eaten in the last six weeks.

I danced until my newly colored hair was soaking wet.

I dressed as a rodeo clown and mingled among the special needs kids who were on hand to see the parade of horses that signals the start of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. And then I ran the parade. Please note that I said "ran." We were behind a float on wheels rather than hooves and were supposed to keep up with it. So instead of the leisurely stroll I anticipated we booked the entire parade route. I did a rodeo clown version of wrestlers' high fiving the crowd to at least engage a bit. I also sweat some more!

I planned a party with Roger to do some show and tell related to the trip on Sunday.

I fought the urge to say "asante" and "pole sana" on numerous occasions and went with "thank you" and "I'm sorry" instead.

And I thought of the hills of Karatu and the people I left behind every other hour.

Don't Want to Lose This Moment

On one of my last days in the office in Karatu, the director was chatting with her staff and when one of them offered to take care of a certain task, she inquired with a joking tone to her voice (because hey, she's the director!), "Promise?"

They said yes. And then as almost an afterthought, she asked, "By the way, what's the Swahili word for 'promise'?"

They paused. You could almost imagine the sound of shuffling feet coming from the room. She asked again.

One woman replied, "Well, you see that's a problem. . . . There is no word for 'promise'."

"Aha!" the director exclaimed. "That could explain a lot of things!"

Yep . . . it does.

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.

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".

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

It's the little things . . .

Some things are just universal. I'm in a big African city and yet these sights are all too familiar:

- Men gathering every morning to drink coffee at a restaurant and argue over sports and politics. I've seen it happen every day that I've been here. I thought of Gene back in my hometown and figured with a few words of Swahili under his belt he'd fit right in!
- Ice cream and cold sodas on a hot day are just good things. People smile when you gift them with either. The women at the copy shop yesterday certainly did. They were grateful and asked our names and backgrounds while gushing and laughing. But I still couldn't take the bottle with me!
- Sometimes ... even if you love exotic food and drink ... eggs and toast in the morning is most satisfying.
- I stayed longer in the city than I planned and all my clothes were wrong given that it's HOT here. So I bought a konga, the material women use to wrap themselves in for informal and formal wear. However, while the sales clerk told me several times the cost was due to it being two pieces, the two pieces had to be cut apart. Note, I'm in a hotel with no scissors. So I marched down the four flights of this simple, inexpensive (read that hot water and a window unit air conditioner) EconoLodge and in my broken Swahili asked for a pair. The clerk was studying my question and his response when the man on my side of the counter directed him to get the scissors and then proceeded to hold the konga while I cut. Good people are everywhere if you just take time to learn how to ask the right questions.
- And speaking of questions, I love how gracious folks can be. I thanked the bank officer who helped exchange my dollars into tshillings with a polite thank you in Swahili. He responded in kind and then smiled and said, "Do you know Swahili?" As I stumbled over just saying the one word for a little, he smiled again and asked no more questions. Sometimes, hello, thank you, and good bye are enough.

Almost but not quite ...

The text read: His schedule is too tight today. So he can't meet with your group. He will try and schedule something before April.

"He" is ... get this ... THE president of Tanzania. And I am one of the "group" he couldn't squeeze in today.

Still ... pretty cool to almost be invited to meet him.

MIHV (the organization I'm working with) is hosting a first ever half marathon in Karatu. The area has produced an Olympic silver medalist but not had a running event of this magnitude. The organization wants to use the attention this thing is going to garner and promote malaria awareness. With 200 first class runners (they're working with the Tanzania Olympic Committee) and the crowds that will gather plus all the local teams, they should definitely pull in some publicity. This week in Dar es Salaam has been all about raising financial support for the race. While it would take lots more than the $43,000 they need, if we were doing it in the states, that figure is not easy to come by. We think that when we leave tomorrow that we have a good chance of at least half if not two thirds of it covered.

One bank rep we met with said, "You don't know how many marathons and events like that come through those doors asking for our support. But you are different. You don't want to raise money or sell anything. You just want to do some good. That is something I can care about."

I'm crossing my fingers he does more than care! He was a marketing guru so we sent him the logo I had worked on and asked for his input and ... if he was willing for him to send it on to an artist for some sprucing up. We'll see.

I really feel I did some good while here. I certainly learned alot. The financial capitol is definitely like many huge cities in the world. The population is a few hundred thousand more than Houston. And today I was in a mall that looked like any other major mall around the world. But one street over tonight the vendors with their small fires and roasted corn and meat on a stick will be sharing their efforts with the hundreds of folks who are walking along the dark streets sans lights except for the flames. This is Tanzania -- a land of potential, progress and yet deaths that could be prevented.

We didn't meet with the president but the race will happen. And maybe, just maybe, a few more women will learn what it means to save their child's life by using a mosquito net.

And that will make this week a very profitable one.

Drip, Drip

Today I met an array of very important people who could help make the half marathon this organization has planned for National Malaria Day a success. Corporate types and government types and medical types and more! And I did it all while pouring sweat as though a rusty faucet had finally been turned on and no one could quite figure out how to shut it off.

I patted with a flimsy tissue. I sat in front of the car's overworked air conditioner. I shed what clothing I could and I still sweat. Think Houston in July and add 10 degrees.

But it was amazing. I am glad that I'm having the opportunity to meet some of these folks. I especially liked the marketing officer for a bank here. She declared the day a "great Monday" after hearing the presentation and noting that her own objectives for her company were aligned with this group's vision of education and awareness for mothers wanting healthy babies.

I'd sweat again if it meant we get some more supporters for this malaria awareness event.

The pleasure moment of the day (other than the ice cream) was taking a break to get a manicure and pedicure. Ahhhh . . . though embarrassed that no amount of scrubbing had removed the red mud of Karatu from my feet, I swallowed my pride and let those two incredible young people have their way with my extremeties and enjoyed every second of it. Oh! And did I mention that the salon overlooks the beach?

I may be sweating but I'm doing it in style.

Tanzania Is BIG

Big mountains. Big landscapes. Big trees. Big animals. And big busses that will take you from one side to the other and in only ... 12 hours and 15 min.

That's Tanzania. I saw every shade of green and brown today that you might imagine. I saw folks selling anything from plastic dime store dolls to cashews to foot stools and they were all ready to do business through the bus window.

I'm in what has been described as the financial capitol of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, with about 3.8 million people. The name translates to haven of peace. A coastal city, the sites I've seen on the drive in suggests that laid back vibe you get in coastal areas as well as the buzz of the city. We'll see if I'm right.

Elephant Caves . . . Without the Elephants

We hiked a couple of miles for what seemed to be straight up to see the Elephant Caves, a gathering place for numerous animals (according to our guide). However, you couldn't prove it by our merry band. We saw no elephants, no buffalos -- though we saw plenty of dung evidence to show they'd visit recently. We did hear lots of birds though. Birds are in abundance here. I have one that keeps hitting my window every morning. Not sure its a cuckoo but it certainly plays the part.

The walk was enjoyable though taxing. (We're a slight bit higher in altitude here than Houston, you know.) And we made it to a waterfall that made the day all I had hoped it would be. Standing 50 meters above the valley below, the air was cool and the scene took me back to Ecuador and another fall, Yosemite and another several falls, Ireland and even east Tennessee. And at that moment, I felt incredible gratitude for all I've seen and will see.

I live a great life.

(And my housemates assure me I'll see plenty of wildlife at the crater next weekend. Until then, I'll keep my list of the critters that seem to enjoy my bedroom as much as I do. I removed a worm when I got home from the hike.)

Meet My Other Housemate, the Pied Piper

She walks through the market and women call out her name. On the street, she's stopped several times for in depth conversations in Swahili. One woman in the market struggles to translate what she's just told Amy in Swahili and another helps by yelling out in English, "Smile ... she has a great smile."

That's my housemate. Amy is a medical student and her smile and her open spirit is a natural attraction to everyone we encountered. She was here for several months and then left for Christmas and has now returned.

Her language skills are astounding. I'd love to say that it's because she's 25, a medical student and use to absorbing lots of information at a short time. But, hey, some folks have language skills and some folks struggle.

For all the fellow strugglers out there, do you ever find that when you don't know the language you're surrounded by you just grab at any language you may have studied? I keep saying "lo siento" in the market or "si" when I need an affirmative answer.

But for all the verbal stumbling I'm doing, I'll be a better ESL teacher, right? I certainly know what it feels like to be totally befuddled!

But for now, I have great housemates who appear to have the town at their disposal.

As we say in Texas, Woohoo!

I Made a Baby ... Almost

Actually my baby didn't last long. The director tried to make the needed teaching tool out of cloth and pillow stuffi first and her freehand version was ... uh ... comical. At one point we all agreed that either the baby was deformed or she had actually just cut out a couple of condoms from the peach colored material.

I tried using a pattern I had created from figures out of Powerpoint. My attempt was fatter but still had mobility problems. As his arms were much too short to box with God on anyone else! Plus the material was so weak that at one point, though we were stuffing from the head, between the poor thing's legs started oozing white gauzey mist. A sad affair really.

Finally the student who had been patiently been attending to our rquests -- stuff this, fold this, sew this -- said she would take on the project.

Today the teaching baby doll was born and even cloned by local women to such an extent that we will probably have multiple births -- we need 80 -- as soon as the cloth and stuffing can be donated. Then the students will have what they need to both learn and finally become teachers.

So ... yet again, I have confirmation that I am not cut out for baby-making, sewing or craft time.

I can, however, laugh. And did.

African Wildlife

So far the only wildlife I've seen is in my bedroom ... the lizard in my closet, the spider I had to kill, a moth I let live and fly free (as soon as I removed it from inside my mosquito net) and a tiny frog that made its way onto my bedroom wall last night and then was abruptly treated to a flight back out my window to return to his natural environment.

I'm looking forward to up-close-and-that-personal with a few more exotic examples of creation.

Week 2

Initially I wondered how I would fill my days.

Hamna shida (no worries).

I am tutoring one woman in writing, another in Powerpoint, and planning a staff workshop on planning for Friday. I hope to write an article or two and get this very deserving organization some attention. I’ll travel to three different sites to see the work in action and my weekends are now booked with a hike nearby to Elephant Caves, then the 8th wonder of the world Ngorogoror Crater, and then the Serengeti where I have learned I’ll be staying in a tent camp (the photos I’ve seen thus far will blow your mind in that the tent accommodations look better than some hotels I've seen here) and finally, I’m arranging to at least step foot on Kilimanjaro.

Since all these excursions require a vehicle, a driver, sometimes a guide, etc. I’m pumped that the organization has a few connections that are benefitting me financially.

In the meantime, I plan on earning my keep with consultations on organizational matters and any other leadership or communication tricks I can pull up on my trusty Mac (which, by the way, will need a thorough cleaning when I leave this land of the red dust).

First Weekend Highlights

First Weekend Highlights
 Walking for exercise and exploration with my housemate
 Reading, writing, and remembering what life at a slower pace feels like
 The African sky . . . at night with a full moon but puffy white clouds accenting it and the stars offering their own version of bling
 Walking alone
 Buying a pot so that we can have two to cook in and along with our one frying pan, we’re set!
 Finding a taste of heaven in a place called Bytes that caters to folks like me – non-Africans on a limited budget who enjoy prawns with chili mayo and three types of sauces in which to dip my fries. (Also went to a high end hotel to enjoy the view but the buffet there was $35 so we simply sipped and played Scrabble.)
 Hosting our first dinner party with two guests, food and party games. We had a starter of cheese and crackers, traditional African stew with beef; cabbage cooked the way I do it; rice that had to be inspected, then washed, then cooked; a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinegar. The laughter intensified when I introduced them to the dice game Farkle. While Jolene lost the game on paper, we awarded her 4,000 points for being willing to drive our guest home in the darkness so that she wouldn’t have to walk. That made her the night’s champion!
 Killing a from-tip-to-tip-at-least-three-inch-spider that was crawling around my bed last night . . . on my side of the mosquito net no less, so, yeah, he had to go

Mzungu . . . that would be me

"White person!" That's what the kids shout at me in swahili after they have said hello in English. My housemate assures me that when they do it, they are innocently trying to connect with me. I assured her that I was fine with the salutation given that indeed, they were right.

Today, I walked alone along the main road and through a bit of the market and I never felt so mzungu . . . to the point of even wondering if I might glow in the dark.

The people are great though. For about half my walk though surrounded by hundreds of people, I was definitely the only one worried about getting too red with the sun beating down. But several folks said hello in English or shouted "Jambo!" -- the one phrase absolutely critical for everyone to know here because it starts the beginning of a fairly lengthy ritual of saying hello and checking on everything from one's health, to family, to homelife.

I realized as I walked that I've lost the mouth-open wonder I saw on one woman's face as her tour bus drove through town. She had that glow that just emanates from folks who are mesmerized by the flood of new sights and sounds in travel. I'm not sad that's gone for me. Not sure on what continent it happened but now I just look at each day as a new adventure and that might be in the U.S. as well as from a foreign tour bus. I'm just as curious as I've always been but I in no way attribute greatness to the people I don't know in the same way that I once did.

People are people. Some stare. Some look away. Some say Jambo. Some shout Mzungu with a smile on their face and I'm sure some mutter it under their breath. People are people.

And no matter where you go, there you are.

Meet My Housemate

We eat together. We walk together. We shop in the market. We cook. We watch movies and we practice each other’s language.

I have a housemate, and I’m very grateful that I do. Twenty-nine year old Veronica, was born in Tanzania and is a nurse officer and a great guide. She calmly explains the answers to all my questions and listens with a learner’s avid desire to know more as we dissect movies for points of cultural similarities and differences. So far we’ve watched films about Africa and about the South in the U.S. so we’ve each gotten to be the “expert” for the other.

Yesterday we walked for two and half hours. The only road in Karatu that is paved is the main road that takes the many tourists and their safari companies to the big attraction in these parts Ngorogoro Crater. Otherwise the roads are dust and dirt, packed and red, with holes and ridges in them that the drivers of the jeeps and SUVs just know how to navigate. Seriously, no one I know would think they could make it down these roads if they encountered one in the states. And yet, these guys do it. I’m amazed every time.

On foot, it’s like hiking a mountain path. And the “hills” that we’re climbing to get home after taking a walk to the market will definitely be my substitute for the gym! But the reward? Wow! When you see the vistas they take your breath away. Rolling hills, covered in green with the occasional tree spotting the horizon and multicolored bougainvilla everywhere. Plus plots of rich earth in neat squares and cows, goats and donkeys grazing here and there. Put some strings behind this as a score and you’ve got every movie scene of Africa you’ve ever seen. But as I stand to take my photos, I know that nothing will capture this beauty and so I take an extra moment to say a word of thanks and ask that somehow it remain in my memory.

The main road here is lined with much like what I remembered businesses in Ethiopia to be. Small shops made of mud brick or brightly painted concrete blocks with tin roofs or roadside stands of wood, planks and scrap metal selling all that is needed for city life. Each shop has its thing – beauty supplies, pots and pans, rubber boots, the butcher, the drug store, a gas station, etc. Restaurants are interesting in that “fast food” is a case like you’d see in a bakery in the U.S. with the food already prepared and which they will wrap in a newspaper for you to take out. Samosas, doughnuts, and a boiled egg covered in meat and deep fried seem to be the burgers and tacos of the people. I haven’t tried it yet but will. Having discovered that food is much like what I’ve known in the South – stews, thoroughly cooked greens and beans, and something similar to grits – I’m not in any way threatened or mesmerized by the fare.

In fact, I’ve enjoyed most my time here thus far cooking with Veronica. The kitchen is small and the kitchen tools are few – one pot (now two after our trip to the market yesterday), a sauté pan, one large spoon, one spatula, a knife and a potato peeler. But you’d be amazed at what we come up with. Ratatouille anyone? Omelets with hash browns?

Like most of the stews here, she and I are mixing together in the same house taking on a bit of each other’s flavor and the result is quite satisfying.

Practical Points Part 1

Whenever I travel, I try to keep track of things I’m glad I did to prepare and things I wished I’d done. Through the years and the miles, the lists have come in handy. I still overpack but not nearly what I used to. So for my future (and perhaps others who may feel a tug toward this work) benefit, I will add to this list as my time here passes. So far . . .

 The choice of the more expensive malaria tablets that have fewer to no side effects was a good one. I have only a bit of physical trouble when traveling but it takes a few days for my system to adapt. Plus while there’s no sounds of the city to contend with, nature has its own sound effects so sleep isn’t always guaranteed. Good call making the choice that doesn't include strange dreams.
 I should have gotten the yellow fever and typhoid shot earlier. I tried to schedule in December but with the holidays wound up with a first week in January date and then the vaccine didn’t come in as planned. Waiting for a month after I knew I was coming was silly.
 Packing is always challenging. I like the sense that without control of much in my life when I’m in another country, surrounded by another language, without means to get from one place to the next except for my feet and limited to contact with my normal world, that I can at least wear clothes that make me feel "normal". However, hauling bags is absolutely ridiculous. So I did better but not my best. For another six week gig, I’d bring two skirts and five blouses that I can mix and match and layer. That and a pair of jeans and one pair of slacks would be plenty. The culture is too conservative so the shorts I brought will only be worn at home. And had I really thought about the heat, I’d have left heels at home and just put in my sandals and flip flops along with my hiking boots.
 I do like that I brought a towel and hand cloth that I got for backpacking trips. They are light and don’t take up any space. Plus they dry easier than thick towels which when washed here would have been stiff!
 On a funny note, I didn’t bring my perfume because it’s in a glass container. I figured I would just give up having a scent while in Africa. No so! I happen to pick up tropical scent bug spray and I’ve found that as I spritz that on each day, I’m kinda glad I do have my own smell! I’m thinking it’s a pina colada thing I’ve got going on!
 I always carry a supply of all the different over the counter drugs I’d need for stomach problems, colds and especially aches and pains. The Tylenol P.M. has worked wonders as well.
 I may have to use the ear plugs I always bring. There are a few birds who delight in banging up against my window as soon as the sun rises.
 I didn’t need to bring some of the comfort foods I brought because there are several products here that are very familiar. I can get all the Pringles I want. Chocolate is big but I don’t know if it’s like ours. I’m going to check to see if hair spray is available.
 Packing with the intent to give away several items that I brought with me was a good move as well. I’ve already handed over a dress and jacket that I knew was never really truly my style and I’m leaving my travel Scrabble behind since they no longer have one here. Oh! And I’m really, really glad I brought the games and the DVDs. In fact, I wish I’d brought more.

As my time here allows for a few more adventures, I’m sure I’ll add to the list but so far those are my travel observations.

Moment by Moment

I’m trying to stay in the moments here. I’ve come too far and spent too much. I don’t want to miss “here” because of thoughts of home, or comparisons with other cultures, or emotional reactions. Sometimes, though, that’s not the easiest thing in the world to do.

Language is part of it. Yes, the people I’m working with speak English. But truly listening to heavily accented English is taxing. Though not nearly as tedious at it is for them to try and listen to me, I’m sure. And while their knowledge of my language is superior and their patience for my butchering their language is phenomenal, the truth is that it’s hard to connect deeply when neither party has the vocabulary to do so. But we keep trying and through the laughter we at least can acknowledge that laughing at one’s self is something we can all share.

I find myself checking out some time though. They are talking and I’m getting about every third word and I start to wonder what Robert is doing or Roger or Brittany or Traci or any number of other folks. They tell a story about their family and I hope my mother is all right and suddenly, I’m laughing because they are but I’m clueless as to what the joke was.

And we all do the comparison thing. Yes, I catch myself thinking, “Oh that’s like the market I saw in Peru . . . or the landscape here reminds me of . . .” But there are also a few folks from one tribe here who keep asking me (at different times when the other isn’t around) if they or their features remind me of my time in Ethiopia because they have connections there. At first, I wondered if these inquiries were the Tanzanian equivalent of “do these jeans make my butt look big?” and that I had no answer that was going to satisfy. But now I’m seeing it as a natural desire to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. I’ll keep answering.

I also plan on keeping myself in check with my comparison habit though, because, honestly, no two places on earth are alike and I’m thrilled to be able to say that from experience. Still the wonder of it all can make one’s mind wander.

Finally, there are the abrupt emotional reactions. I’m in a market and I’m pushed. Not because I’ve done anything wrong or because they are angry but because they wanted to walk down the narrow path and I was in the way. I’m proud to say that today, I jumped from “what the …?” to “oh, yeah, I’m in the way” fairly fast. But, not so fast, was my reaction to trying to communicate with some folks I’m not so sure wanted to communicate with me. I don’t know that they did. I don’t know that they didn’t. And I found myself wanting to shout, “It’s ok! Tell me to leave and I will. But this pulling of information and awkward silence is killing me!”

Good news is that I didn’t shout. And in all likelihood they haven’t thought one way or the other about me being here or not being here. But when everything is new and most things are slower than you are used to … well, I get whacky in my head.

I say “whacky” because, let’s see, my field is communications and I know all the stuff I’m experiencing and have taught several seminars on how to identify and deal with it. But the best therapist, the best pastor and sometimes even an above average communicator has to be reminded of the fundamentals.

The other good news is that after a day in my head and/or learning from others, I took a walk with my housemate to the market. We bought fresh tomatoes, eggplant, garlic, peppers, green beans and carrots and with the onions we had at home, some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, we whipped up a nice little feast that was topped off by exquisite fresh pineapple and tasty bananas. Since I’ve been living off of carbs and soups you add water to, I was thrilled! (Especially in light of my attempt at dinner last night that featured a can of sardines, leftover curry soup and pasta.)

My housemate provided translation in the market, made the vendors give me her price rather than the tourist’s and was a most excellent sous chef. She also cried along beside me as we watched Steel Magnolias and I introduced her to my world of incredibly strong women who face life’s challenges as the adventure they are.

So I close my day with great wisdom echoing through my brain, “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” I think when I go to the Serengeti I’ll wear my pearls.

We Pause for this Brief Infomercial . . .

At the risk of sounding like one of those late night infomercials pleading with you to call now and for just so many cents a day you can save a child . . . well, I just found out that for less than $25 per mother or child, lives truly can be saved. Over a five-year period (with the first just concluding) the Minnesota International Health Volunteers project in Karatu, Tanzania estimates (conservatively) that it could have a positive impact on at least 87,462 women and children. And all they submit that it’s going to cost just a little over $2 million dollars to do it!

USAid lived up to its name and has provided $1.5 million, leaving MIHV to kick in $551,257. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound like a lot. And that’s why I really like this gig.

Let’s face it. None of us have ever heard of Minnesota International Health Volunteers. The name alone kinda makes you smile doesn’t it? Minnesota and International? Have you been there? Stuck in a traffic jam you’re not going to in any way think you’ve suddenly landed at the United Nations. The state is diverse, I’m sure, and I don’t want to disparage it but I (with my semi-blonde hair and freckles) definitely blend in.*

And yet, this organization is totally on top of what I think it means to partner with a country to get something done. They are working alongside and not “over” people who were born and live here. They are all about sustainable actions. They actually are measuring what they are doing and holding themselves accountable. And the “them”? Well, it’s a handful of people coordinating a gargantuan task.

Here’s the problem as they’ve identified it:
 The district of Karatu has an infant mortality rate of 93/1000. Due to a lack of reporting, estimates have to put that at 8 out of 10 babies die at home and 6 had no contact from formal health services.
 The three big culprits are malaria, pneumonia and respiratory problems, and diahreal diseases.
 The maternal mortality rate is 247/1000. Since ¼ of the women have babies before the age of 18 and then have the next baby before two years is up, you can begin to see a problem, right?

The solutions they’ve said “Yes, we’re here to help” with are all about working with existing systems including governmental entities and traditional service providers like the drug store shopkeepers (do not read “pharmacist” here because only the owner is one of those, otherwise these are just clerks offering advice) and traditional birth attendants (and here you need not think of midwives as we’ve come to know them but village women who have “been there, done that” and are willing to stay by the mother’s side if she invites them in (and sometimes she doesn’t which adds to the mortality rate mentioned above). They also are trying to develop community with the high risk groups and even focusing on not just surviving but thriving as they seek self-sustaining avenues to help young women support themselves and their families.

Today I found out that if they could get their hands on the money for 90 bikes they would have the motivational tool needed to have hand-picked and trained workers in the villages they’ve targeted. These would be and currently are (though the numbers are small) volunteers mind you. But the bike and the status in the village would be incentive enough.

I couldn’t help think, “I know a gynecologist who would be great at training. And a pharmacist who could help with the drug stores. And a computer guy who could fix these machines that keep breaking down. And a videographer, and a marathon runner for the malaria awareness campaign they’re doing and probably at least one person who could help with every other need they have.” While I don’t expect all my friends to pack up and come here for the project’s duration. I did wonder if the chance to make a difference with what they kow would be enticing. And I know that one small vagabond group of friends and family could certainly help financially with this small group that’s making such an incredible difference! (Really, folks, they have done more in three months than I’ve seen some groups do in three years and that’s with one hand tied metaphorically behind their backs as the governmental support exists but the faces keep changing due to turnover.)

Oh! Just in case you think I’m intoxicated from all the sightings of elephants, giraffes and exotic African landscape, I want to report that thus far I’ve seen one baboon roadside, a few interesting birds and that lizard in my closet.

This project just rocks. So if you want to make that difference . . . if you have $80 for a bike . . . if you want to check out other options . . . visit www.mihv.org.

This telethon has now concluded for the day.

*Note: Before anyone gets too offended, I know Minnesota is diverse. I remember something about it having one of the largest Hmong populations in the state. I’m just saying I don’t think “international” when I first hear it.

I Can Soooooo Do This

Today I got scratched by a dog and the cat jumped in my closet while I was watching a lizard scamper over my clothes.

Know what I did?

Shooed the dog and then the cat and closed the door on the lizard while thinking, “At least it’s not a scorpion.”

The Prestige

No television so we watch DVDs. Tonight I took in The Prestige. The gist of the film is based on their being three parts to an illusion. The final part is called the prestige; it’s the twist, the thing that makes it all right in the end – the dove reappears, the woman really isn’t cut in two, etc.

As I laid down surrounded by my mosquito canopy, I was reminded of a line I saw in a report today. Seems that while mosquito nets are available to most people in Tanzania and even affordable, malaria is still killing something like 31% of children under five in Karatue and the reason for not using them? They make folks feel claustrophobic.

Before Westerners read that and shake their heads with incredulity, I’d like to point out that in my work with AIDS and even in my personal life I’ve been told by more than one man that he didn’t like using condoms because they lessened his pleasure.

One small mosquito, one moment of a sexual high and they risk death. Why? Because the prestige isn’t just for a stage – they really do think the twist is in their favor.

And the dirty rotten trick ends with no applause.

I'm in Africa

May not have a farm, but I do have six weeks in a guest house in Karatu, Tanzania. This is a land of contrasts -- gray buildings in the city, pot hole ridden roads and then magnificent vistas of green that will take your breath away as they are framed by mountains, volcanoes and even one of the eight natural wonders of the world.

More later, because while I can get on the internet, I can't stay long.

Air Travel Has It's Advantages, However . . .

This KLM plane is less than satisfying. I don't mind long flights when I have all the accoutrements that make it bearable. I can't tell you what type of plane carries my favorite item but I can tell you that if I board and see that the back of the seat in front of me includes a tv screen of my very own where I can watch any number of movies at my discretion or play games ... well then, I'm a happy flyer.

Both planes -- the one to Amsterdam and the one to Kilamanjaro -- were sans the personal screens. I got to watch one several feet above the row in front of me and was "entertained" with The Nannyt Diaries, Ratatoulle and bad TV programs (really, does anyone care that Malcolm was every in the Middle) and then a Jackie Chan romp and that fantasy thing about a star becoming human. Riveting, I tell you, just riveting.

My Mac only has backgammon and my opponent is programmed to offer up smartass comments when I lose which is often. So I took to writing instead of continuing humliation.

Writing has been on the back burner of later. I'm not uninterested in it but he temporary nature of my living arrangements may be affecting me more than I realized. Without roots, I don't feel settled enough to write. Structure, it seems, is as important to my motivation for a continuing conversation with my keyboard as it is to a good paragraph.

But speaking of burners, I have been enjoying a tad bit more cooking of late. And creating int he kitchen often gives me similar satisfaction as creating at a desk. When I pull off an interview and then piece together the best quotes with a lead that truly grabs attention and summarizes what I'm about to tell folks, it's rather lovely. As is piecing together a delicious meal with what I have on hand in the fridge. The other night I had a 20 minute feast prepared and it was a healthy presentation for me and my current host, Roger. Sauteed peppers and onions in a white wine reduction over baked fish and bismati was more than satisfying. At the risk of points off for bad puns -- our healthy meal was icing on the cake!

I like the idea of cooking with ingredients I can feel good about. I've certainly pulled my fair share of 9X13 casseroles ladened with cream of something and cheese products out of my oven but when I turn it up a notch and go fresh, I'm proud.

The plan is to take a class when I return from my travels. While I don't think the world needs another cookbook or magazine article about the joy of cooking, I do plan on capturing a few thoughts and new ideas along the way in Tanzania so who knows? Africa may hold a few culinary surprises worth writing about as well. We shall see.

What I see now is the need to close down the computer to take part in the only other distraction this plane offers -- another meal. While it's wrapped in plastic wrap and all of its various sponsors are duly noted on the packaging they haven't been too bad. At least not nearly as bad as the tv!

Good Things Come to Africa!

I am getting "amused credit" for bringing the rains to Karatu! Actually, the people are smiling because they've been waiting anxiously for the rainy season and in dire need of something to help with the crops and the animals. Since I happen to arrive on the same day as the rain, I'm getting a few kudos as well. Here's hoping that both the moisture and I keep up the good work!

Please note that the entries on this blog may sometimes appear out of order. Internet connections are not easy and yesterday I couldn't post the beginning entries and sent them on to a friend who may get them posted today. Rather than try and post them myself, I'm proceeding but the gist of those was that I arrived!

I just read the program description for the work I'll be doing. The problem they are addressing is the fact that the under-five mortality rate for 2000-2004 was 112 per 1000 live births and its infant morality rate was 68 per 1000. In Karatu where I am, the infant mortality rate was 93 per 1000 live births. However, since many children are born at home with traditional birth attendants or the mother actually doing the whole thing solo, the estimates are that 8 out of 10 children die at home and six of them withut any contact with formal health services.

This project is to create awareness among the birth attendants of potential problems and provide prevention education. I'm quite excited about a Survive and Thrive aspect to it as well which will help provide the mothers with a way to produce income.

The rains are nourishing the dusty fields and thirsty plants and providing a slippery approach to driving. Fortunately, I'm not the one in the drivers seat as cars are limited and the program has a couple of jeeps and drivers attached. I can't wait to see what my legs look like at then end of the day though. I am wearing skirts to fit into the conservative culture and that translates into muddy calves to be sure. I mentioned that the roads were dirt, right? Of course, now they are mud!

After trying to make the internet work last night, I sat down to a surprise meal prepared by my housemate who is a worker with the program. She is staying at the guest house until she can find more permanent residence. The potato and meat stew was tasty and we watched Out of Africa as we ate.

"I had a farm in Africa" never sounded so ironic and sweet as it did last night. She was curious about the relationships depicted in the story. And she provided commentary on the African elements. I think we both enjoyed the exchange of information.

Ok, that's enough infor for now. Let's see if I can actually post this time!

Because It Would Be Way Too Easy to Sleep

I decided to continue my marathon connection by handing out water at the Houston race this morning. That meant getting up at 5 a.m. and being at my post at 5:45. It was dark. Very dark. We set up tables. Filled paper cups with water and Gatorade. Handed said beverages out to the record-breaking number of runners this year and then tore it all down, swept up all types of fluids (don't think about that too deeply if you have a weak stomach) and collected all the sweaty clothes that the runners discarded before heading to a great Mexican place for breakfast.

I just checked email and will be showering before heading to the airport (a gift to the person who will be sitting beside me to Amsterdam, don't you think?). My plane leaves at 3:50 p.m. and if I've got this figured right, 22 hours from then I'll be in Tanzania.

Wish everyone reading this could be that seatmate but since you can't I'll keep you posted.

So ... It's Been a While

One of the few folks who check my blog regularly informed me that I was long overdue on a post.

Since anyone who even occasionally checks in might surmise by the distance between my last post and this that I was thrown overboard by a overly zealous party animal on the Carnival cruise, I will take this opportunity to announce that I'm alive and well and have been land-bound for over a month.

Life has just been extremely temporary and I haven't had a moment to contemplate what I might want to say in this space I've come to view as my connection with friends from one end of the U.S. to the other. I have a few folks who know me well across the big sea but I doubt seriously they check in here. And after the fourth person told me they missed whatever it was that I might be sharing, I determined it was time to say something even it lacked anything near humor, profundity or even clarity!

So here I am ... not exactly contemplative (I AM flying to Tanzania in two days so you can give me a bit of grace can't you for being surrounded by icky details like when I'm going to get my yellow fever shot?) and not exactly informative (I will save for later my observations regarding my cross country drive for the holidays, my assessment of my hometown's enthusiasm for high school basketball, my love for my convertible even if it is cold and I have a golf ball size crack in the front window, my joy over starting the year off right with friends, and my process of determining exactly what "office formal" dress looks like for my stay in Tanzania.)

Instead, I'll simply say my hope is to blog regularly while in Africa as calls are $5/min and texts are 50 cents each! Creativity (or evidence to the lack thereof) is once again spurred by a lack of finances! Other writers got their start with less of a muse, right?

So keep checking ... I leave Sunday, arrive on a new continent on Monday and will try and post by Wednesday.

Monday Morning Ramblings When Fog Delays Your Cruise Ship

--The Christmas season is fraught with unfulfilled expectations. You think it's ok to simply wish for everyone's cookies to be placed on an appropriate shelf with just enough stretching to making them tastier but not enough to strain themselves?

--When packing for a week away, is a bag and a backpack excessive?

--The credit card company had me prove I was me several times while I tried to regain the funds that someone decided was more theirs than mine recently. Good news was that I happened to check while the charges were still pending. "Makes me tired" news is that I had to keep an eye on whether the charges moved from pending after cancelling the card and then and only then could I make a claim. These folks are busy people. I'd be delighted if someone wanted to busy themselves with creating a phone system that allowed people in distress (that would be me when I think someone is using my identity and accessing my limited funds!) to actually forego the computerized voices and menu selections and tell their tale to a real, breathing, and hopefully caring individual from the start!

--My name and the name of my ex's new wife sounds the same but the spelling is different. Seems when that happens and the party of the first part is trying to sell a home, the party of the second part and all other parties must prove they are who they say they are. And how do the parties do this? By completing a form and signing it. So all I have to do is say I am who I say I am and they accept it.

Does anyone else feel that someone somewhere is getting paid for lots and lots of mindless paperwork?

--Lights in the Heights is a good thing. I love that people are generous enough to throw a party and invite ... let's see ... THE CITY to join them.

--My hairdresser has the coolest blue eyes and when she wears a blue dress like she did at the party her salon threw on Saturday night, she's stunning. Wait ... she's stunning no matter what!

--My friend spent much of last night burning tree limbs and claiming it was his redneck coming out. As a fellow redneck, I might have to challenge his definition slightly. I'm not that mesmerized by burning bushes. Wait ... he's a preacher. Maybe that explains it. Wonder if he heard voices?

--The fog is delaying my trip South. I'm supposed to be sailing by 4 p.m. today. Chances are . . . that's not going to happen at that time. This is me . . . crossing my fingers and waiting for the sunshine.

I'm baaaaaack . . .

Class is over. I discovered a great deal but the biggest is that I love to teach.

What I'm going to do with that and still sustain the lifestyle to which I had grown accustomed is the next item on my agenda.

But until then . . .

I have a cruise to take.

I'm taking a road trip east to see friends and family.

And, I'm scheduled to be in Tanzania mid-January until the end of February.

Life is good . . .

November . . . Whew!

Hope you all got a chance to be part of the land of the free and the home of the brave yesterday!

I'm in class during the day, studying four hours at night and still trying to keep up with November as Novel Writing Month (an Internet encouragement to write 50,000 words in a month which they guarantee us will be crap but it will be completed crap) and I'm going to try and blog.

But not here.

The course I'm taking is called a CELTA course and if I pass I will be certified in teaching English to non-English speakers. If you want to more check out www.celtastuff.blogspot.com. That's the blog I'm doing this month. I'll link you later but if I don't stop now, I'll be late for class!

YeeHa!

Did my first rodeo speeches this week. Seeing Houston elementary schools is an eye opener and I think I may get more out of these gigs than the kids. I was very impressed with the one I attended today because despite the community (lower income, several strikes against it with parental support of the children at a minimum) this school was bright, cheerful and clean. I remarked to my assistant for the day that i imagined that some of the children might find the school to be somewhat of a sanctuary.

"We have a hard time getting some of them to leave," she said, shaking her head sadly.

Though they may come from some tough situations (one or more parent in jail, etc.) the teachers are not giving them any slack on the discipline front. They used the "zero" to call the kids to quiet and some of those men and women could have given drill sargeants a run for their tough guy status!

Lots of the kids wanted to linger if you gave them just a smile. Kinda broke my heart a time or two.

But so far, as I've shared with the kids the vast knowledge (ahem!) I've gained on all things chuckwagon so I could mesmerize them for 20 minute stints and encourage them to "do good in school, don't do drugs and maybe you can get a scholarship from the rodeo" (and yes, I really said that because they combined the no drugs day with rodeo day and asked us to!), I've had a few chuckles I've had to squash as well as a tear or two to hold back. Here are a few highlights:

One girl asked me if I was a real cowgirl. One boy wanted to know if I had a horse.

One 5th grader was rather enthusiastic in her query as to whether I was a close friend of Hannah Montana.

On the day after Halloween a girl with what I thought was residual makeup on her face asked, "What do you do about the girl with marks on her face?" I asked her to repeat her question and she did. I said, "Marks?" She said, "I was attacked by a pit bull." I said, "I'm sorry you were hurt. I have marks on my face too!" She said, "Yep and they're called freckles." Then she smiled and walked away.

Several third and fourth graders said their favorite food was sushi. I had no clue what sushi was in the fourth grade.

I think I'm going to like this gig but as my buddy Roger says, "No good deed goes unpunished." When I drove away from the school parking lot I noticed not a chip but a gash in my windshield. Seems a baseball must have found a way to have intimate contact with the passenger side of the front window.

Oh well . . . the adventure continues. Can I get big yee ha?