2004
August 4
Walking off the plane in Arusha Tanzania, I was greeted with everything I didn’t expect; a mass of welcoming faces, no buildings in sight (other than the airport hanger), a fragrant, almost intoxicating air, and absolutely no bugs!
For the first week in Arusha, the 2 other volunteers and I stay in a hostel. Every morning I wake up to a rooster announcing the day. I go outside for a morning run and hear the nuns sing Swahili gospel hymns while they hang laundry and prepare breakfast. Mornings are magnificent. Even at 6:30am, the streets are filled with friendly faces, mostly uniformed children walking to school. As I run by they giggle and shout out ‘good morning’, the only English words they learn in primary school. Some of them run along side me and mimic my movements. The children are amazing; they exude spirit and joy. But everyone is surprised to see a ‘mzungu’ (white person), running through the streets.
My days are filled with lectures about Tanzanian culture, AIDS education, and Swahili lessons. Some of the lessons are informative but overall the program is disorganized and frustrating. One of our speakers was a young pastor who is HIV positive. He recently lost his wife and two kids to AIDS. As soon as his parish found out he was HIV positive, they asked him to retire. Now he has no family, no income, no medication and no spiritual support. His story is very typical Tanzania. No wonder most people are discouraged from getting tested. Others, who know they are infected, are often banished to their homes. In Tanzania, over 50% of hospital beds are used to treat AIDS patients. In answer to this over-crowding, it is now policy to treat AIDS in the home.
I’ve only been here a week and have come to know the sad fact that an enormous amount of Tanzanians will loose the battle against AIDS/ its not that they aren’t aware of HIV/AIDS; there are public service announcements on every corner, on every TV show, and is being talked about in every café and restaurant. They have simply accepted it as a part of their lives. Africans are the strongest people I’ve ever met. Which makes trying to change their cultural practices all the more complicated.
Friday is our last day at the hostel. Then I will meet my homestay family that I will be living with for the next three months. I don’t know anything about the family except that I will have my own bedroom with a lock on the door. They will cook my breakfast and dinner, as well as do my laundry. I just hope that they have a proper bathroom. The sanitary conditions in this country are pathetic!
August 8-10
My ‘mama’ picked me up at the hostel with her son Richard. ‘Mama’ speaks a little English, and Richard, a little less than she does. We drove to their village, which is made up of small cinderblock houses, a lot like what you’d see in the rough part of Tijuana. People are everywhere; walking, chatting, selling fruits and drink, and the children run freely through the streets.
My new home is small, with no running water, no kitchen and no mirrors. My room is simple and dark. The bathroom is a sort of outhouse located outside the front door. It has a small dark hole on the floor, used as a toilet, and an area used for bathing (bathing is done with soap and a bucket of warm water). The outhouse is infested with baby flies and other bugs… gross enough to make me wish I had a penis.
The family property, or ‘boma’, is made up of a group of houses. Mama, Baba, and Kevin (age 8), live in the main house. Their other children Dennis (age 16), peter (age 19), Richard (age 22) and Stanley (age 26) live in smaller houses surrounding the main house.
Soon after I arrived, Richard asked me to come to his house and listen to music. We sat there for over an hour listening to a compilation of ‘Romantic American Love Songs’. Richard can barely speak English but can perfectly sing Brian Adams and Mark Antony. At one point he gave me a silk red rose and told me of his desire to ‘move to America, get married, and start a family’. I thanked him for the rose and made an excuse to get the hell out of there. I went to my room, locked my door, and began planning my escape. I’m not sure which is worse, living with Richard, or the bug infested hole I am expected to use as a toilet.
Saturday, I went of a walking safari in Arusha National Park with the two other volunteers and an armed safari guide. It was amazing. We stood 10 yards away from a herd of giraffe. We saw rhinos, hippos, flamingos, monkeys, baboons, warthogs, and zebras. I didn’t want to leave, partly because I was afraid to go back to my new home. But the time came and I said a quick prayer, emptied my bladder and went back to Mama’s.
August 12-19
The first AIDS Awareness workshop I facilitated was for Nkurua village, about 40 minutes outside Arusha, which I traveled to every day by ‘dala dala’; a Volkswagen minibus that miraculously fits about 20-25 passengers. The lucky passengers sit, others stand, some squat, and no one wears deodorant. Before I was allowed to enter the village, I had to meet the village council. After exchanging introductions, signing the visitor’s log, and praying, I was granted permission to enter. African manner is filled with pomp and circumstance. Everything in Africa begins and ends with a ceremony. After the first day fo teaching I found it frustrating having to use a translator to communicate. Why cant the translators just give the lectures? They’ve been working with GSC a lot longer than I have. I wondered whether my biggest contribution to this program was simply my $3800.00 but on day 2, while giving my lecture on HIV prevention, I started talking about condoms. I was shocked to discover that most of the participants had never seen a condom and what they knew of them was myth and misinformation. Condoms carry HIV in them. Condoms have holes that allow HIV to go through. Condoms are a western solution, not an African one. Condoms are only for prostitutes and sluts. As soon as I pulled out a condom, the villagers got restless and began shouting at me in Swahili. Eddy, my translator, advised me to skip my condom demonstration. He said they didn’t want it and couldn’t handle it. I refused to stop. After much negotiating, they allowed me to continue as long as I separated the men from the women. Once the men left the room and the women got over the initial shock of the big black dildo I use for the condom demonstration, they became very talkative and interactive. ‘Men would never agree to wear condoms and if a woman insisted than she would be labeled a whore,’ they said. One of the women wanted to know how she could sneak one on a man without him knowing. After the demonstration we played a gender role game using word association. The women the women used the words ‘power, authority, strength, and independent’ to describe only men, and used the words ‘housework, pregnancy, weak and cooking’ to describe themselves. When I protested they explained to me that the role of Tanzanian women is different than the role of a mzungu ‘white woman’. Even after explaining to them that they have the highest risk of contracting HIV, women have a higher rate of infection than men during heterosexual sex, and telling them that they are at an even greater risk when married to a man who commits adultery, an excepted part of marriage in a lot of Tanzanian villages, they still don’t see condoms as an achievable way of protecting themselves. How can you teach a woman in a week’s worth of lectures, that she has ‘Power Authority, Strength, and Independence? How can you teach a woman that she has a right to protect herself and her body when society tells her otherwise? And now for the homestay update… My homestay family now calls me ‘Caramel’, because Kimberly is too difficult to pronounce. The banana fields surrounding my homestay are the home to many wild dogs, so I’m not allowed outside alone after dark I now share my room with a family of mice and a couple of geckos. My mama’s cooking is delicious and her serving portions are enormous. My usual breakfast consists of omelets, 4 pieces of toast with butter, peanut butter and jelly, fruit and coffee. I’m not looking forward to coming home from a third world country with some extra lbs. I’ve introduced my family to the tunes of Miles Davis and Bill Withers. We have nightly dance parties and sing-a-longs in the living room after dinner. I still can’t pee in the fly infested ditch.
August 21
This morning I was told there is a rumor floating around the village that I am a prostitute from America who came to Tanzania to spread HIV/AIDS. It’s upsetting but not surprising; 65-75% of the women in my village are prostitutes, I spend the majority of my days talking about taboo topics like sex, condoms, women’s liberation, and I’m white! The same color as the bastards who raped, murdered and enslaved Africans throughout history. I guess I’d be a little skeptical too.
August 23
In Tanzania…
More women than men are infected with HIV/AIDS
Women are discouraged from attending University; instead are encouraged to marry and breed.
When a husband dies, usually the wife gets nothing; all assets are given to his parents, brothers, and sisters.
Men and women alike believe that men are rightfully the dominant sex.
Generally,, women are afraid to ask men to wear a condom and are labeled as ‘loose’ if they do.
Spousal abuse and infidelity are a common part of marriage. 6 out of 10 women in Tanzania are abused by their spouse.
Tanzanian women are typically responsible for childcare, house cleaning, preparing all meals, shopping, as well as working 8-10 hours per day
Tanzanian women are resilient, strong, and truly amazing.
After a month in Tanzania, those are the facts that standout in my mind. The blatant oppression of women in this culture is undeniable. It is one of the largest obstacles this country faces when battling HIV/AIDS. I begin my long-term project next week, which, in addition to my HIV/AIDS lectures, I will work on for my remaining six weeks with Global Service Corps. Using the various stories told to me by Tanzanian women, I am writing/producing a play about the obstacles women face and the profound results achieved by making positive choices. The cast and crew will be made up of at-risk women; rehabilitating sex workers, members of local youth groups, and those living with HIV/AIDS. Now only will these participants perform a valuable service to the community by spreading the message of empowering women, they will also learn how to produce something extraordinary by working together. I am almost done writing the play, which will then be translated into Swahili (it will be an experience producing/directing a play in a language I can’t speak…especially since its my first production), and yesterday I secured an outdoor theatre, which has been graciously donated for both rehearsals and production. Unfortunately, Global service corps is only able to donate $15.00 to the project, the usual stipend given to long-term volunteers. Needless to say, $15.00 isn’t enough to adequately fund the production.
August 26
“Sex with a condom is like eating a candy with the wrapper on’- told to me by a high school student during one of my lectures.
August 30
Last night as my friend Sarah and I were walking to the hostel we were staying the night at before our trip to Maasai village, we were hassled by two ‘rastas’ (local troublemakers). They started following us, insisting that they just wanted to make sure we got to the hostel safe, but we told them to leave us alone. Finally, about 100 yards from the hostel entrance gate, one of the guys grabbed me. I wrestled with him a bit, and thankfully, had my keys stuck through my fist like a weapon. I was able to get my arm free and as soon as he realized that I was about to stab him in his temple, he backed off. I started screaming ‘hatari’ (danger) and Sarah and I ran to the entrance of the hostel. By the time the guard went to find the guys, they were gone. I don’t know which was worse, being attacked or the feeling I had when I was going to stab him in the temple. I wanted to hurt him, in my moment of fear I would have killed him if I had the chance. It was an awful feeling. At the same time, I was so proud of myself for fighting back. I don’t know what the two guys intentions were. I don’t really thing they knew. They didn’t ask for money, and they didn’t seem to have a weapon. They were probably just drink, stupid, and wanted to hook up with two mzungus (white women). It was totally stupid of us to walk to the hostel after dark but it was only a few blocks away and we didn’t think anything would happen. Now we know better and will definitely be taking taxis everywhere after dark/ silly mzungus.
August 31
You’d think after a month, the kids in my village would stop singing ‘mzungu, mzungu mzungu…’ every time they see me…but no. I’ve found the only way to quiet them is to speak to them in Swahili, they’re rendered speechless.
September 1
I hate milk. Love ice cream. Love cheese. Despise milk.
My mama’s cow gave birth to an adorable little boy cow called Casper, which I had the honor of naming. My family is so excited to have Casper because now we have fresh milk! ;( The cows live in a tiny barn behind the house that is filled with cow shit. They roll around in it, probably eat it, they are not clean animals. The thought of drinking milk from one of those cows makes me ill. I tried telling my mama that milk makes me sick but she doesn’t understand. I am given a huge glass of warm milk with every meal, and some days, I am also given tea made with milk. As soon as I am alone, I run into my room and pour the milk into my old water bottles. Every couple of days I dispose of the milk filled water bottles. I feel bad about wasting the milk but I don’t know what else to do. Pole sana.
September 7
My mama invited my friend Sarah and I to an authentic Tanzanian wedding. I wore my best outfit; a long wrap skirt, sweater set and tevas. As we were waiting for my mama, I started playing with little Lisa, who decided to pee on my lap. I couldn’t change because it was the only skirt I had.
My mama came home and informed us that the wedding was cancelled because the first wife of the groom contested the wedding at the last minutes. Since the preparations had already been made, the reception would continue as planned and the ceremony would now be a baptism. Once we arrived at the church, all eyes were on the wazungu. What were two white women wearing tevas doing at the wedding/baptism? I think our presence even upstaged the wedding scandal. The ceremony was LONG and hot. At first my mama encouraged me to sing along by letting me share her hymnbook, but after a few verses she shut it. I guess she didn’t like my Swahili voice.
The reception was at the summit club, a local bar down the street from the church. The reception meal was rice, lamb, chicken, fried banana, and salad, served on a paper plate with a napkin and toothpick. We got to eat with our hands, I loved it! Everyone watched in amazement as the wazungu ate with out fingers, including the wedding photographer and video camera guy who filmed us eating from start to finish. After dinner, the ‘cake’ was served; a roasted goat propped up to look like he was still alive and eating grass. We were each fed pieces of the goat by the bride and groom. Once all the ‘cake’ was gone, everyone started dancing, and not just on the dance floor. If someone felt the music, they just stood up from their seat and danced; people were dancing everywhere. One of my mama’s friends took me under her wing and taught me how to shake my ass like an African woman. After the reception was over, we headed to Munganno bar, which my family owns, and continued the party. At about midnight, Sarah and I convinced my mama that it was time to go home. As we were waiting for my mama to unlock the plethora of padlocks on the front door of the house, a wild dog came and peed on my leg. Pole sana.
In the morning, my mama prepared a special breakfast for us; eggs, LIVER, chapatti, bread, salad, peanut butter, warm milk, and tea made with milk. Im a fatty!
September 12
The play is progressing nicely. Its called ‘Wanawake Jukwanni’ loosely translated means ‘women center stage’. the first draft has been written and translated into Swahili. We’ve met with different NGO’s in the Arusha region and invited them to participate. Everyone is very excited… the play was even mentioned in the Arusha Times, our local newspaper.
On Friday, during one of our script meetings, a male representative from, MPOPD, a Maasai organization, showed up uninvited and asked if his NGO could participate. I was shocked!
The Maasai are a local tribe to the Arusha region. They still practice polygamy, female circumcision ( genital mutilation) and are notorious for their enormous oppression and disrespect of women. During my first visit to a Maasai village I was proposed to by a warrior who already had 9 wives. He promised to build me my own hut (which is like a small igloo made of twigs and cow dung), and would pay my family a bride price of 100 cows. The offer was tempting until he informed me that I would have to ‘become a woman’ (get circumcised) before the wedding could take place. He told me that it is necessary for women to be circumcised so they don’t enjoy sex. A woman who enjoys sex may become a prostitute or cheat on her husband. In the Maasai culture women have no rights, freedom, no choice.
After making absolute sure that the MPOPD representative understood the premise and purpose of the play, I enthusiastically welcomed him to participate and set up a time to visit his organization.
On Monday we traveled to the MPOPD’s meeting place to talk with the members who were interested in participating in the play. We walked into the abandoned house and were welcomed by about thirty Maasai warriors; all in traditional dress, holding sticks, with machetes hanging from their belts. It was a bit frightening. As soon as I got over the initial shock and we began the meeting, it was fantastic. They were so interested in everything we had to say, even if they didn’t agree with some of it, they respected us for being there. They agreed to perform a song and dance promoting women’s rights, as well as act in the play.
They also invited me to give a HIV lecture to the Maasai women in the interior, who care usually prevented from any education whatsoever. After the meeting, they served us hot milk, the Maasai worship cows (I think they have more respect for cows than women). I successfully explained to them that I am ‘allergic’ ;) to milk, so they brought me a sprite instead. We all sat around and talked about our cultural differences, (our conversations were translated from Maasai to Swahili to English) and as we were leaving one of the men stood up and told us how much he respected the work we were doing, and no matter how disrespectful and mean some people on the streets are to us (mostly Maasai men to not give up on educating the African people because the majority of them are very thankful we are here. Gave me good bumps… unfortunately, as of this Friday, the ‘we’ will be changed to ‘me’, since Sarah the only other GSC volunteer is going home to London.
September 14
Wazungu don’t walk around much. If, in the rare occurrence, a mzungu dare leave whatever wazungu place they are in, it will be by taxi or safari vehicle. Most wazungu hangouts actually discourage you from walking off the grounds. Partly because they want you to stay and spend money there and partly because they know a taxi will cost you money; its not uncommon for a mzungu to take a cab to travel a block or two. Wazungu never take the ‘dala dala’s’, probably because they are fucking crazy and a dollar for a cab ride isn’t all that much compared to the very long, smelly, uncomfortable ride (which I have grown a strange fondness towards).
Most wazungu feel they need to wear full safari garb the entire time they are in Tanzania. You rarely see a mzungu wearing an outfit with less than 20 zip up pockets, most of which have nothing in them/
Most wazungu wrongly expect Tanzanians to know English. I must admit that I was guilty of this. When I fist arrived in Arusha, I went to the Internet café to check my email and by the time I left it was dark so I had to get a taxi back to the hostel. I told the taxi driver, in English, that I was going to the center house hostel. He nodded and headed in the right direction. But instead of turning down the street of the hostel, he just kept going straight; I repeatedly told him that he passed it but he just kept going. Then he turned down another street and continued onward. Where the hell was he taking me? My heart was in my throat. I started shouting at him to turn around! I was so terrified that he was going to mug me and leave me on the side of the road; I almost jumped out of the moving car. Finally I realized that he didn’t know what the hell I was saying and was just as frightened as I was. I used hand signals to guide him back to the hostel and when we arrived, he couldn’t get me out of his cab fast enough. Crazy mzungu.
Africans are always late, sometimes as much as 2 to 3 hours late without explanation or apology. Then once a meeting is actually started, there is an opening prayer, an opening ceremony, opening introductions, and on and on and on…. Africans take 5 hours to give you 5 minutes of information and Africans love to hear themselves speak, even more than Americans, if that’s possible.
There are things that are acceptable for Africans to do that you would never see a mzungu do… its socially accepted for Africans to pick their nose, look at the boogie they just extracted, roll it around in their fingers and then discard it in the air or on their clothes. Africans make and drink their tea with hot chunky milk. I don’t know if a mzungu would drink it but I sure as hell wouldn’t.
Africans don’t use toilet paper. They think its disgusting and wasteful. Instead they reserve their left hand for wiping and then wash their hands immediately after.; you never eat or shake hands using your left hand, if you right hand is not available then offer your elbow in its place.
Every African home I’ve been in is decorated with colorful Christmas decorations, the colored foil kind you find at the dollar tree store. Instead of picture frames, most pictures are stuck to the walls using black tape. Doilies are on everything!
Africans live their lives outside. The home is the place to sleep and eat meals. Other than that, most Africans are outside socializing, working, and being busy.
September 15
This is what happens when the word ‘mwizi’ is used (as reported in the Arusha Times)….
A robbery attempt outside Arusha (not too far from my boma) left two suspects dead. While the robbers were escaping the house with stolen belongings, the homeowner yelled ‘mwizi’ for help. The other villagers, hearing his cries, ran out of their homes and attacked one of the robbers; they beat him badly and left him to burn to death. Another suspect was shot in the back with a poisonous arrow and was able to flee the scene but is believed to have died shortly after. The police were called the next morning after the wild dogs had eaten most of the charred remains of the robber. No changers were filed.
When people hear ‘mwizi’ everyone stops what they are doing and runs to the scene to help. People are commonly beaten or burned to death because of this word. It’s a bad bad word.
September 19
Ok, so ‘mwizi’ doesn’t work for wazungu, at least not this mzungu! Yesterday afternoon, as I was walking to the dala dala from one of my rehearsals, accompanied by two translators and one of the actresses in the play, I was attacked by some stupid mother fucker who thought he was going to steal my backpack. He didn’t realize this mzungu would fight back. he had no idea of the valuables that were in that bag; my journal, and my black fuzzy purse. No one teals my black fuzzy purse. We played tug of war with my backpack for, what seemed like, at least 5 minutes./ at one point we both fell on the ground and I was kicking him as hard as I could while the girls were screaming ‘mwizi, mwizi’ no one in the park came to help me… and there were a lot of people in this park/ they all just say by and watched the show. When the robbing son of a bitch realized that he was defeated, he let go of my bag which cause me to accidentally punch myself in the face. I fucking gave myself a bloody nose and a fat lip. Go figure… as soon as I got home, I told my mama everything that happened. She was so proud of me for fighting back, she practically told the entire village. Then she took me out for beers and food, as any good mama should!
Every mzungu I know has been attacked or pick pocketed since they’ve been in Tanzania. We are walking targets; it’s not like we can hide the color of our skin and because we are white, thieves think we have money on us, which is a pretty accurate assumption. Some thieves will actually give you the option of handing over your valuable before they try and force them from you. It’s also common for someone to steal something from you, and then offer to sell it back to you. This happened to a previous GSC volunteer. She made the enormous mistake of buying her camera back and upon receipt of it, realized it was broken beyond repair. There’s almost no point in reporting theft to the police because most of them are corrupt too. My friend and fellow GSC volunteer, Sarah, was attacked in Zanzibar at knife point. The muggers got away with everything; her passport, credit card, money, camera, etc… she went to the police to file and report and the cop wanted 20,000 shillings to process the claim. A couple days ago a German mzungu was walking down the street near my house and was confronted by a little boy with a knife demanding 200 shillings (20 cents) from him.
I no longer walk down the streets lost in thought. Instead I pay attention to every man that walks by me. I stare at them as much as they stare at me. I stare at their hands, to notice if they are carrying a knife or a weapon, which quite a few men do. I watch them from the corner of my eye as they pass me. If they so much as pick their nose, my whole body tenses up and I prepare myself to be attacked.
I know the increase in theft is driven by the enormous loss of tourism since 9-11 and the devastating poverty prevalent throughout Tanzania. I am not condoning or making excuses for the ‘mwizi’, but I also know that I have no idea what its like to be that desperate. I have no idea what its like to starve. I have no idea what its like to have 5 or 6 children to feel and no means of doing so. I now have an idea of how fortunate I am.
September 23
My translator and I arrived to the Maasai Org. rehearsal five minutes late. Before rehearsals could begin, the chief wanted to know why we were late. He wanted to know if there was a problem. I said, no, we were just five minutes late, that’s all. He still didn’t understand. I wanted to shout at him ‘ we are in Africa, jackass, all of you people are late all of the time, its an integral part of your culture, and you are giving me shit about being 5 minutes late… fuck you’. but he wouldn’t have understood a word I said anyways, and he was the one with the machete.
After the opening ceremonies, which start out every rehearsal, the Maasai performed their play. It’s very funny but its not about empowering women. Its about Maasai men acting like assholes, which serves a purpose of its own, but ‘Wanawake Jukwaani’ isn’t about men getting drunk, raping and infecting women with HIV, its about women standing up for themselves and overcoming obstacles. I tried explaining this to them but they didn’t quite understand why I was so upset. I have no idea how I am going to fix their play with only two more rehearsals before production. I’m afraid they are going to make a mockery of everything I am trying to achieve.
After rehearsing the play, we rehearsed the songs they will perform. Both of the songs sound really amazing, but they are in Maasai language and I can’t understand a word they say, neither can my translator. I’m sure they are singing about loving their cows instead of their women. At one point I tried singing along and they just looked at me and started laughing. Its was pretty funny. It reminded me of my little brothers pretending like they know the words to ‘lovely day’ by bill withers, when really they sing ‘lada hay’ instead. The Maasai told me that if I wanted to sing the Maasai songs I first had to learn the language and then I would have to work on my voice, every day, for a long long time… hmmm, wasn’t too happy about that; all of those senior citizen singing classes for nothing.
October 4
Only one week left until production of the play. “Wanawake Jukwaani’ has taken on a life of its own. It will be a major miracle if it all goes well. Since this is my first time producing a play, I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, so I am just making it up as I go along…. Which seems to be the way most things work in Africa anyways
Originally the play was composed of six stories exposing some of the obstacles that Tanzanian women face. Now there are seven stories and sic songs being performed, all by different NGO’s and members of the community. The cast of the play is about 50, half of which are men, who are constantly trying to change the play to ‘Wanawume Jukwaani’ (men center stage)! Most of the groups have tried changing the script to make the men have more time on stage. In some groups the men try to play the women’s parts because they have more lines. The Maasai men tried changing their story to make all of the women die and the men survive. I’m constantly reminding everyone that the play is about women!
To promote the play, I’ve been posting flyers all over Arusha as well as handing out invitations (in Swahili) to every woman I see. They are all very interested to see what the crazy mzungu is up to. I still haven’t secured any of the props for the play, and I have no idea how I am going to get them to the stage once I do. There will be no dress rehearsal because none of the groups want the other groups to see their performance until the day of the play and some of the groups will have only rehearsed twice before the day of the performance.
All that aside, a lot of great things are coming out of the production and I am researching possibilities on making it sustainable in Tanzania. ‘Wanawake Jukwaani’ has been mentioned in the Arusha Times every week for the past month, and has even received interest from Between Sisters Foundation, an NGO based in New York. In addition to the performance, I am also writing a series of articles for the Arusha Times elaborating on the women’s issues addressed in the play. The series will run for six weeks and is available for viewing on the Arusha Times website. I am looking forward to sharing the experience with all of you when I get home. The play is being filmed in its entirety. Wish me luck!
October 19
The Maasai group that I have been working with invited me to their village, which is truly in the middle of nowhere! The bomas, huts made of cow poo, were much larger than the ones I had seen at Ngorogoro Crater, I could almost stand upright! The boma I visited was decorated with discarded items including a flashlight, a faucet, a jar of Vaseline, some bottle labels, and other random items.
Once settled, I was presented with a live chicken, which was to be our lunch. It was a very loud and wild chicken, I imagine he was begging me for his life to be spared. After I graciously accepted the offering, they took him away to be slaughtered.
I asked the men of the village to teach me how to be a Maasai warrior. They brought out a spear and gave me my first lesson, which included proper holding of the spear, warrior exercises and target practice. I am not a very good shot yet, but they told me after tow years, I should be able to hunt lion.
Next, they gave me a tour of the land; the future nursery school site, the many goats and cows they worship, and the massive hole in the ground which the women have been digging to hold rain water, so they can stop walking the 10km roundtrip to get water EVERY DAY.
The women transport water using a bucket which they carry on their heads. African women carry loads as heavy as 50-100ilbs on their heads.
Researchers suspect that they have adapted their spines to carry loads with bones rather than muscle.
After the grand tour, a village meeting was called, in honor of my visit. There were about 40-50 Maasai, all the elder men and women of the community. The Maasai women were all adorned with beautiful Maasai beaded jewelry and colorful traditional Maasai dress. The meeting began with the typical ceremonial speeches of welcome and introductions, then they asked me to give a speech of my own…. Uh, wasn’t prepared for that, but hamnashida! I gave them a brief lecture on AIDS and the negatives of female circumcision, which didn’t go over too well, then I asked the women to tell me the problems they are facing in the community. Their main concerns were water, livestock, agriculture, and education. I promised to do some research and come back in a couple of weeks, hopefully with some strategies to help them improve their situation. They were thrilled and enthusiastically welcomed my return.
After the closing speeches, we went back to the boma and ate the chicken. One of the warriors wanted me to eat the chicken’s feet. Uh, hell no! After much refusal, he fed them to the dog.
October 23
After doing some research, I found out that the pond the Maasai women made to hold rain water will actually either kill them or at the very least, make them very sick. The still water will attract all sorts of bacteria and disease that will infect those who drink it. I spoke to Father Faustine about this and he knows a man who can drill for water, he is supposed to be the best in Tanzania. Once the water is located and drilled for, we can build a pump, then the village will have access to clean, disease free water! The problem is the process is very expensive. So now I am learning how to write grants proposals. I am hoping that I can get the Maasai some good clean water.
October 25
Last night, after the hash run, we went to Colobus, a popular mzungu night club in Arusha. It’s a fun, cheesy dance club, a lot like what you find in Tijuana or Rosarito. The majority of people there were tourists, travelers, UN workers and volunteers. Most of the Tanzanians there were prostitutes, preying on the mzungu men and their money.
Prostitutes go for as little as 5000 shillings a night, which converts to less than $5.00
Unfortunately, throughout the night, I saw many mzungu men take off with prostitutes. Very disturbing since practically all of the prostitutes in Tanzania have AIDS and they don’t require men to wear condoms. Scary stuff. Why cant men keep their damn pants on?
November 6
This afternoon, a Tanzanian girl sat down next to me while I was writing in my journal, outside a café. For no apparent reason she started trying to make conversation with me. she told me that she was very tired and that her father had just died. I nodded, acknowledging that I understood what she told me and then continued writing. She sat next to me for the next 15 minutes, and the whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to try and steal my bag, or distract me so someone else could rob me. Even worse than that, I began to wonder if maybe she wanted a friend and I was too self- absorbed to listen. I felt so cold hearted, but I continued to pretend like she wasn’t there. Finally, she turned to me and asked for money. I knew it was coming. It made me so angry. I just laughed, shook my head, got up, and left.
December 20
I have been on many adventures since my last entry; climbed a mountain, was a stowaway on a dhow, stayed with the muslim mafia in Zanzibar, and the list goes on… but the most difficult adventure was returning home (yes, even more difficult than the toilet adjustment).
At first (and second) glance, Tanzania is a poor, dangerous, uneducated, oppressed, women hating country, but every day I spent there was filled with energy, excitement, and beauty.
There are so many lessons to be learned from the Tanzanian way of life. Tanzanians have such a sense of community. They know all their neighbors and interact with them daily. Tanzanians conduct their lives outside. Your house is the place you sleep, but your home is the village.
Tanzania is a place where people appreciate a simple life. For many Tanzanians there are no jobs, medicine, no education, and little food. But they still celebrate what they have. I remember going out to dinner one night with my Mama and Baba. A song came on that my Baba loved. They both got up and started dancing, in the middle of the restaurant. They looked so happy and so in love, it was beautiful.
In America we live in a very safe place, filled with rules and regulation, schedules, security, and a regimented way of life. Tanzania is the polar opposite of that. There are no rules to follow, no street signs, no FDA regulations, no warning labels; you must rely on your judgment to get you through the day. You definitely can’t rely on religion or the government to guide you since they are the biggest enablers of poverty, the spread of HIV, and the oppression of women. As daunting as that may seem, it requires you to engage in life every moment of every day.
I knew that I would come home and things would be the same as when I left; five months isn’t very long, and yet I feel so different. I was sad to think that I would no longer wake up every morning and experience something new and exhilarating. I was afraid that the happiness I knew in Africa wouldn’t return home with me. I feared that I would forget about everything that I had learned while on my journey, and that my life would just continue on as it was before. Thankfully, being back home has been quite the contrary. If anything, I am happier and appreciate life much more than I ever have before.
The most difficult things have been trying to convince people that I have not turned into a radical man hating feminist. I guess my journals seemed a little vagina monologueish for some… I still can’t believe that people actually read them! But living in America, where being equal is basically your birthright (unless of course you’re gay) its hard to comprehend a society where rape and assault run rampant, and women are treated as second-class citizens. It was infuriating to witness it first hand, knowing that women enjoy equal rights every day in America.
America is a blessed country, which so many of us take for granted. We are so fortunate to have our freedoms and opportunities (hopefully the current administration won’t be successful taking them away). I am so grateful to live in a place where there is law and order. Its comforting to feel safe walking down the street. It’s liberating to walk into a bar and order a drink without men thinking I am a prostitute. And I am damn thankful that I have grown up having control over my life, and believing that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.
Before I left to Africa, a woman asked me (with a condescending tone) ‘do you really think you are going to make a difference there? I was initially offended and barked back, but her comment resounded in my mind. Was I going to make a difference? How can one person actually make an impact? What the hell was I doing going to Africa anyway? Now I know how easy it is to make a difference. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Being a part of something bigger than myself, feeling that my actions were making a difference in the lives of people, was an extraordinary experience.
Africa did so much for me. The months I spent there were the happiest, most fulfilling months of my life. It gave me a taste of the amazing world we live in. I can’t wait to continue the journey I have begun…