Monday, August 17, 2009
Final Post
All three of us made it safely to the top of Kilimanjaro. It was fairly difficult but an incredible hike. I am boarding my plane back to the States in a few hours. Hard to believe the time has passed so quickly but I'm looking forward to getting back home. Thanks for reading! Baadaye.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Day 46 - Matatizo ya Barua (Mail Problems)
After completing my oral proficiency evaluation relatively unscathed, I only have a short presentation to prepare for tomorrow before finishing the program! This week has been relatively uneventful, except for yesterday.
The day did not start off well. It was cold and rainy in the morning, and so I awoke feeling slightly under the weather (I am currently terrified of contracting a cold, as it would make the Kilimanjaro climb significantly harder). We left for a primary school in the morning. I was genuinely looking forward to visiting the school and interacting with the kids but unfortunately I didn't fully recover by our trip. Nonetheless, I had a great hour-long conversation with a sixth grader named Joseph. He told me anything and everything I ever needed to know about all of the plants and trees on the school's property. The school was very interesting. It has over one thousand students and anywhere from 40-60 kids in each class.
After returning from the school in the afternoon, Hugh told me that I had a package notification at reception but I needed to pay some money. I had been anticipating this package for about a week - my parents sent me some hiking pants and other necessary items for the Kilimanjaro climb, so with only two or three days remaining before the trek, I was starting to get nervous about its arrival. I went to reception to claim the package. Instead, I was given a receipt of the mailing slip from the USPS, and two pieces of paper from the Tanzanian Postal Service. The receptionist turned one of the pieces of paper over, and 97,000/= (Tanzanian shillings) was handwritten on the back. "You need to go to the post office and pay this amount." The charge was about $80 US dollars. Needless to say, I was in disbelief, especially since my parents had already paid full postage. I was planning on sleeping that afternoon. Instead, I boarded a dalladalla by myself and ventured into Arusha.
Like most people, I become fairly agitated if I think someone is trying to take advantage of me. Especially since no matter what you do, how you dress, or what you say, people will think you are overflowing with money because of your skin color. The 45 minute dalladalla ride and 30 minute walk to find the post office did nothing to calm my temper. If anything it made me more upset. I found the post office, walked to the window, and gave the postal worker the receipt I had received. I intentionally did not give her the torn-off piece of paper with the 97,000/= charge. After exchanging a few pleasantries in Swahili, she calculated the "import tax" which I needed to pay. It turned about to be the same as the first figure.
She then pointed to a numerical figure at the corner of the USPS receipt, which had an acronymn next to it. She asked if I knew what this figure meant. I said no. She then told me she also didn't know what it meant. But even still, she took this figure, converted it into Tanzanian shillings, and that's how she figured out my tax. But wait a minute, I said in Swahili, you just said you didn't know what the number was for! She then said it was the cost of the package. She pointed to a different section of the receipt, where my parents had written the costs of the items within the package for insurance purposes. She started naming the items in my package and their costs. "But those figures are only for insurance - you're not supposed to be looking at that," I said. She then said to ignore the costs of the items, but returned to the first value (whose meaning we both didn't know). She then redid her calculations. I then said she's basing this tax (which, I may add, wound up to be about 50%) off an unknown number. We went back and forth for awhile, mostly in Swahili but bits also in English.
After awhile, I laughed and said "Samahani, mimi si chizi." Or, I'm sorry, but I'm not crazy. Some people in the lobby began to notice our conversation and looked over. She then repeated the ridiculous charge which I was surely not paying. After a continued back-and-forth, I was starting to get more agitated. At this point, I laughed again, took a small step back, looked at some of the other people in line, and said (relatively loudly), "Wao ni wizi hapa!" Or, they are theives here! The people waiting loved this one, and some of them started laughing. The woman I was speaking with immediately backpeddled - I'm not a theif! This is a government policy! It's not me! She then pointed to a letter with government leatterhead, as if that was enough to convince me. She then proceeded to bring my package and open it up on the front counter. I wasn't pleased with this turn of events, but she began to go through the contents and ask me how much I paid for them (even though the values were written on the receipt). Seeking to save myself from highway robbery, I decided to bend the truth a bit.
She started with a math book which I will be giving to my host brother as a gift. To give you a sense of the ridiculous thought process, she said "There is no tax on books or computers, since they are technology." I didn't argue this point. For the pair of hiking pants, I said that I had actually bought them as used; the initial value is what was written down, but that's not what they are currently worth (even though the tags were still on them). She said she didn't believe me, since they looked new. I said that I paid a significantly lower rate than what was written.
She moved on to a dufflebag my parents also sent. It, too, was in its package, but she again asked me what I had paid (because clearly, I had purchased the American items while in Tanzanian, and sent them to myself). I decided to be cheeky and asked "Katika soko la Tengeru, mfuko huu ni shilingi ngapi?" Or, how much could I get this at the Tengeru market? She laughed and said that these are not sold in Tengeru. Even still, I drastically lowered the price of the bag. Yet again, she balked. "But this is really nice material! This is not cheap." At this point, I was entirely confused as to why she was in a position to determine the costs of items. Wanting to question her judgement of pricing, I asked her "Unafanya kazi hapa posta, au unafanya kazi soko la Tengeru?" "Do you work here in the Post Office, or do you work in the Tengeru market?" She said she worked here, but "had a lot of experience with pricing items."
She then put everything back into the box and asked me the total amount I had paid for everything. It was like a market conversation, but in reverse. I said $25 USD. She then did her bogus calculation, and she came up with a new tax of 15,000/=, or roughly $10 USD. I decided I wasn't going to get anything lower, so I paid the tax. After I paid, we talked about my studies and met her youngest daughter. "Nashukuru kukufahamu" - I'm happy to know you - I said somewhat sarcastically. She laughed and said the same to me. Before I left I said I would enjoy talking with her tomorrow. She said I was always welcome to come back. For some reason, I didn't find myself returning to the Post Office today.
She was a decently nice woman, so I felt badly that I gave her a bit of a hard time, but I know taking advantage of the mzungu when I see it. Unfortunately, on that afternoon, when I should have been recovering, I was not in a mood to cater to their gauging tendencies. I always anticipate having to barter at a market or at other informal (non-governmental) places. Thus it took me by surprise when I learned I needed to also 'barter' at the post office. Either way, I successfully retrieved my package and managed to avoid emptying my bank account in the process.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in town with some friends. Today is relatively calm, since the oral proficiency exam is over. Just a quick presentation about the Tragedy of the Commons tomorrow, and I am finished!
The day did not start off well. It was cold and rainy in the morning, and so I awoke feeling slightly under the weather (I am currently terrified of contracting a cold, as it would make the Kilimanjaro climb significantly harder). We left for a primary school in the morning. I was genuinely looking forward to visiting the school and interacting with the kids but unfortunately I didn't fully recover by our trip. Nonetheless, I had a great hour-long conversation with a sixth grader named Joseph. He told me anything and everything I ever needed to know about all of the plants and trees on the school's property. The school was very interesting. It has over one thousand students and anywhere from 40-60 kids in each class.
After returning from the school in the afternoon, Hugh told me that I had a package notification at reception but I needed to pay some money. I had been anticipating this package for about a week - my parents sent me some hiking pants and other necessary items for the Kilimanjaro climb, so with only two or three days remaining before the trek, I was starting to get nervous about its arrival. I went to reception to claim the package. Instead, I was given a receipt of the mailing slip from the USPS, and two pieces of paper from the Tanzanian Postal Service. The receptionist turned one of the pieces of paper over, and 97,000/= (Tanzanian shillings) was handwritten on the back. "You need to go to the post office and pay this amount." The charge was about $80 US dollars. Needless to say, I was in disbelief, especially since my parents had already paid full postage. I was planning on sleeping that afternoon. Instead, I boarded a dalladalla by myself and ventured into Arusha.
Like most people, I become fairly agitated if I think someone is trying to take advantage of me. Especially since no matter what you do, how you dress, or what you say, people will think you are overflowing with money because of your skin color. The 45 minute dalladalla ride and 30 minute walk to find the post office did nothing to calm my temper. If anything it made me more upset. I found the post office, walked to the window, and gave the postal worker the receipt I had received. I intentionally did not give her the torn-off piece of paper with the 97,000/= charge. After exchanging a few pleasantries in Swahili, she calculated the "import tax" which I needed to pay. It turned about to be the same as the first figure.
She then pointed to a numerical figure at the corner of the USPS receipt, which had an acronymn next to it. She asked if I knew what this figure meant. I said no. She then told me she also didn't know what it meant. But even still, she took this figure, converted it into Tanzanian shillings, and that's how she figured out my tax. But wait a minute, I said in Swahili, you just said you didn't know what the number was for! She then said it was the cost of the package. She pointed to a different section of the receipt, where my parents had written the costs of the items within the package for insurance purposes. She started naming the items in my package and their costs. "But those figures are only for insurance - you're not supposed to be looking at that," I said. She then said to ignore the costs of the items, but returned to the first value (whose meaning we both didn't know). She then redid her calculations. I then said she's basing this tax (which, I may add, wound up to be about 50%) off an unknown number. We went back and forth for awhile, mostly in Swahili but bits also in English.
After awhile, I laughed and said "Samahani, mimi si chizi." Or, I'm sorry, but I'm not crazy. Some people in the lobby began to notice our conversation and looked over. She then repeated the ridiculous charge which I was surely not paying. After a continued back-and-forth, I was starting to get more agitated. At this point, I laughed again, took a small step back, looked at some of the other people in line, and said (relatively loudly), "Wao ni wizi hapa!" Or, they are theives here! The people waiting loved this one, and some of them started laughing. The woman I was speaking with immediately backpeddled - I'm not a theif! This is a government policy! It's not me! She then pointed to a letter with government leatterhead, as if that was enough to convince me. She then proceeded to bring my package and open it up on the front counter. I wasn't pleased with this turn of events, but she began to go through the contents and ask me how much I paid for them (even though the values were written on the receipt). Seeking to save myself from highway robbery, I decided to bend the truth a bit.
She started with a math book which I will be giving to my host brother as a gift. To give you a sense of the ridiculous thought process, she said "There is no tax on books or computers, since they are technology." I didn't argue this point. For the pair of hiking pants, I said that I had actually bought them as used; the initial value is what was written down, but that's not what they are currently worth (even though the tags were still on them). She said she didn't believe me, since they looked new. I said that I paid a significantly lower rate than what was written.
She moved on to a dufflebag my parents also sent. It, too, was in its package, but she again asked me what I had paid (because clearly, I had purchased the American items while in Tanzanian, and sent them to myself). I decided to be cheeky and asked "Katika soko la Tengeru, mfuko huu ni shilingi ngapi?" Or, how much could I get this at the Tengeru market? She laughed and said that these are not sold in Tengeru. Even still, I drastically lowered the price of the bag. Yet again, she balked. "But this is really nice material! This is not cheap." At this point, I was entirely confused as to why she was in a position to determine the costs of items. Wanting to question her judgement of pricing, I asked her "Unafanya kazi hapa posta, au unafanya kazi soko la Tengeru?" "Do you work here in the Post Office, or do you work in the Tengeru market?" She said she worked here, but "had a lot of experience with pricing items."
She then put everything back into the box and asked me the total amount I had paid for everything. It was like a market conversation, but in reverse. I said $25 USD. She then did her bogus calculation, and she came up with a new tax of 15,000/=, or roughly $10 USD. I decided I wasn't going to get anything lower, so I paid the tax. After I paid, we talked about my studies and met her youngest daughter. "Nashukuru kukufahamu" - I'm happy to know you - I said somewhat sarcastically. She laughed and said the same to me. Before I left I said I would enjoy talking with her tomorrow. She said I was always welcome to come back. For some reason, I didn't find myself returning to the Post Office today.
She was a decently nice woman, so I felt badly that I gave her a bit of a hard time, but I know taking advantage of the mzungu when I see it. Unfortunately, on that afternoon, when I should have been recovering, I was not in a mood to cater to their gauging tendencies. I always anticipate having to barter at a market or at other informal (non-governmental) places. Thus it took me by surprise when I learned I needed to also 'barter' at the post office. Either way, I successfully retrieved my package and managed to avoid emptying my bank account in the process.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in town with some friends. Today is relatively calm, since the oral proficiency exam is over. Just a quick presentation about the Tragedy of the Commons tomorrow, and I am finished!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Day 43 - The White African
This is the last week of the intensive Swahili program. We are staying at the TCDC campus for the remaining time, but this past weekend was our last weekend with our host family. I'm definitely looking forward to completing the program (final exam, oral proficiency exam, and final project presentation still to go), but not looking forward to leaving the country. This weekend, per usual, had its own series of (mis)fortunate events.
It is a small world after all [even in Kambia chupa Madukani, Tanzania].
Friday afternoon, we left the campus and returned to our host family. Friday evening, we went to "Slope Hill Bar" with our host father. The bar and restaurant is a small establishment about 5 minute walking distance from our house. It's located in a group of small shops that overlook the main road into Arusha. This particular evening, Hugh and I met Sarah, a 21-year-old from Ohio who has been volunteering in Tanzania several times. She is renting a house from our host dad with her boyfriend, Emanuel. When I was talking to Emanuel (who was born in Arusha), he told me that he spent about 5 years living in Silver Spring, Maryland! His dad worked for the World Bank in D.C. for a number of years. He also told me he enjoyed going to Hagerstown, MD because apparently there is a place to buy butchered goats. He was also talking to me about his trips into northern Virginia, and "Amish Country" in Pennsylvania (watu ambao hawapendi umeme - people which don't like electricity). He also said he had neighbors who worked in the Johns Hopkins University Hospital, which is the same hospital where I was born. It was definitely a chance encounter in such a removed bar in northern Tanzania.
It would be one thing if my conversation with Emanuel was the first of its kind, but several weeks ago, I met a friend of my host father who studied one year at Indiana University! It was back in the 70's, but he remembered he stayed in Eigenmann and got a degree through the School of Education. It's funny to think both chance encounters happened at this small little restaurant 10 minutes outside of Arusha.
Saturday was the goat slaughtering day. We went to the main Tengeru market with our host mom (always funny to see the look on peoples' faces when they saw two white guys helping the Tanzanian woman!). After we returned from the market, all of my host father's brothers came to the house. We cleared a section of the backyard and placed chairs to watch the process. It was a little graphic, but not as bad as I was expecting. Our host father was telling us about the Chagga beliefs about the goat - evaluating the health of the family by looking at its intestines, throwing away a small piece of the heart for good luck, seeing if finances will improve, etc. We then grilled the meat immediately upon butchering and had dinner! In addition to the meat, I ate liver (not recommended), a foot (also not recommended), stomach lining (also not recommended) and large intestines (actually not that bad!). After that we tried some of the local Chagga brew - mbege - which was actually made from bananas and not too bad. We were drinking from a gourd, which was interesting as well.
Sunday was supposed to be a day devoted to studying. I say "supposed to" with good cause. I started the day studying in bed. Around lunchtime, Hugh and I asked Beda to take us to the top of the small mountain (really, it's a hill) by our house. We quickly lost the main path and were at times nearly crawling on the ground to avoid trees and branches. We nearly turned back, but managed to find the summit. It was a terrific view! Unfortunately Mt. Meru and Mt. Kilimanjaro were covered by clouds, but it was a great site of the landscape. We then found the main path back down the mountain - which entailed a lot of running and "skiing" down the slopes on the loose dirt. We then exited through the back of an unknown (to Hugh and myself) village. We were all pretty dirty, and people were really surprised to see us. I told Hugh it was as if we had dropped out of the sky - it was pretty funny. When we were walking back, we both needed to get work done. We were walking up to the house, when our host parents were driving away. They said there was a celebration which we should attend...so much for working!
I wasn't pleased about the forced attendance of this random celebration. It was in Kwa Mrefu, which is the next village over (about a 15 minute walk) and getting late. The electricity was also out for the day, so we needed the natural light to do our work. Regardless, we went. But only for a little bit, and then we would go (Beda assured us this was okay). We were walking up to the house with Beda, when we quickly realized this wasn't in informal get-together. Everyone was nicely dressed, there was an outdoor tent set up, with balloons and about 50 chairs - filled with people. There were also speakers and an emcee, with food and beverages. Things just became a bit worse.
We sit down after getting food in the crowd. We are sitting down, listening to the emcee, when Beda says we should go give money to the boy and shake his hand (it was celebrating his first communion - he was standing up front-and-center in a suit with about 4 of his friends, also in suits). I thought this would be fun, so after pressuring Hugh for a moment to join me, we got up and walked toward the front. It was hysterical to see the kid's face when he realized the only two wazungu in the crowd were coming up to him. His eyes tripled in size and his jaw dropped a bit. After returning to my seat, I noticed most of the people in the crowd were laughing. I didn't need anyone to tell me to whom they were directing their laughter.
It couldn't get any worse, right?
Later in the ceremony (way longer than we were anticipating staying) they brought a cake out for the boy and set it on a table right in front of him (again, front and center of the 50-75 person crowd). The emcee started calling up every single member of the family - parents, aunts, grandma, grandpa, paternal uncles, maternal uncles, etc etc etc. After each person was called, they walked up to the table, when the boy took a piece of cake on a toothpick and fed it to them. There was a photographer documenting the entire procedure. Hugh and I began wondering how long this was going to last, but at least we could sit back and not be noticed, right? After a few minutes, I noticed several people sitting around us had left for another area of the house. After that moment, it was similar to watching a car crash in slow motion. Hugh and I exchanged looks of "What if they call us up?" and we both looked at the ground hoping to suddenly become invisible. It didn't work. I looked up briefly, when the emcee was walking towards us with her microphone. She started to walk through the crowd, which she didn't do for anyone else (after this moment, I could only hear faint sounds and couldn't distinguish any words from the speakers). I looked at Hugh, who was burying his face in his hat. She paused right in front of us, put her hand up to the cake, and in a rush of regaining consciousness, I heard "Karibuni." Welcome.
We walk up to the center of the ceremony, stand and wait while they cut more pieces of cake, and line up in front of the boy. Of course the photographer is telling us to wait until he finds the best angle, and after a bit of maneuvering, we bend over to be fed cake with a toothpick by a 10 year old whose name I still don't know. Needless to say, the laughter returned.
After this experience, Hugh and I were ready to leave. We were told by Beda that we should take a drink with the elder members of the crowd in a separate room in the house. We entered to a cramped, dark room and finished our drink as quickly as possible in silence. On the way leaving the house, Beda said someone in the ceremony said Hugh and I were 'white Africans,' since we were not shy like Americans or other Europeans. Even after being publicly humiliated repeatedly, I left the ceremony pleased.
The electricity still had not returned when we got back to the house. We tried working for a couple hours by candlelight, when our host dad returned and said that Gladstone (the gentleman who went to IU) wanted to see us again before we left. So, we left the house and talked with him once more. After getting back, the electricity returned and after more studying we went to bed. This morning we left the house for the final time. It was definitely sad to leave Moivaro and Kambia Chupa. Hopefully it won't be too long before I return again.
It is a small world after all [even in Kambia chupa Madukani, Tanzania].
Friday afternoon, we left the campus and returned to our host family. Friday evening, we went to "Slope Hill Bar" with our host father. The bar and restaurant is a small establishment about 5 minute walking distance from our house. It's located in a group of small shops that overlook the main road into Arusha. This particular evening, Hugh and I met Sarah, a 21-year-old from Ohio who has been volunteering in Tanzania several times. She is renting a house from our host dad with her boyfriend, Emanuel. When I was talking to Emanuel (who was born in Arusha), he told me that he spent about 5 years living in Silver Spring, Maryland! His dad worked for the World Bank in D.C. for a number of years. He also told me he enjoyed going to Hagerstown, MD because apparently there is a place to buy butchered goats. He was also talking to me about his trips into northern Virginia, and "Amish Country" in Pennsylvania (watu ambao hawapendi umeme - people which don't like electricity). He also said he had neighbors who worked in the Johns Hopkins University Hospital, which is the same hospital where I was born. It was definitely a chance encounter in such a removed bar in northern Tanzania.
It would be one thing if my conversation with Emanuel was the first of its kind, but several weeks ago, I met a friend of my host father who studied one year at Indiana University! It was back in the 70's, but he remembered he stayed in Eigenmann and got a degree through the School of Education. It's funny to think both chance encounters happened at this small little restaurant 10 minutes outside of Arusha.
Saturday was the goat slaughtering day. We went to the main Tengeru market with our host mom (always funny to see the look on peoples' faces when they saw two white guys helping the Tanzanian woman!). After we returned from the market, all of my host father's brothers came to the house. We cleared a section of the backyard and placed chairs to watch the process. It was a little graphic, but not as bad as I was expecting. Our host father was telling us about the Chagga beliefs about the goat - evaluating the health of the family by looking at its intestines, throwing away a small piece of the heart for good luck, seeing if finances will improve, etc. We then grilled the meat immediately upon butchering and had dinner! In addition to the meat, I ate liver (not recommended), a foot (also not recommended), stomach lining (also not recommended) and large intestines (actually not that bad!). After that we tried some of the local Chagga brew - mbege - which was actually made from bananas and not too bad. We were drinking from a gourd, which was interesting as well.
Sunday was supposed to be a day devoted to studying. I say "supposed to" with good cause. I started the day studying in bed. Around lunchtime, Hugh and I asked Beda to take us to the top of the small mountain (really, it's a hill) by our house. We quickly lost the main path and were at times nearly crawling on the ground to avoid trees and branches. We nearly turned back, but managed to find the summit. It was a terrific view! Unfortunately Mt. Meru and Mt. Kilimanjaro were covered by clouds, but it was a great site of the landscape. We then found the main path back down the mountain - which entailed a lot of running and "skiing" down the slopes on the loose dirt. We then exited through the back of an unknown (to Hugh and myself) village. We were all pretty dirty, and people were really surprised to see us. I told Hugh it was as if we had dropped out of the sky - it was pretty funny. When we were walking back, we both needed to get work done. We were walking up to the house, when our host parents were driving away. They said there was a celebration which we should attend...so much for working!
I wasn't pleased about the forced attendance of this random celebration. It was in Kwa Mrefu, which is the next village over (about a 15 minute walk) and getting late. The electricity was also out for the day, so we needed the natural light to do our work. Regardless, we went. But only for a little bit, and then we would go (Beda assured us this was okay). We were walking up to the house with Beda, when we quickly realized this wasn't in informal get-together. Everyone was nicely dressed, there was an outdoor tent set up, with balloons and about 50 chairs - filled with people. There were also speakers and an emcee, with food and beverages. Things just became a bit worse.
We sit down after getting food in the crowd. We are sitting down, listening to the emcee, when Beda says we should go give money to the boy and shake his hand (it was celebrating his first communion - he was standing up front-and-center in a suit with about 4 of his friends, also in suits). I thought this would be fun, so after pressuring Hugh for a moment to join me, we got up and walked toward the front. It was hysterical to see the kid's face when he realized the only two wazungu in the crowd were coming up to him. His eyes tripled in size and his jaw dropped a bit. After returning to my seat, I noticed most of the people in the crowd were laughing. I didn't need anyone to tell me to whom they were directing their laughter.
It couldn't get any worse, right?
Later in the ceremony (way longer than we were anticipating staying) they brought a cake out for the boy and set it on a table right in front of him (again, front and center of the 50-75 person crowd). The emcee started calling up every single member of the family - parents, aunts, grandma, grandpa, paternal uncles, maternal uncles, etc etc etc. After each person was called, they walked up to the table, when the boy took a piece of cake on a toothpick and fed it to them. There was a photographer documenting the entire procedure. Hugh and I began wondering how long this was going to last, but at least we could sit back and not be noticed, right? After a few minutes, I noticed several people sitting around us had left for another area of the house. After that moment, it was similar to watching a car crash in slow motion. Hugh and I exchanged looks of "What if they call us up?" and we both looked at the ground hoping to suddenly become invisible. It didn't work. I looked up briefly, when the emcee was walking towards us with her microphone. She started to walk through the crowd, which she didn't do for anyone else (after this moment, I could only hear faint sounds and couldn't distinguish any words from the speakers). I looked at Hugh, who was burying his face in his hat. She paused right in front of us, put her hand up to the cake, and in a rush of regaining consciousness, I heard "Karibuni." Welcome.
We walk up to the center of the ceremony, stand and wait while they cut more pieces of cake, and line up in front of the boy. Of course the photographer is telling us to wait until he finds the best angle, and after a bit of maneuvering, we bend over to be fed cake with a toothpick by a 10 year old whose name I still don't know. Needless to say, the laughter returned.
After this experience, Hugh and I were ready to leave. We were told by Beda that we should take a drink with the elder members of the crowd in a separate room in the house. We entered to a cramped, dark room and finished our drink as quickly as possible in silence. On the way leaving the house, Beda said someone in the ceremony said Hugh and I were 'white Africans,' since we were not shy like Americans or other Europeans. Even after being publicly humiliated repeatedly, I left the ceremony pleased.
The electricity still had not returned when we got back to the house. We tried working for a couple hours by candlelight, when our host dad returned and said that Gladstone (the gentleman who went to IU) wanted to see us again before we left. So, we left the house and talked with him once more. After getting back, the electricity returned and after more studying we went to bed. This morning we left the house for the final time. It was definitely sad to leave Moivaro and Kambia Chupa. Hopefully it won't be too long before I return again.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Day 38 - Back to Work!
It has not been an easy transition since returning from Zanzibar. We were all aware of the schedule before leaving, but it has been hard to refocus on constant studying after returning from, quite literally, paradise.
Apologies for the lack of updates in the past week and a half, although there hasn't been too much to report. We have returned to living on campus at TCDC during the week but continue to stay with our host families during the weekend. We are also getting ready for next week - reminiscent of Finals Week in college - as we have two papers, two presentations, an oral proficiency examination and a final written examination. Working on those projects has required much of my time but I did manage to have some interesting experiences during the past week and a half.
Last Thursday, we went to Usa Market, which is a smaller non-tourist market by our campus. I wasn't too thrilled about going, since we have had a lot of practice speaking in markets already. I also didn't see many things I wanted to buy - used t-shirts, watches, backpacks, fruits, vegetables, etc. didn't interest me. After an hour a group of us were about to leave when I walked by a particular vendor on the fringe of the market. I noticed he was selling belts with a rectangular buckle of the American flag. As I came closer to the buckle, the picture changed to President Obama. It was most definitely a hologram of the flag and Obama. Naturally, I bought it. Tomorrow we are going to go to the ICTR - International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which should be extremely interesting. We are encouraged to wear formal clothes - I will be wearing brown shoes, khaki pants, blue shirt and tie, and the Obama belt.
This past weekend with our host family was also enjoyable. Saturday, Hugh and I went into Arusha to run some errands and visit the Maasai Market. We successfully made it to the market (which is geared for tourists) and went around shopping. It was very reminiscent of Zanzibar - constantly getting hounded for business. After we returned we went for a short hike with Beda, our 14 year old host brother, down to the nearby river. It was evident that it was the hang-out for the village kids, as about 10 kids were by the river swimming and playing on the rocks. We ran with the kids for a bit, which entailed them laughing as Hugh and I struggled to keep up. Either way, it was a lot of fun. We returned in the evening and spent the evening at home.
On Sunday Hugh and I explored more of Moivaro (the village where our host family lives). We walked about 15 minutes down the road to find "Moivaro Lodge and Coffee Plantation." We had heard many stories about this place, mostly pertaining to its cost ("A beer is five U.S. dollars!!") so we decided to check it out. We walked through the gate and came to find it encompassed a large area of land. We then walked back into the 'plantation' and found the central building and restaurant. Needless to say, it was wazungu central, but it was indeed nice. We stopped into the gift shop (it's always nice to speak in Swahili with Tanzanians in overtly tourist locations, since they are so used to speaking English only) to find that the prices were in U.S. dollars (always a bad sign for overpriced goods) and they were at least 5 times the amount a tourist can get away with at a local market. We left after a short conversation.
After we returned home, I helped Beda with some of his math homework. It was a fairly basic lesson but it had been too long since my last math class! I think I helped a small degree, but it was a little frustrating. We then learned the process of coffee production. Eastern Africa (northern Tanzania in particular) is famous for its coffee, so this was a treat. Our host dad has a coffee business in addition to his regular job at TCDC, so he owns several areas of land in the area for coffee production, but he also has some coffee plants by the house. We didn't experience the process of picking the seeds, peeling them and drying the beans, but we did basically everything else. It was a process of crushing the seeds to find the beans (the picture below is from this step), separating the seeds 'husks' from the beans, cleaning the beans to ensure no husk is remaining, and then roasting! It was a lot of fun - not to mention the treat of having the coffee for breakfast the next day!
After coffee, our host parents took us to Lake Duluti, which is another conservation area near Arusha. It was a beautiful lake and reminded me of some of the lakes in Montana (minus the Rocky Mountains in the background). We spent several hours there, watching the sunset and having dinner. After we returned, we spoke with our host dad about a possible gift to the family. Hugh previously knew that slaughtering a goat was a celebratory event for the Chagga (the ethnic group my host family is apart of) so we offered to pay for the process as a gift when we leave. Little did we know that, since it is still fairly soon after the funeral for our host dad's brother, the slaughtering of a goat would culturally also be included with the funeral celebration (after so many days, usually a goat is slaughtered to celebrate the end of the mourning period). In other words, what was initially a small gesture of appreciation, to be experienced by our immediate host family, myself, and Hugh, has now become an extended family (and perhaps friends, village, etc.) affair. Our host dad made sure we understood that "this would not be a small gathering." In my mind, that makes it much more enjoyable and worthwhile. He was saying how much his family would appreciate us doing this and how it much it would mean to them. It is being planned for Saturday afternoon - I will be sure to let you know how it goes!
Apologies for the lack of updates in the past week and a half, although there hasn't been too much to report. We have returned to living on campus at TCDC during the week but continue to stay with our host families during the weekend. We are also getting ready for next week - reminiscent of Finals Week in college - as we have two papers, two presentations, an oral proficiency examination and a final written examination. Working on those projects has required much of my time but I did manage to have some interesting experiences during the past week and a half.
Last Thursday, we went to Usa Market, which is a smaller non-tourist market by our campus. I wasn't too thrilled about going, since we have had a lot of practice speaking in markets already. I also didn't see many things I wanted to buy - used t-shirts, watches, backpacks, fruits, vegetables, etc. didn't interest me. After an hour a group of us were about to leave when I walked by a particular vendor on the fringe of the market. I noticed he was selling belts with a rectangular buckle of the American flag. As I came closer to the buckle, the picture changed to President Obama. It was most definitely a hologram of the flag and Obama. Naturally, I bought it. Tomorrow we are going to go to the ICTR - International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which should be extremely interesting. We are encouraged to wear formal clothes - I will be wearing brown shoes, khaki pants, blue shirt and tie, and the Obama belt.
This past weekend with our host family was also enjoyable. Saturday, Hugh and I went into Arusha to run some errands and visit the Maasai Market. We successfully made it to the market (which is geared for tourists) and went around shopping. It was very reminiscent of Zanzibar - constantly getting hounded for business. After we returned we went for a short hike with Beda, our 14 year old host brother, down to the nearby river. It was evident that it was the hang-out for the village kids, as about 10 kids were by the river swimming and playing on the rocks. We ran with the kids for a bit, which entailed them laughing as Hugh and I struggled to keep up. Either way, it was a lot of fun. We returned in the evening and spent the evening at home.
On Sunday Hugh and I explored more of Moivaro (the village where our host family lives). We walked about 15 minutes down the road to find "Moivaro Lodge and Coffee Plantation." We had heard many stories about this place, mostly pertaining to its cost ("A beer is five U.S. dollars!!") so we decided to check it out. We walked through the gate and came to find it encompassed a large area of land. We then walked back into the 'plantation' and found the central building and restaurant. Needless to say, it was wazungu central, but it was indeed nice. We stopped into the gift shop (it's always nice to speak in Swahili with Tanzanians in overtly tourist locations, since they are so used to speaking English only) to find that the prices were in U.S. dollars (always a bad sign for overpriced goods) and they were at least 5 times the amount a tourist can get away with at a local market. We left after a short conversation.
After we returned home, I helped Beda with some of his math homework. It was a fairly basic lesson but it had been too long since my last math class! I think I helped a small degree, but it was a little frustrating. We then learned the process of coffee production. Eastern Africa (northern Tanzania in particular) is famous for its coffee, so this was a treat. Our host dad has a coffee business in addition to his regular job at TCDC, so he owns several areas of land in the area for coffee production, but he also has some coffee plants by the house. We didn't experience the process of picking the seeds, peeling them and drying the beans, but we did basically everything else. It was a process of crushing the seeds to find the beans (the picture below is from this step), separating the seeds 'husks' from the beans, cleaning the beans to ensure no husk is remaining, and then roasting! It was a lot of fun - not to mention the treat of having the coffee for breakfast the next day!
After coffee, our host parents took us to Lake Duluti, which is another conservation area near Arusha. It was a beautiful lake and reminded me of some of the lakes in Montana (minus the Rocky Mountains in the background). We spent several hours there, watching the sunset and having dinner. After we returned, we spoke with our host dad about a possible gift to the family. Hugh previously knew that slaughtering a goat was a celebratory event for the Chagga (the ethnic group my host family is apart of) so we offered to pay for the process as a gift when we leave. Little did we know that, since it is still fairly soon after the funeral for our host dad's brother, the slaughtering of a goat would culturally also be included with the funeral celebration (after so many days, usually a goat is slaughtered to celebrate the end of the mourning period). In other words, what was initially a small gesture of appreciation, to be experienced by our immediate host family, myself, and Hugh, has now become an extended family (and perhaps friends, village, etc.) affair. Our host dad made sure we understood that "this would not be a small gathering." In my mind, that makes it much more enjoyable and worthwhile. He was saying how much his family would appreciate us doing this and how it much it would mean to them. It is being planned for Saturday afternoon - I will be sure to let you know how it goes!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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