tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12220040656504091742024-03-12T16:40:06.461-07:00Liz in TanzaniaLiz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-29940439267443816572014-08-08T19:47:00.003-07:002014-08-08T19:47:58.453-07:00St. Mary's vs Government Schools: No contest<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Dear Sponsors and Friends,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">We've been exploring ways to entice people with money to donate for school construction, as our class space can no longer accommodate our student body, we must build. I figured it would help if I was to test a few local kids from the government schools, then compare their results with ours. Going into it, I knew we would do better, we always do, but I am looking for measurable results now; measurable results are enticing. Since we just gave our kids their midterm exams, this seemed a good place to begin, half the experiment has been done already. Charlene and I asked Farida and Joan (two students from St. Mary's) to round up a random sampling of kids from the local school to come to my house and take the same test our kids took. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Participation meant cookies, so it wasn't hard to find kids.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Like I said, I knew we would do well in comparison, but what I did not expect was the absolute massacre that it was. Our passing grade is 70%, and the midterm is our chance to see where we need to focus and project how our kids will do on the final. And they did just fine. Most passed, a few are close, and the few we knew wouldn't pass, didn't. Three of our Std 1 kids will most likely be held back next year. Junior got 16% on his math test, and I doubt he will make up the 54 points needed to pass. Hamna shida (no worries), it's ok to be held back. Government schools require 40% to continue on to the next grade. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">So, we gathered about 8 kids on my porch, with their papers and pencils, Farida and Joan ( the 2 kids from St. Mary's school) ready and willing to translate. They are really quite fluent so there wasn't any problem with the kids understanding the instructions. These were kids in Stds 1, 2 and 3, with an age range of 7 to 12. Only the older kids could write their names, and only the oldest boy could do the first part of the test. Early on, we saw we needed to revamp our plan. Basically, we just asked the little kids to write their numbers from 1 to 20. Some could, some couldn't. We did some simple addition, 2 + 2, 3 + 2… Again, the older kids could do it, but the younger ones needed lots of help and it was clear they didn't understand. To sum it up, they did very poorly. We tried to give them an English test the day before but stopped soon into the exercise, it was just too cruel. Making kids feel inferior was not part of the plan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">This evening I gave the Std 3 test to Samweli's brother. Samweli is in Std 3 at St. Mary's, his brother is in Std 6 at the government school. As with the younger kids, there were sections we just had to skip over, and I wrote some problems for him to do. He got a few correct, but generally did as poorly as the others. Samweli is 3 years younger, and he did fine on the midterm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">The government school kids can't do any math in their heads, they either use their fingers or make marks on the paper. In 2003, I taught Std 6 (grade 6) English, in a government school in Idweli, a small village in the southern highlands of Tanzania not far from the Malawi border. I have first hand knowledge of how bad these village schools can be. I have been many places in Tanzania, and Ghana, and it's all the same in most rural schools.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">We asked the kids if the teachers are actually present in the classroom, they said "sometimes." We asked what they had done that day, and they said they cleaned the class. Their teacher has a daughter who attends our school, and it winds me up that he will send his own kid to our school while not teaching at his own school. Teachers not arriving, or actually being in class, is not unusual here. There is no monitoring system, even the head teacher is frequently not in class. It's a bad system, and these sweet, eager little kids are getting short changed by the system everyday they sit in their classes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">There is a National Exam given yearly, in Standards (Grades) 4 and 7, which basically culls the weak from the herd. Students who fail the Standard 4 test do not continue on to Standard 5, they are just done. For those who pass that Standard 4 National Exam with the paltry 40% required, continue on, and then if they fail the Standard 7 National Exam, they are done. That's it for them. There is no chance to take the exam again. Like I said, it's a bad system. You can complain all you want about the American school system, but a kid can do well if he/she wants to there. And if the entire class failed, heads would roll. If teachers failed to show up, or sat outside and talked and used the phone during class time, more heads would roll. Not here.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">So, we got our measurable results to show the people that we are a success, but we don't feel good about it. It wasn't an even match, and if this was a football game on TV, most of you would have changed the channel. We're going to need lots of money in the coming years if we are to survive, and we will be asking everyone, on a regular basis. I have tried to adequately explain how dire the situation is here, but unless you are here, it's almost impossible to grasp how grim it is. I would love to figure out a way to help all the government school kids, but the problems are just too overwhelming. If we could have a very big school, then we could get more kids from the village. But right now we have these 100 kids, and that's the best we can do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">To all of you sponsoring kids here, know that without your help, your child would be in a government school, not learning, being beaten, not getting fed, and spending school time cleaning the class while the teacher doesn't teach. I don't know what more to say but thank you, and please continue your sponsorship. What you are doing for these kids is huge, and it's an opportunity very few kids here will have. They don't realize it now, at this point they just know they like school. But they will come to realize this, and later on, they will be able to do the same for their own kids. No better way to spend your money.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> Nashukuru sana (I am very grateful)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /><span style="font-size: 12px;">These pictures are shown so that you get and idea of what a US kid can do vs St. Mary's kids vs kids at government schools. My granddaughter happened to be the only US educated kid available for comparison. It's not a scientific study. It is done just to show that government schools in Tanzania are not educating children very well and that kids who go to St. Mary's can do a lot better - up to the level of US kids. Some of our St. Mary's kids come from the most impoverished families imaginable, yet they do well.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">Our goal: to get as many sponsors for kids as possible, so that they can get a good education and be the leaders of tomorrow.</span></span>
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My granddaughter in grade 1 at an American school</div>
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taking the standard 1 (grade 1) midterm</div>
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90% correct</div>
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(pipi is candy)</div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px;">(in Tanzania when taking this test)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRf33XoF6hvkgpl1bRJUcOfCeXOBtsXkL_yQKLgn4Ko3IY3c-87HB4nKLrHpQe8LGYBufZcKF_W5S5H4Cmr1FZLBuBlOt2atglNC-wOFl8nbIcAFXvL1ck1fRpNdpXvJxjNgCjF9dJjiw/s1600/Std1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRf33XoF6hvkgpl1bRJUcOfCeXOBtsXkL_yQKLgn4Ko3IY3c-87HB4nKLrHpQe8LGYBufZcKF_W5S5H4Cmr1FZLBuBlOt2atglNC-wOFl8nbIcAFXvL1ck1fRpNdpXvJxjNgCjF9dJjiw/s1600/Std1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Again my Grade 1 granddaughter</div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px;">(in Tanzania when taking this test)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHn8H9I6SYyy3WcygrRstZJBpM6Ze7Bgc_fN6nP82KSzvfO9-5pbmkjy7wPD6ePaD2wf3mEZwtbUTfw_IHOfhVYHwRS5JyzSz5L_IJ7ipwh40CTGRg2RAyv_WpRxTTHqcXAMSaIlV-lHA/s1600/Std6Gov1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHn8H9I6SYyy3WcygrRstZJBpM6Ze7Bgc_fN6nP82KSzvfO9-5pbmkjy7wPD6ePaD2wf3mEZwtbUTfw_IHOfhVYHwRS5JyzSz5L_IJ7ipwh40CTGRg2RAyv_WpRxTTHqcXAMSaIlV-lHA/s1600/Std6Gov1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is a Standard 1 (Grade 1) test taken</div>
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by a Standard 6 (Grade 6) government school student</div>
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5 0f 20 questions were correct</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VZ0gGdCGd05xKy9bSiYhp1zj2X1h0a_xfZ_eURcZJ5RVAw1jt-E78omip18xuZYlqhrLum_8J5W_2GmxQFKv6gJoRaG2C52xCXO4G9E1JI0H21t2QHFbNLeeyBGthyphenhyphenhQwBVjBz31G1Y/s1600/Std6Govt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VZ0gGdCGd05xKy9bSiYhp1zj2X1h0a_xfZ_eURcZJ5RVAw1jt-E78omip18xuZYlqhrLum_8J5W_2GmxQFKv6gJoRaG2C52xCXO4G9E1JI0H21t2QHFbNLeeyBGthyphenhyphenhQwBVjBz31G1Y/s1600/Std6Govt.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Standard 1 (Grade1) math test done by a<br />
Standard 6 (Grade 6) Government School Student<br />
2 of 15 questions correct</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42KFi97VN1ZJZa8c7lQTqp2TSTBcQTpwHZf5WFrisZiyAN0gObiYVQVF7y-KKYJLXf9ItFj45i0gZyt2aR8fgdFlneoq5lgAnZZRobQ0-K8dNp2pql6TlDFp_6Ek9oKZqrzRk8b-vpf4/s1600/STD1StMary's.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42KFi97VN1ZJZa8c7lQTqp2TSTBcQTpwHZf5WFrisZiyAN0gObiYVQVF7y-KKYJLXf9ItFj45i0gZyt2aR8fgdFlneoq5lgAnZZRobQ0-K8dNp2pql6TlDFp_6Ek9oKZqrzRk8b-vpf4/s1600/STD1StMary's.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard 1(Grade 1) math test done by a<br />St. Mary's Standard 1 (Grade 1) student<br />84 1/2% at midterm</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> Liz </span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-88158247225624924072014-06-15T23:41:00.000-07:002014-06-15T23:41:15.782-07:00Grabbing the Rope<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> The letter m before certain words denotes the singular. For example, mwalimu is a teacher, one teacher. Mtoto means a child, one child. Shamba is the word for farm, and while mkulima is the word for farmer, mshamba is a derogatory term for someone "just off the farm", basically, a hick. Washamba is the plural form.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4Og_giYFUiwzcCrirvejFa4e49Mqagd8F2F9srPhqUtDTBJbHlw0A3QDsESOmp1wuW6eE6QS9LvBptzWjLCnnCacWncIiiTSCqSevI62GpmOiUdU_qhrB4XgcYJoyBej5ntHY-mXcEE/s1600/kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4Og_giYFUiwzcCrirvejFa4e49Mqagd8F2F9srPhqUtDTBJbHlw0A3QDsESOmp1wuW6eE6QS9LvBptzWjLCnnCacWncIiiTSCqSevI62GpmOiUdU_qhrB4XgcYJoyBej5ntHY-mXcEE/s1600/kids.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Dirty, dusty village kids.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> My daughter in law, Sarah, has remained behind in the village with her kids while I deal with my problems here in the States. She's doing a fabulous job and I am so proud of her. She didn't have to stay when I left so unexpectedly, and I would not have faulted her if she had left with me. But she chose to stay and continue teaching; pretty brave, if you ask me. Especially with a 5 year old and a 6 year old to take care of.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> There have been good days and bad, like any job. The St. Mary's kids are sweet, fun and absolutely adore her. They will do anything for her. Some even call her Mommy, and will be heartbroken when she leaves. The village kids are another matter altogether. So what's the difference? Why are some of the village kids so washamba and the St. Mary's kids so "normal"? Are the St. Mary's kids basically better people? Are they basically smarter? No and no. The difference is they have been taught.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAXUxUGwTUBeF1RfKmt_XuVo2jMW3v3dS8f906pmD0ydL8nCM-x_59QXIEbEmyw9Zzguo2O-ggpa9BcaIz3wEBhhIO-Ks8e4N6PbTx1rWExJQS8ErO6LMOdLrIlkpLhNZ9xxEswbWlRA/s1600/swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAXUxUGwTUBeF1RfKmt_XuVo2jMW3v3dS8f906pmD0ydL8nCM-x_59QXIEbEmyw9Zzguo2O-ggpa9BcaIz3wEBhhIO-Ks8e4N6PbTx1rWExJQS8ErO6LMOdLrIlkpLhNZ9xxEswbWlRA/s1600/swing.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My son, Asa, helping Neema onto the swing.<br />Most of the kids in this picture are St. Mary’s kids.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> My son put up a rope swing in our back yard, which began as a wonderful thing. Word got out all over the village and soon kids started coming around. We welcomed them at first, because there is little for the kids to play with in the village. There's sticks and mud and other things lying around, and they're very creative with these, but an actual swing was a marvel to them. It was huge fun at first, especially with my big, hairy son out there playing with them and supervising. But he went back to the US for work and things got out of hand, 4 or 5 kids on the rope, kids pulling and shoving to get a turn, pulling kids off the swing. That kind of stuff. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQNm5AdyBPDmkVidFK7rZSMhRo0wYMc8beBpHFRktsz3HakgQIfkSlo7nWkfAdARMtg7Nup1hVs_jhkU3PU4lpP7cknjvhajn2ow2Yw60ASz9fngHfzpF15lz-IkMuBJYu3JcXbQXeMY/s1600/more+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQNm5AdyBPDmkVidFK7rZSMhRo0wYMc8beBpHFRktsz3HakgQIfkSlo7nWkfAdARMtg7Nup1hVs_jhkU3PU4lpP7cknjvhajn2ow2Yw60ASz9fngHfzpF15lz-IkMuBJYu3JcXbQXeMY/s1600/more+kids.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They’re dirty, dusty, and everywhere.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We told them that they were welcome to play on the swing, and with the tub of toys Sarah and Asa brought with them. We told them the rules. They stole the toys, they pushed my grandkids off the swing, as well as their friends, (these are equal opportunity hellions). It's not all of them, just a select few, like it is everywhere, but they run away when we yell at them, and basically one dirty, dusty, village kid looks like all the other dirty, dusty, village kids. They're fast and impossible to catch.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRNdbQ_dB7zeyZ09y8nvY-4AAEjYlHBxfrz9dLzNFzeRCFaCOW-pWTi-0-lRLyHmZ6N9otBQSdAJBPZWqRCWOU3YZxP67eKBLPtjQCWPMNjX87CzCpKxUeaekQ4vwUwP2Z3rW8zeh72c/s1600/and+more+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRNdbQ_dB7zeyZ09y8nvY-4AAEjYlHBxfrz9dLzNFzeRCFaCOW-pWTi-0-lRLyHmZ6N9otBQSdAJBPZWqRCWOU3YZxP67eKBLPtjQCWPMNjX87CzCpKxUeaekQ4vwUwP2Z3rW8zeh72c/s1600/and+more+kids.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">You can see why we can't tell them apart.<br />They’re all some shade of brown, them and their clothes, and the dirt.</span></span> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We tried dealing with it like you would any other problem. We rounded them up and talked to them, explaining the rules again, and for a bit that worked. But there's one swing and sometimes 30 kids waiting to use it. So that wasn't a screaming success. Then we made a rule that only St. Mary's kids could come over, as they are generally more well behaved. That also worked for a while, but the other kids came back. We sent Ruth out to talk to them in Kiswahili, and she threatened them with seven kinds of hell, which worked for a bit. We have made the St. Mary's kids monitors (which they love), but that hasn't worked. Lately Sarah has taken to chasing them with a stick. Yep, it's come to that. A stick they understand, but they still come back. I suggested they put up a swing in the village, but Sarah doesn't want to reward their mshamba behavior with a swing of their own. I personally just see it as a viable alternative. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> So the swing will come down, which is sad. What is even sadder is that the kids didn't learn to behave well enough to stay. They dropped the rope.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeL4BnnaIuchp2fyvVqzkAsefxMNYEdISw3Lr-vbBnBnW6imfIVCkY3-cDeRIt-vg7tW-N_Y1w41QipEy4qbqAaS187vpuOi9fIxnkU5iu-NPAKYHn-n5RwofPzOwNfM0kNcL7BsW7Y0s/s1600/roots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeL4BnnaIuchp2fyvVqzkAsefxMNYEdISw3Lr-vbBnBnW6imfIVCkY3-cDeRIt-vg7tW-N_Y1w41QipEy4qbqAaS187vpuOi9fIxnkU5iu-NPAKYHn-n5RwofPzOwNfM0kNcL7BsW7Y0s/s1600/roots.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Some kids playing at the river.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Let me tell you about the life of a village kid. They spend the first year or so strapped to their mothers back. If there is an older sibling, and there usually is, and that kid can walk, the baby will spend a good portion of the day on the slender back of a very young dada or kaka (sister or brother). This is so the mother can work. Childcare is not considered a man's job, and you rarely see a man holding a child. So the mtoto, when he can walk, becomes part of an amorphous gaggle of kids roaming the village. I will state here that the old saying about it taking a village to raise a child is crap. Basically these kids raise themselves. I have seen 2 and 3 year old kids roaming about totally unsupervised, while their mom is at the shamba. In general, this is a benign form of neglect, born out of poverty. There is no daycare, and people need to work. There is very little to hurt them in the village, and they all run around together and take care of each other. Big kids will pick up little kids who fall, or not, but there is safety in numbers so nobody pays them much attention. They're like the chickens and goats who live here; they know where they live and go home at night when it's time to eat.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOAOkKIyhLOvVXfr4uhBNc14QE075T4vWi6YUS1BuqyrdH9___i2R_1bJ1eKBnSQIWlTCgS4Pkf3uPlLwJz7vCz8OJIkkzmde27mJoMq1KvchJdvZ7BoliniiDxlcZr15pkN_QGU9kew/s1600/Pili.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOAOkKIyhLOvVXfr4uhBNc14QE075T4vWi6YUS1BuqyrdH9___i2R_1bJ1eKBnSQIWlTCgS4Pkf3uPlLwJz7vCz8OJIkkzmde27mJoMq1KvchJdvZ7BoliniiDxlcZr15pkN_QGU9kew/s1600/Pili.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This beautiful girl is Pili.<br />She’s about 14, and had to stop going to school at<br />Std 2 because her father died. Her life will be very hard.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Many of these kids don't attend school. Government schools are supposed to be free, but there is a contribution fee, and a child must have a uniform and shoes, so many don't go. They just hang around the village all day with nothing constructive to do. Some leave school because a parent dies and they never go back. Their fates are sealed. Without an education, nothing, absolutely nothing, will happen to improve their lives. I know Abe Lincoln was self taught and wrote his letters in the dirt blah, blah, blah. This isn't happening here. Sometimes kids who don't go to school watch our kids through the windows. Sad. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQdIT0YNkR_D_5eyeL6QxRVkFYQnrO_pIV5ecfhIFq0LEO87MRVLDkDRyEykdzTzUF3XmYWBY7QaAKjEyEiUxr46WQGj0LSPHoI59NrJvdApNMUPWVQ3KBdeB-LUG9vzLxGncqUt6XNU/s1600/electricity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQdIT0YNkR_D_5eyeL6QxRVkFYQnrO_pIV5ecfhIFq0LEO87MRVLDkDRyEykdzTzUF3XmYWBY7QaAKjEyEiUxr46WQGj0LSPHoI59NrJvdApNMUPWVQ3KBdeB-LUG9vzLxGncqUt6XNU/s1600/electricity.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Putting up play electricity poles.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Our school kids are generally well behaved, but it wasn't always that way. We've been nagging them for over three years, and it's working. We do have a small group of kids that I would call mshamba, but they are new and will catch on. People tell us they can see that our kids are different, but we teach them how to behave, and when they do well, we acknowledge it. In the village, what a child does well is not just unrewarded, it's unnoticed. But let them step over a line and it comes down on them fast and hard. Hence the speed with which they flee. Life for a kid here is very free, they run around and play and have fun. The downside of this freedom is a lack of guidance that does not come in the form of a stick. I repeat, as I will throughout this letter, that most of the kids are just sweet, good kids, but the few that aren't….</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNwjTWgR1tp6PDTCZyWs4Hn_LrSNwqKvitJzcsSbVsXVrZWkQGhWVacAONX4ss6mRGkuph-vGxG9zMjp53bMuY-2dbvb7xK8Ses4CG8Jv3cB-IQXZTwarzuIZlR2AnE37rjzMPyBy07g/s1600/mud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNwjTWgR1tp6PDTCZyWs4Hn_LrSNwqKvitJzcsSbVsXVrZWkQGhWVacAONX4ss6mRGkuph-vGxG9zMjp53bMuY-2dbvb7xK8Ses4CG8Jv3cB-IQXZTwarzuIZlR2AnE37rjzMPyBy07g/s1600/mud.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mud play.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> As they grow, they learn what needs to be done, again, because the stick awaits if they misstep. But that leaves us with kids that, while generally compliant and happy, are unready or unable to join in and "act right". They have no concept of waiting in line, or waiting their turn. Everything is a competition, even going to the toilet, and the toilet smells like someone popped the lid off of hell. I personally wouldn't be so anxious to go there. Most of them are like clay, they can be molded. They don't mind either, because then they can play on the swing. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNHUvaCnQ0uzrbv-8TdPavkzsx9HQvkcLtauAsMpZBDsSGW6NwNqQX8f_0numeMPkipTVVutgnrvLxd5wpGCik3gBNtyaW00gqz8Mt6ig7MZdyVvSktZx4juXu8cZ8JrGm7xrM-VS2LU/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNHUvaCnQ0uzrbv-8TdPavkzsx9HQvkcLtauAsMpZBDsSGW6NwNqQX8f_0numeMPkipTVVutgnrvLxd5wpGCik3gBNtyaW00gqz8Mt6ig7MZdyVvSktZx4juXu8cZ8JrGm7xrM-VS2LU/s1600/house.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This is where 2 of our students live.<br />It’s hard to expect much from a kid who lives like this.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> You've heard of the refugee mentality. Well, this is similar. There is never enough, so if you want your share, you need to compete. If I threw a donut in the middle of the village, they would pile up like a bunch of halfbacks. I'm not kidding. This is hard for us to understand because we have enough, we have more than enough. The sweet thing is that the kid who did get the donut would share it with his friends. I see this daily, kids sharing a small piece of something with a group of friends. Everyone gets a tiny piece and all is well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> This has been a real heartbreak for Sarah, who wants to love them all and help them. The sad fact is that a lot of these kids won't be helped. There are too many of them, and too few of us. These kids start life behind the 8 ball, and for most of them, that's exactly where they will stay. And this is precisely why a good education is so vital. I'm not talking about a government school where the teachers beat the kids at will, don't show up for class, or don't teach when they do show up. I'm talking about a system that actually helps a kid be a thinking child who grows into a thinking adult. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlVjOrA5nvM_th28s_afCHNhcvd0qprZey_Iee3YJ457HStKdA8g6um6jZK-D2etBVmRGCPOO0bFX9_S16-0CBrvveX2z4d1Mxhk8cGbn-mXfUChL0eKXS86dAQJUxkD51pgYf_SD8g8/s1600/hopscotch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlVjOrA5nvM_th28s_afCHNhcvd0qprZey_Iee3YJ457HStKdA8g6um6jZK-D2etBVmRGCPOO0bFX9_S16-0CBrvveX2z4d1Mxhk8cGbn-mXfUChL0eKXS86dAQJUxkD51pgYf_SD8g8/s1600/hopscotch.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Village kids playing some kind of hopscotch.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZgZhaVDECTUtCxfO9wQjK9VlGzW12RKuDPx71Oy9-epaUE1rjuO_xzDNeQd7ORyJT5YZtmDu9PtXhMKjsic16qJT_5ZooHVcJa7orrdHUwYPiEr9QeM6OURS6awphi393d9ebqS7f6Q/s1600/fruit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZgZhaVDECTUtCxfO9wQjK9VlGzW12RKuDPx71Oy9-epaUE1rjuO_xzDNeQd7ORyJT5YZtmDu9PtXhMKjsic16qJT_5ZooHVcJa7orrdHUwYPiEr9QeM6OURS6awphi393d9ebqS7f6Q/s1600/fruit.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Always wash your fruit before you eat it.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I am sad about the swing, it was a good opportunity to make friends and have fun. I'm thinking that when I return I will start an after school program for kids who need help with math and reading. We had already started before I left, but Sarah had to stop it because of all the kids misbehaving. I, however, am not even a fraction as nice as Sarah; it's not a family trait, and nothing to which I aspire. I don't give even a tiny rat's ass if they love me. I can also yell at them in their own language. And I don't have 2 kids to take care of, let's not forget that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I plan to start with the St. Mary's kids and a few village kids, and the swing will go back up. But more as a reward for work done. The only difference between our kids and the village kids was an opportunity. As I try to help my son here, I have developed a mantra. If someone throws you a rope, GRAB THE %$^&^$#$% ROPE. And if the rope is a rope swing, get in line and don't push.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtBIb6ACVMiYILHnS9pDWGLLR68xL9b9AG1J1c6jXkGWYvBb5iQe3jDGvr_WOk6X2Hio1yDd-XnBWI5WgpdXTDp5tjmYm3SqXZZKVK22IYZ3kK6hv-afQNj_dBk1PVT6uZ6JbAQ5xrCM/s1600/more+swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtBIb6ACVMiYILHnS9pDWGLLR68xL9b9AG1J1c6jXkGWYvBb5iQe3jDGvr_WOk6X2Hio1yDd-XnBWI5WgpdXTDp5tjmYm3SqXZZKVK22IYZ3kK6hv-afQNj_dBk1PVT6uZ6JbAQ5xrCM/s1600/more+swing.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The rope swing.</span></span></td></tr>
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Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-82429639234705085642014-05-11T06:35:00.001-07:002014-05-11T06:35:39.102-07:00Stuck in the Rinse Cycle<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Two or three rains per year I think qualifies as a drought. Yep, I just looked it up, it's a drought, and that's what it's been for the past three years since I arrived in what was once a too sunny Berega. There are two maize crops each year, and for the past three years every crop has failed. It's been very hard, and Ruth said that it was like this even before I came. So I guess it wasn't my fault. Either way, it was with joy and excitement that we greeted the rainy season this year. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0r9iKvpEpuL3m_vrZnmD-1Le_DkXZ6OmTIzDXX_nF5Q1zz8tHbh-_gTZRJHFfvyeS5kQWT2-nJHtEIldsQeh4rAG-YUOFV9ondZpn7duKJJ-BTt9gYWZw-QFwPjFo95LNK3HhrqC0yM/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0r9iKvpEpuL3m_vrZnmD-1Le_DkXZ6OmTIzDXX_nF5Q1zz8tHbh-_gTZRJHFfvyeS5kQWT2-nJHtEIldsQeh4rAG-YUOFV9ondZpn7duKJJ-BTt9gYWZw-QFwPjFo95LNK3HhrqC0yM/s1600/5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Dry season.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Berega has greened up and become a lush tropical paradise: everywhere you look there is growth, and greenery. When Asa was here he was shocked at how beautiful the countryside is. The media likes to focus on the dry, dusty parts, kids with flies in their eyes, all that crap. They don't focus on the stunning beauty, but it is here.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZM4hF4UAx-dD7YfKPGwcV-Z738N80odjaD2vd7v3zdzZq0TOmI8W3reeYLJoiApd8qgBxz81BG9oD6bPZzXxDCqEKuD9nt-D9tLLlh7iwO0GHUaBT3WtxUsO9p-AH9SbyN2pyBbGKphI/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZM4hF4UAx-dD7YfKPGwcV-Z738N80odjaD2vd7v3zdzZq0TOmI8W3reeYLJoiApd8qgBxz81BG9oD6bPZzXxDCqEKuD9nt-D9tLLlh7iwO0GHUaBT3WtxUsO9p-AH9SbyN2pyBbGKphI/s1600/6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Even drier season.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> The good news is everyone has enough water for drinking, cooking and washing. There's so much water that we've become wasteful, and that's kind of fun. There's no place to store it anyway, so we just use as much as we want. A far cry from when my friend Janet was here and we had to flush the toilet with the water we used to wash the dishes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Having said my asante Mungus for the rain, I need to tell you that enough is enough. And let me tell you why:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />1. Our clothes, which are washed by Hassani's bibi 2 or 3 times a week, have been on the line now for 3 days. They probably won't be dry before the next time she comes, at which point the kids will have to go to school naked. During the dry season, she is thrifty with the rinse water, and the clothes come off the line still stiff with soap. So when it started to rain, I just laughed and counted it as an extra rinse cycle. So now our clothes have finished their eighth rinse (not counting the rinse at night while I sleep). It's no longer funny.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />2. Things are molding, and starting to smell moldy. My towel smells like it's been at the bottom of the hamper for three weeks, but all the others are getting their ninth rinse outside. I'm drying myself with my clothes, which will be finished very soon if it doesn't stop. One of the poorer kids came to school the other day smelling very strongly of urine. She has only one uniform, so I asked her to wear a regular dress till her mother could wash it. Well she's in class now in a dress that smells of urine, dried urine, but urine nonetheless. I guess all their clothes are draped over a bush somewhere, rinsing.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuxbuE9jPmclgkcoo-YJ8eCgukzTxQY7O6i9gkYtPcd_CdMmUyLsVx4nTI2VRjGCXsjJRCCVpHdc2rzvVkIZVYS8bnMyr9AS-srkyGrL0pSDoboLXXe0dogBaGuwBBe5cSDqgNZX9VOw/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuxbuE9jPmclgkcoo-YJ8eCgukzTxQY7O6i9gkYtPcd_CdMmUyLsVx4nTI2VRjGCXsjJRCCVpHdc2rzvVkIZVYS8bnMyr9AS-srkyGrL0pSDoboLXXe0dogBaGuwBBe5cSDqgNZX9VOw/s1600/7.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Rainy season at Mikumi Park.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />3. Monday Market is all but a sweet memory. The roving market comes to Berega each Monday, but with all the rain, and no bridge, and crossing the river on foot, nobody is coming. We have only whatever's in Berega, which is what we always had. Tomatoes and onions. Or onions and tomatoes. I'm fortunate to be able to go to Morogoro to buy food, but the locals can't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />4. The roads are A MESS. Any road past Berega is impassible. Which means folks can't get to the hospital, or bring things to town to sell. Going to school every day is a hazard, and I'm old enough to fall and break a hip. It takes me about ten minutes to walk to class. The road is full of potholes, slick areas, and small rivers running here and there. I am so thankful I had the school courtyard cemented in. It's pretty wet every morning in the classrooms, but at least it's not muddy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5. We lose our electricity when it rains hard, so we've been out for a few days. We do have solar lights, but as that requires actual sun, we get about as much light as a birthday candle. The internet is off and on, mostly off. This is the first time in 3 days we've been able to send, and most likely by the time I finish this, it will be gone. Same with the phones. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVQ0KOSzGtT3UxSop7HPGr9LJnfYZmNYNo2hQ6bb-DAkMkkHpMIWUoCizjiwbuZG4YXnIosNQzVpOPCmtQDl8f2H-zB4EVl9dlT2k3YZ5JtkW_pwfCvXV-xREEGTWsy0lXinTNVmh-Wg/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVQ0KOSzGtT3UxSop7HPGr9LJnfYZmNYNo2hQ6bb-DAkMkkHpMIWUoCizjiwbuZG4YXnIosNQzVpOPCmtQDl8f2H-zB4EVl9dlT2k3YZ5JtkW_pwfCvXV-xREEGTWsy0lXinTNVmh-Wg/s1600/3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We have festooned our house with wet clothes. Kinda smells like a locker room after the big game.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">6. During all this time, we've at least been happy about the rain because it promised a good harvest. Maize is the main crop, it's ground and dried and made into ugali. Folks here eat it every day, two times a day if they have enough. The farms near the river are losing their crops from too much water, and if this continues, even more will be lost. Seems this place just can't catch a break. But hope springs eternal, and we are praying it will end soon. Isaac said the rains usually stop in May, so here's hoping. Crops need water, but they need sun too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />7. Some of our kids live far away and walk to school, so we are missing students every day. We came back from Dar on Monday, after taking Asa to the airport, and as we approached the river we saw a parent walking a bike in the rain. On that bike was one of our preschoolers, who was being taken over the river to school. This was a poignant moment for me, to see what some parents will do to get their kids a decent education. So we put him in the car, plus another, and dropped them off at school. One of the kids we picked up had no sweater, and was so cold. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZRz3VzRdrpbUgerAovM95unn89BMUP6K4mf5sPz880g3p6V6OJu5Di6AA7jiTArTzYvNLl9_PmN8IJNzh8dLlHkQpsotUw18a6Cv0L0CroQR-JcNcWU4yvsHxAvQrscxcTSBsk0U9EK8/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZRz3VzRdrpbUgerAovM95unn89BMUP6K4mf5sPz880g3p6V6OJu5Di6AA7jiTArTzYvNLl9_PmN8IJNzh8dLlHkQpsotUw18a6Cv0L0CroQR-JcNcWU4yvsHxAvQrscxcTSBsk0U9EK8/s1600/4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Huge hairy caterpillar from Berega.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />8. When it rains too hard, the classrooms get dark, too dark to read, or see the blackboard. It would be good if we had electricity, but it doesn't work in the rain anyway, so what difference does it make? Well, the generator just ran out of fuel, so I won't be sending this any time soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />9. Mud huts can, and do, melt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Enough of my complaints. On to the news. The kids are doing fine, loving school, learning fast. Asa had a great time, and the kids loved him. He's a big, bearded guy, a real gentle giant, and they had fun together. He is missed. Sarah and the kids are still here, so I have help. She can actually type, so there are plans afoot to make supplies and more supplies. Gotta love a ten fingered typist. She's enjoying teaching, but what's not to like? These kids are easy to teach, and they do what you ask them. Sweet, sweet kids.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> The tree swing is still the most popular place in the village, and the area under the tree is completely denuded of grass. They've started piling on 3 or 4 at a time, and we're trying to stop that before the rope snaps and somebody breaks something.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswoOtk0ruLCo8C8w-_7R3rrndbuud8rrEzX1fg1I0J3WCQvCRAykrFMRFi0wj1XcCrsWWEZ2eNp-adFKSOITWB0Z_JU5oR0RV0qPhqtgDjOrEkBYNsifJ-DFSR71xZWndf45KGN960dc/s1600/song.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgswoOtk0ruLCo8C8w-_7R3rrndbuud8rrEzX1fg1I0J3WCQvCRAykrFMRFi0wj1XcCrsWWEZ2eNp-adFKSOITWB0Z_JU5oR0RV0qPhqtgDjOrEkBYNsifJ-DFSR71xZWndf45KGN960dc/s1600/song.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A song from the kid’s Std 2 science book. Gotta love it.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I have a couch cat. There is a sofa out on the porch and a skinny, mangy cat sleeps there every night. She also benefits from whatever leftovers we have. Currently she is in heat and running around the village screaming for sex. Literally screaming. And now that she has a couch she can take on the entire male feline population in relative comfort. I can sleep through it at night, but Sarah can't, plus the bush babies can get pretty loud. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Grandkids are adjusting to school, and it's not easy. They've gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. Jovie likes all the bugs, and today I found a foot long worm and had one of the kids bring it up for him, as he was sick at home. Ayla has decided she likes ugali and beans, and went back for seconds today. They're learning some Kiswahili, and have lots of friends. It's still hard for them, but it's still hard for me sometimes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Sion is leaving on Sunday, forever, and this is very sad, for me and for Berega. He's been here one year, and been in charge of the pediatric ward. He's done some amazing things, and it's tragic that he's leaving. There is literally a busload of kids who would be dead if not for him. He will be talking to the WHO people in Dar next week about malnutrition feeds, and hopefully what he has started will continue. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPY0McIaTqbJ-9F_GU9YarQs8y0ku3GANPlnqvcD7yrDFe0v8bQBRH_8uxh1UzhIaaV2OFx83w_Qxiw3oX820dTEW8aRH6WiprEjcPZwDDGSduwGbxgDu-EDNEZnGwP2sT1eMO-_pj7ow/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPY0McIaTqbJ-9F_GU9YarQs8y0ku3GANPlnqvcD7yrDFe0v8bQBRH_8uxh1UzhIaaV2OFx83w_Qxiw3oX820dTEW8aRH6WiprEjcPZwDDGSduwGbxgDu-EDNEZnGwP2sT1eMO-_pj7ow/s1600/2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ayla and her new BFF on the way to school.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> There is an American couple coming in June. The male half is an engineer who will work on the farm, and Charlene is going to take over for me. In July I plan to go on a three month vacation to Cambodia and hopefully Laos and Vietnam. Charlene will be here for a year, so when I come back in October we can work together getting the kids ready for finals. I'm so happy to have someone here so I can go in peace. The irony is that July, August and September is the Cambodian monsoon season. I need to get my Karma cleaned.</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-62890751208077013612014-04-21T05:34:00.001-07:002014-04-21T07:18:48.705-07:00Karibu! (Welcome)<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Karibu!</span><br />
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The new year began mid January, and so far all is well. There have been a few issues to resolve, but we are managing. I will give all the good news first, THE KIDS ARE DOING VERY WELL! We have 3 wonderful preschool teachers; Pascalina teaches the 4 to 5 year olds, Martha has the middle kids who are 5 to 6 and Pasiana takes the oldest group who are 6 to 7. You need to understand that all ages are relative. Parents want their kids here, and will fudge the ages to get them in. Some of our youngest ones look suspiciously like 3 year olds. We have a number of 9 and 10 year olds in the oldest preschool class, but these kids came from the government schools, so had to be put back. They are doing fine, but it does present some problems that you will not see in a class of similarly aged children.</div>
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By the time these preschool kids come to Std 1, they will know more than the Std 1 kids from the govt schools at the end of the year. They will know how to read and write in English and Kiswahili, add and subtract simple sums, count to well over 100, write these numbers when called out so many things. We were well into the middle of the syllabus when the kids arrived on the first day. We are all about foundation; this is our strength.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDsDhVAp0kYl5UQfVWXGh_EUoMK7FRKPxI2ygUs8zhklUu82MnywOhflLucuTXytXWcQgkbnIC6tNki378kJw3ON6luj389N3GZZvVwOHzcv2oB5yw1L3BBDRJ9-6nIZUIb-aIZgwS_0/s1600/Journal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDsDhVAp0kYl5UQfVWXGh_EUoMK7FRKPxI2ygUs8zhklUu82MnywOhflLucuTXytXWcQgkbnIC6tNki378kJw3ON6luj389N3GZZvVwOHzcv2oB5yw1L3BBDRJ9-6nIZUIb-aIZgwS_0/s1600/Journal.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Our parents are very excited about the education their kids are receiving. One parent came to us with a story about his daughter, a preschooler, who comes home every day and teaches her neighbor kids. Our kids are also teaching their parents English. We don't need to advertise, our kids do it for us.</div>
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We try to fill from the bottom, taking only younger kids and raising them up in our system. This is not always what happens. Parents come to us, desperate to have their kids join up. Kids are hard to turn down, so we do take older kids and put them back so they can catch up. The good news is that after a year with us, we have been able to move each of those kids up a year. They are still older than their classmates, but now in an older, more competitive environment. These are motivated kids, and it's so good to see them working so hard and achieving so much. One day, when we have a big school, we will have a separate remedial class where kids can come and catch up, then rejoin their age mates. </div>
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We have 102 kids at St. Mary's, with fully one third on full or partial scholarship. These kids would never be able to get a decent education without help from outside, so thank you all for helping. Help comes to us in many forms. Some of you send money for sponsorship, and hopefully you will keep your particular kids for the duration of their school years. Some send money for books, and we have been able to get enough primers so that we can all read the same book, as a class. We try to have no more than 2 kids to a book, and we read every day. Reading and reading comprehension are one of our primary goals. To read without understanding is like chewing your food without swallowing. </div>
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A woman from the UK, named Chrissie, ran a marathon last year and sent us 600 pounds, specifically for furniture. We have lots of furniture now, and even some stashed for next year. We are hoping she will run for us every year. While students in the govt schools sit 5 or 6 to a seat, we try to keep it at 2, sometimes 3 with the bigger desks. Students need room to write and move. So thank you, Chrissie. Nashukuru sana. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcUU5u9lLDKNG0GG9g0BYU2fPtAkrVYW8DnhBPnPqMwUCVJLxvCc5l6F7eG1EbSC2w_mRcObG_TX_L8p9qP1nit4CkBq5RziyqVTyDiivYfCf5cv-SrSEf7ab3XkHftYhrjXIY6PQK4g/s1600/Asa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcUU5u9lLDKNG0GG9g0BYU2fPtAkrVYW8DnhBPnPqMwUCVJLxvCc5l6F7eG1EbSC2w_mRcObG_TX_L8p9qP1nit4CkBq5RziyqVTyDiivYfCf5cv-SrSEf7ab3XkHftYhrjXIY6PQK4g/s1600/Asa.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a> Sometimes help comes in human form, volunteers who come to work with the kids, and who routinely bring pencils, erasers, books, shoes..... We need it all. Currently my son Asa is here, with his wife Sarah and their kids Ayla and Jove. They are helping with the kids, reading to them, teaching English and Math, and their kids will be in our school for the three months they will live in Berega. Asa told me that he was shocked by how much our kids know, and can do. They're having a great time, as most folks do who come to work with the kids. The kids are quite a draw, and I should know, I just started my fourth year. </div>
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I think that it's important to hear about the kids, but equally important to hear about the issues we face every day. You are our supporters, so I won't tell you everything is fine, that would be less than honest. I need you to have faith in me, so I will not hold back. Our biggest issue is space, we don't have enough. We are in the same rooms with 102 kids as when we started with six. We have been extremely creative with our limited space, and have put in a temporary wall to separate Std1 from Std 2. It is certainly not soundproof, but we are managing. Std 3 is housed in what was the teachers office. It's a room about 15 ft by 5 feet. We have 4 student desks and a teachers desk. This room also serves as the supply storeroom. We will be bringing 4 kids into the class, the older kids I spoke of earlier, so there will be 12 kids and a teacher. I've seen bathrooms bigger than this, I personally have had a bathroom bigger than this. </div>
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Another issue is school fees. We have been trying to keep our fees down, as well as providing breakfast and lunch. This has not worked out as well as planned. We have had to raise the fees, which will be reflected in next years contributions. For now, the parents have agreed to make up the shortfall. It was either that or stop the lunch program, which would leave most of the kids hungry until evening, or maybe the next morning.</div>
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Another issue regarding school fees is the parents ability to pay. I am amazed that some parents will enroll their child, fully aware of the fees, but with no reasonable expectation of the means to pay. This is how desperate they are for their kids to achieve, and should in some small way demonstrate how bad the govt schools are. </div>
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I will be writing about individual kids soon, with pictures and reports on their progress, but I wanted to give you some basics first. I want you to understand that, unlike some sponsorship programs, the kids you sponsor will pass, will learn,and will, most definitely, succeed. </div>
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I also want to thank you for your help, and to remind you that educated people educate their kids. These dusty, barefoot little kids you help will one day be able to put their own kids through school. They will do this without help, because they will be able to pay with money they earned because you helped educate them. And so it goes...</div>
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Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-1433920538186359772014-03-27T20:35:00.002-07:002014-03-27T20:35:32.047-07:00Life without the Bridge<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Life Without the Bridge</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">It's been a while since the bridge washed away, and I am noticing a few things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">1. The small, local dukas have less on the shelves. Which is a drag as we only have small, local dukas to buy what we need, unless we're willing to travel to Morogoro, or another smaller village which may or may not have something worth the trip. </span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">2. There are very few eggs in the village,and those that are here are almost double the price, but yet the same size. And if it's a bad egg, no refund.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">3. Monday Market is a bust. There is a roving market, and our day is Monday, hence the name. There are always onions and tomatoes, greens and okra, which I would rather die than eat. Usually there are bananas, and sometimes mangoes. But because everything needs to be walked across the river, and you just never know if it will be high or low, most of the vendors stay home. Yesterday I saw Sion and Alec, two docs from the UK,coming back from the market, and I rushed up with my newly repaired basket (ever hopeful I would fill it with goodness from the earth). They had some wilted greens, lemons, some chili peppers and okra. I turned around and put my basket away.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">4. Going to Morogoro is now an ordeal with a fairly high gruel factor, a term coined by my friend Janet in reference to travel in Africa. It's never easy, but now it's got a few additional steps. The first two are walking down to the river, and crossing it. Then, depending on the water lever, changing your pants. The rest of the trip to Morogoro is the usual 2 hours. On the way home you get to walk from the road to the river laden with your purchases. Then you repeat the crossing and getting back up the hill. I take a pikipiki at this point. It's a long day, but at least you have food.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">5.When the water level is up, kids living across the river miss school. </span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">6. Admissions at the hospital are about half what they should be. Isaac has enough trouble paying the employees on a regular month, so this is a disaster.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">7. Folks who rely on the bridge to transport their charcoal,maize, and whatever else they sell now either don't go, or need to pay men to carry it across. I just had the school courtyard cemented in, as it's a mess during the rainy season, and every bag of cement needed to be cried over, as well as all the other supplies.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">8. I have hit a new personal low food wise. Yesterday I opened a can of Egyptian tuna, which is all the bits that don't make it into the good tuna cans, drained the oil, mixed it with ketchup, and had it on crackers. </span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Re: the rains</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">8. All the roads that were previously just really bad are now impassable by car and the more rural villages can only be accessed by pikipiki. </span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">9. On a positive note, everyone who has a maize crop, which is everyone, is growing a ton of maize. So everyone will be eating. Ugali is made from ground maize, and free from most of those pesky nutrients we in the US all worry so much about. It is, however, filling, as only a soccer ball sized lump of carbs can be, so no one will be hungry.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">10. When it really rains hard, the classrooms get so dark we can't read or see the board, so we send the kids home before the lightning comes, and it does. More school missed.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">11. We lose electricity during rainstorms, and this is the rainy season, so power goes out frequently.</span></div>
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<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">But in the end, there is the maize, so no matter how bad it is, there's always ugali. This year should be a bumper crop, and they don't have electricity anyway, so my personal woes are immaterial to them, as they should be. Sion, Alec and I are going into Morogoro on Saturday, planning to load up on fruits and veggies. I may be sitting in the dark, but I'll have mangoes.</span></div>
Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-20976568445828584712014-03-20T13:57:00.000-07:002014-03-20T13:57:23.712-07:00Yet Another Conversation I Will Only Have In Africa<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Just the other day I was thinking I hadn't written in a while. It's been pretty humdrum of late, nothing new or exciting; school, sleep, bad food, the usual. But God does provide, doesn't he?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were in class this morning, happily correcting grammar and getting hungry for lunch, when Teacher Beatrice stuck her head in and said there was a problem outside, in front of the school. A group of locals were shouting and disturbing the students. Apparently they had caught some thieves, and the crowd was trying to decide whether to beat him or fire him.
To the uninitiated, getting fired means losing your job, at least it does in America. Here it means having a gasoline soaked tire thrown over your head and lit, while the crowd stands around watching, cheering, and reaffirming their belief that the son of a bitch had it coming. Marshmallows optional.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On approach I saw three dirty, shirtless men, with their hands tied, surrounded by about 50 folks, including the pastor. Seems the vote was split 3 ways, some opting for firing (or necklacing), some just wanting to beat the holy hell out of him, and a kinder, gentler portion wanting to take him to the village elders.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqcFeYG0obtgR1_eTu2dpgVoAb7mnKXe_SAK7SqT2dtInImqkjibva94TUe_MjA5Z6pB_D3Nq3XJDSQkx7nxbhqlHshQ8IlGR57_EKK2F2ybhledlBvhyphenhyphenRUGvp9pnLCw5huKrNrkFwFM/s1600/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqcFeYG0obtgR1_eTu2dpgVoAb7mnKXe_SAK7SqT2dtInImqkjibva94TUe_MjA5Z6pB_D3Nq3XJDSQkx7nxbhqlHshQ8IlGR57_EKK2F2ybhledlBvhyphenhyphenRUGvp9pnLCw5huKrNrkFwFM/s1600/bridge.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is what is left of the bridge to Berega. It was washed away in the flash flood.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My concern was for the kids, as this was happening right in front of the school, and it was coming up on lunchtime and recess. I approached and greeted everyone (greetings mandatory, even if murder is imminent) and requested that if they truly planned to beat or God forbid, fire the men, possibly they could move the venue up or down the road, just anywhere away from the kids. All that smoke, screaming and charred flesh right in the middle of the road when the kids get out of school. Life is tough, but this is ridiculous. I can't believe some of the conversations I have here. And you are all welcome to volunteer, where you, too, can have bizarre discussions about things that would never concern you anywhere but here.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A few minutes later Mbuli told me, in very good English, that yesterday, in Morogoro, there was an unsuccessful attempt to heist a motorbike. Pole sana for the thief, mob justice did prevail and he was fired. I guess he lost his job as well. The judge and jury did, however, take this poor schmuck about 30 km out of town, where they beat him to within an inch of his life, piled wood on him, and set him ablaze. It's technically illegal to fire up a human, so they left town to avoid the police, who normally do nothing unless it's right under their noses. Ruth later confirmed this story, they were driving home when it happened, and saw the flames.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't get me wrong, I would neither encourage this, nor want to witness it, but hearing about it does not horrify me anymore. This should be obvious by the way I talk about it. Most of my warm fuzzy has been rubbed off, and this is what's left. Besides, there's not a person here who doesn't know what can happen if they get caught, and from a very young age.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We discussed this with the kids, and a majority think it's definitely wrong to beat a man to death over something sometimes as insignificant as a watch. Now a bag of maize is another story, steal a family's food and you should only hope to live, in whatever shape they leave you. But there is hope, the younger generation seems a little less bloodthirsty. This may change with time, though, when they find out it's impossible to get a policeman to respond without paying him. I say this secure in the knowledge that no policeman will ever read this, or make the effort to come up here to confront me.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilWHjaYO3n-Cyjzukf-WVMt-mAkWQTnHVKWgpl9FZF9liZ-Iesg7VqD5n-d71hBrnDuNtsGnnQot30TxN8tDyxPAtoTyfKepyPG1auKFkNigx6fgUexdhcKegfhzG5ZPddV8TRB7993Q/s1600/crossing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilWHjaYO3n-Cyjzukf-WVMt-mAkWQTnHVKWgpl9FZF9liZ-Iesg7VqD5n-d71hBrnDuNtsGnnQot30TxN8tDyxPAtoTyfKepyPG1auKFkNigx6fgUexdhcKegfhzG5ZPddV8TRB7993Q/s1600/crossing.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Preparing to cross the river.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Most folks here are gentle and reasonable, but all it takes is a few… I will remind you that the pastor was there, although in what capacity I am unsure. What was stolen was some musical equipment used for church services, and according to Ruth, you can still be counted a Christian and be part of the mob. Ruth is my source of all things cultural, and a good Christian. The thieves were eventually taken to the village elders, after a sound and satisfying beating by anyone caring to participate. Ruth said they also pinch the thieves' penises, which seems a bit excessive, but mob rule is just that, a group of normally decent folks who have temporarily lost their brains.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I personally have had three phones, a wallet, money, batteries, my bicycle handlebars, and countless slippers stolen from my house/ bag/ yard. A friend once offered to kill anyone who stole from me in his village (about a 10 km range). I declined, however if they stole a bag of maize….
So that was yesterday, and I have had time to think. Although I have never been a proponent of capital punishment, I do understand that all countries have their ways of dealing with criminals. In America, we try and convict people before killing them, and still sometimes an innocent person is executed. Here, where the law is ineffectual, corrupt, and just generally doesn't give a damn, the judge and jury is frequently the folks who catch the bad guy. Again, sometimes the wrong guy is killed. It's really not that different. Just because we exact justice in a more "humane" manner, doesn't mean the guy is any less dead. Personally, I don't agree with it anywhere, but I understand the frustration which drives people to such extreme measures.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9MzvTn1JcgzdXrhVumWIOBFmGvLZrdjXVjSeB_V_taVnC-WXoawX_n1BGGVb8ZXJXnmysfDIBLxuAoLgmxTYhd7rmo1B7xXDnbO8UVb7AU8oraz85cAZlyFQraNSk4oqaswejs5EZyM/s1600/good+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9MzvTn1JcgzdXrhVumWIOBFmGvLZrdjXVjSeB_V_taVnC-WXoawX_n1BGGVb8ZXJXnmysfDIBLxuAoLgmxTYhd7rmo1B7xXDnbO8UVb7AU8oraz85cAZlyFQraNSk4oqaswejs5EZyM/s1600/good+day.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Crossing on a good day.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So let's move from what happened outside the school to what's happening inside, which is by far more life affirming. We spent the last week reorganizing, trying to fit 110 kids into the same space we've had since we started. We're full to the gills, but functioning. The kids are doing so well, and having a great time. Our methods are far removed from the norm here, but that's why it works. Generally we do the exact opposite of what the govt schools do, and as I was perusing the syllabus the other day I realized that we have, for the most part, accomplished all the goals set up by the Ministry of Education. So it's going to be a great year. We do have a few kids who need extra help, but it's only 3 months into the year, so I have no worries. We have amazing preschool teachers, and by the time these kids get to Std 1 they can add, subtract, read and write (in 2 languages). So asante sana Teacher Martha, Teacher Pasiana and Teacher Pascalina.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ann was here for a couple of months, and she found scholarships for 19 kids who need them. Those, added to the ones we already have, give us about 1/3 of our student body on full or partial scholarship. So tunashukuru sana for all those who donated. We also got donations for books, so all of Std 1,2 and 3 have textbooks. A woman from the UK ran a marathon last year and donated money for the tables and chairs we desperately needed. Why all the books and extra desks, when kids in other schools in Tz have no books and sit 4 to a desk? Why are we so fortunate? Should I be sharing the wealth? Is that fair to them? I don't care. Those schools are failing, and we are not, and don't intent to. We would love to help the govt schools, but that would be like reviving that thief under the pile of wood 30 km outside of Morogoro.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I teach all the Math an English for Std 1,2 and 3. Teachers Gile and Beatrice teach everything else. Our interactive methods were new to them, but they're liking it just fine, and are happy here at St. Mary's. The day goes by fast, the kids laugh and enjoy themselves, and nobody is afraid of their teachers. Some of the warm fuzzy does come back everyday as I teach, which keeps me here. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfQMGlvd02c8YeJ97se_0H_NRT5Z5NZtYd0H3oiYd6KbC5L7fOgYn6dKT79N-Mo_THP0v6KgxXiYAhn-fjlZvxOSgaZ7TH7iVS-VnkTrfhj-EY4QM34c1FEtKMdyujjSSjGZrlVLO-f8/s1600/st+marys+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfQMGlvd02c8YeJ97se_0H_NRT5Z5NZtYd0H3oiYd6KbC5L7fOgYn6dKT79N-Mo_THP0v6KgxXiYAhn-fjlZvxOSgaZ7TH7iVS-VnkTrfhj-EY4QM34c1FEtKMdyujjSSjGZrlVLO-f8/s1600/st+marys+2014.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">St. Mary’s School, 2014.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One snag is trying to get the parents to get up off the school fees. We've been forced to get tough with the parents, and at the end of the month, if a parent hasn't paid, we send the kid home. Then, by some miracle, the money comes in the next day. We don't like to go that route, but we have teachers to pay and kids to feed. So there you go.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our toilets are unearthly. There are 2 choos and 110 kids. But Brad has agreed to let us construct additional toilets outside, which should alleviate most of the pushing and shoving, and some of the smell. Thanks Brad.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Some great news! My son Asa, his wife Sarah, and my grandkids Ayla and Jove, will be here mid April. Asa will stay 3 weeks, but Sarah and the kids till July. This is gonna be fun. The kids will go to our school, and Sarah will help teach. Sarah, I've got a couple of kids in dire need of one on one math help, you're gonna love it. I imagine Ayla won't be here but a few days before they've got all her hair in plaits, and possibly Jovie as well.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It has been made clear to me, by everyone in Berega, that I got very, very fat in the US, which is a source of pride here (theirs, not mine). Being fat is preferable to being thin, as being fat means you can afford to eat, and you are healthy. So I am rich and healthy, very rich and healthy, but that's ok, in a few months it will be gone. Priscilla's mom invited me to eat with them this afternoon, as I was walking home. They were eating ugali and dagaa, a ball of starch and small, pungent dried fish with eyes. She offered in jest, it's well known in the village that I would sooner starve than eat dagaa. I tried it once, and inatosha (it was enough).</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Still looking for travel buddies for July, August and September. Just let me know.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Have fun, eat well, and can someone possibly send me some marshmallows? I've been craving s'mores.
</span></span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-54975843557486345652013-12-21T02:26:00.000-08:002013-12-21T02:26:52.675-08:00Karibu Ifunde<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_1IImehNhzBbNvhtg-xbmuw9cjft1b9uEtHg8P8baMSOenukB0PClUmb2UT1g85fpDDZgxRG_dZUZFmmemSub5yDYXeRiin-S-i5sbK9j6esCJbHbHHSkuC1TA7nxqwF4bJTqJtoJ4o/s1600/maasai2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_1IImehNhzBbNvhtg-xbmuw9cjft1b9uEtHg8P8baMSOenukB0PClUmb2UT1g85fpDDZgxRG_dZUZFmmemSub5yDYXeRiin-S-i5sbK9j6esCJbHbHHSkuC1TA7nxqwF4bJTqJtoJ4o/s320/maasai2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Maasai guy</span></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_1IImehNhzBbNvhtg-xbmuw9cjft1b9uEtHg8P8baMSOenukB0PClUmb2UT1g85fpDDZgxRG_dZUZFmmemSub5yDYXeRiin-S-i5sbK9j6esCJbHbHHSkuC1TA7nxqwF4bJTqJtoJ4o/s1600/maasai2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We have a Maasai boy in our preschool named Ima. He's beautiful, about 13, and starting Std 1 in January. He was in Std 5 at a govt school but not learning anything, so his brother David sent him to us, and he has started over from preschool and is doing fine. Although having a teenaged kid in preschool does present its own unique set of problems, so far so good. His brother David is in his mid 20's, handsome, tall and long limbed, like most Maasai, and works as a tour guide about five hours from here.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvW3YOG3or9mfJucwgrWaOs6N150_07mpfTDTl-6j2a5RWsBEqw8oFHNegYutZ3YUiBwbrNkKWa2tfuYrLFIB6xsmESYO8ttjU_YO_NhhBYyn6n_ZVIrMuYsvg9nf4Uh3ibZAq0YPuPvA/s1600/barbeque.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvW3YOG3or9mfJucwgrWaOs6N150_07mpfTDTl-6j2a5RWsBEqw8oFHNegYutZ3YUiBwbrNkKWa2tfuYrLFIB6xsmESYO8ttjU_YO_NhhBYyn6n_ZVIrMuYsvg9nf4Uh3ibZAq0YPuPvA/s320/barbeque.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The barbecue pit</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> David called me the other day to invite me to a sherehe in his village, and promised we would be welcome to take pictures and join in as we wished. Hamna shida. I've been wanting to visit a Maasai village, and my friend Ann also wanted to go. It's not something most people get to do, except on arranged tours, which is a totally different thing, so we jumped at the offer. David arranged for two pikipikis, and off we went, 45 minutes of beautiful scenery over a very bad road. There's lots of beautiful rides over very bad roads here, because the roads are, in general, very bad. Main roads are fine, but I don't live on a main road.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> This village is called Ifunde, and it's in the middle of no place at all. I too live in the middle of nowhere, and this is many miles past me. I always wondered what was behind the mountains. Now I know it's more mountains, tree stumps, and thorny bushes. There's something wonderful about going someplace very few people go, and despite the rough patches in the road, we enjoyed the trip. I have yet to figure out why the driver left the main path for the detour through a million grasping thorn bushes, but such is life.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q3kBpTId2AyeDOnl4c8GMxfcEHA6kwynPJURF-IwkaSX_CzeA3Fsa_kYQK-vdzkmEHEpl8WJ5uzfRowG_oDTimGXBKEnb4cKa4vK65Lg8TxTDozW1ylilQxAZNhlVhj4xl-zC5T8H_A/s1600/Ima.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q3kBpTId2AyeDOnl4c8GMxfcEHA6kwynPJURF-IwkaSX_CzeA3Fsa_kYQK-vdzkmEHEpl8WJ5uzfRowG_oDTimGXBKEnb4cKa4vK65Lg8TxTDozW1ylilQxAZNhlVhj4xl-zC5T8H_A/s320/Ima.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ima’s brother, Ima and his mom</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We arrived mid afternoon, and were greeted with big hugs by Ima and David's mother. Most Tanzanians greet in a friendly manner, but with little physical contact. Maasai, however, are not most Tanzanians. She's a lovely, happy woman, with 7 boys, 2 girls, and a ancient husband. Traditionally, Maasai men marry late, and marry young girls. Ima is her youngest, and he was home for the sherehe.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> This was a circumcision ceremony, but Ima is too young and will join the next group. The ceremony before this one was in 2008, so I guess some years from how he will get his turn, along with his age mates.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfqR7x_YM5M-TdAcX-jO2jvmJ-hoKweDBCjiG2PzDPZztVAHoFfwQg7qKQ8L9fYUHBRKtAJan9FlM8n4vJ5otY0nNS4dbZFatczM4qkLny_WM2ETMYTOqHfTuCCPzzPzdozd2-6HiXTk/s1600/drunk.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfqR7x_YM5M-TdAcX-jO2jvmJ-hoKweDBCjiG2PzDPZztVAHoFfwQg7qKQ8L9fYUHBRKtAJan9FlM8n4vJ5otY0nNS4dbZFatczM4qkLny_WM2ETMYTOqHfTuCCPzzPzdozd2-6HiXTk/s320/drunk.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 250px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">No celebration is complete without one or two enormously drunk guys. This was early afternoon, so you have to admire his diligence.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We did not witness the actual circ, nobody does. The boys sit in a hut and wait for a man with skills in this area to do the deed. I was talking to a moran, (young Maasai men about 18 to 30 years of age), and he was telling me that the boys are not allowed to cry, moan or even flinch during the cutting. I asked what would happen to a boy should he disgrace himself in this manner, and he really had no answer because apparently, it's unthinkable and will not happen. They stay in the hut for 2 days, and during this time their adult female relatives stand outside the hut singing, dancing, and shouting encouragement. Everyone is dressed in their best, and everyone has a good time, with the possible exception of the recently snipped.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26xey9ghD0crrBpOQwCxkLAQfRjTFL3_BE-aNlikayUKGU0uxCACwFpCjj8LkhfexqijPqonLANXhBf2xHCnQjYhsmdl61_U6qGDkls1KTZIucLOsJG6LpjkIDhLKRtcb16n9UUpIwBc/s1600/dance.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26xey9ghD0crrBpOQwCxkLAQfRjTFL3_BE-aNlikayUKGU0uxCACwFpCjj8LkhfexqijPqonLANXhBf2xHCnQjYhsmdl61_U6qGDkls1KTZIucLOsJG6LpjkIDhLKRtcb16n9UUpIwBc/s320/dance.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Moms and aunts and grandmas singing and dancing for the boys inside</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Men and women celebrate in separate areas, the women singing at the door of the hut, the older men butchering and cooking the meat. The morans (warriors) gather in a circle, singing, grunting and jumping. Just like the NatGeo specials. It's amazing to watch. They stand ramrod straight, arms at their sides, and jump about three feet in the air, using only the balls of their feet. Their heels do not touch the ground. It's a competition. Two moran will go into the circle and face off. Young marriageable girls stand around the periphery and join in the singing.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvD1lRBlFvmOs_tdMMCyOPTBGYjRgDrKG1na8_n6CrVfuNwIBmZhPR83rQbmuWisHKkPZC0es-MrRLml7FvYRfNovY53nF_EUtF2FJXJJp3MZm3gEqqKA3alnxwcDHbX7t9Zvd0AfYO4/s1600/meat.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvD1lRBlFvmOs_tdMMCyOPTBGYjRgDrKG1na8_n6CrVfuNwIBmZhPR83rQbmuWisHKkPZC0es-MrRLml7FvYRfNovY53nF_EUtF2FJXJJp3MZm3gEqqKA3alnxwcDHbX7t9Zvd0AfYO4/s320/meat.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Meat storage system</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkR1WlwmqGD0ALg2tFcT9n6NCGZzYpL8z2RKvs5eKK3CQW1cW9JGg7Uh4fhLuic3amXpVeVH9teoYO2QWJ7YwtTRcKQ8xa_7rTxaNGzId6gBqAVUKfOpQ3XIUmt2g5H31MhhyvGKibQ4/s1600/cowheaad.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkR1WlwmqGD0ALg2tFcT9n6NCGZzYpL8z2RKvs5eKK3CQW1cW9JGg7Uh4fhLuic3amXpVeVH9teoYO2QWJ7YwtTRcKQ8xa_7rTxaNGzId6gBqAVUKfOpQ3XIUmt2g5H31MhhyvGKibQ4/s320/cowheaad.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Meat, meat and more meat</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Then they walked us down the hill to the food preparation area, featuring rice, some kind of beef stew, and about six cows worth of cooked and barely cooked meat. Large chunks of beef were resting on an elevated handmade wooden platform designed to keep away the dogs, while still making it available to the flies. They dangled long strips of barely cooked meat in our faces, streaks of fat congealing before our eyes. A Maasai diet is primarily meat, and like the NatGeo says, they do cut the vein in the cow's neck and drink the blood. They prepare it in various ways, sometimes just letting it clot, or mixing it with milk. Their red meat diet hasn't hurt them, they are a truly healthy looking people.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> It's impolite to refuse food at a sherehe, so we took a few small pieces. Fortunately the blood and milk mixture was not the soup du jour. I had a few chunks of beef while Ann, that sissy, pretended to nibble a piece then carried it around for a while before conveniently dropping it in the grass. It was ok, very tough and needed salt, but killed just that day so safe to eat. The flies certainly seemed to like it. I got meat stuck in all my teeth and was finally forced to do the unthinkable. I flossed in public. I couldn't stand it anymore, had to do it. I did offer a mint flavored string to my guides, but they didn't know what it was and anyway they have teeth like rocks and chew through just about anything pretty easily.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ILMUgNxjGDsUQCAPucumC_jupbhFpwsvKL2PwE2ii0vemsFaUQYVQMQOJ-ipg-8dxak7Tf8LLd9PQfelTtlrT2QoyYsa9UL0dO5dRUKb9T6MdiVPCaA6NMMaLdS_gsHwP3gBZhGX4Pg/s1600/Imasister.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ILMUgNxjGDsUQCAPucumC_jupbhFpwsvKL2PwE2ii0vemsFaUQYVQMQOJ-ipg-8dxak7Tf8LLd9PQfelTtlrT2QoyYsa9UL0dO5dRUKb9T6MdiVPCaA6NMMaLdS_gsHwP3gBZhGX4Pg/s320/Imasister.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ima’s sister</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Ima came by to say hi, and we met the rest of his very large family. We offered to bring him back to Berega on the pikipiki but he said he'd rather walk in the next morning. We were on a wheeled vehicle for 45 minutes, so I figured he'd be walking most of the day. Maasai are pastoral people, and spend most of their time walking and herding their cattle. Many live in villages now, no longer nomadic, but their cattle range far and wide. The feel the entire country is pastureland, and occasionally this leads to conflict. A while back, a Maasai was killed over a grazing dispute.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd7u9XOORr4puo-lgK-5mC04UGO3blmEAHYYyS3I7D4jnjz0b2uAmaN8v79XvRtz3vTMQgC8t1D_1w-C6JvtP8S5zSQ-7NBWaSDou3vDEcxdk42xom3uNF9s7KKtHkSGXLXAQ42dSRcU/s1600/Ann.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd7u9XOORr4puo-lgK-5mC04UGO3blmEAHYYyS3I7D4jnjz0b2uAmaN8v79XvRtz3vTMQgC8t1D_1w-C6JvtP8S5zSQ-7NBWaSDou3vDEcxdk42xom3uNF9s7KKtHkSGXLXAQ42dSRcU/s320/Ann.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 250px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ann and her future husband. That she already has a husband was no problem, he has no cows, so who cares?</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> My friend Ann is originally from Korea, but everyone here thinks she's Chinese. Anyway, she's in her early thirties, old for a Maasai bride but still young enough to produce many offspring and received numerous marriage proposals. My Kiswahili is reasonable, certainly good enough to bargain with the men over how many cows I expected to receive for her and her childbearing hips. He offered 10, I countered with 200, he laughed and agreed, asking if we could seal the deal immediately. It was all in fun, just passing time, and I only told Ann about it after we had reached an agreement. She laughed, but then looked at me and asked what would happen if there were 200 cows in our backyard the next morning. Hamna shied, she moves to the village to breed, and I am a wealthy cow owner.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvkICH09oST4XvDGa5qi3bOC7ZO1137J_EgnCl0iM6ycVRSVUodMntrRt5omw3K81U3mDDUmxfAVWfNJS5drMFmbqX8KQqqpC-QOxXrbDOrMFDOk3sbKQ9zDc89ylp6obkDrehDtvWbw/s1600/P1080840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvkICH09oST4XvDGa5qi3bOC7ZO1137J_EgnCl0iM6ycVRSVUodMntrRt5omw3K81U3mDDUmxfAVWfNJS5drMFmbqX8KQqqpC-QOxXrbDOrMFDOk3sbKQ9zDc89ylp6obkDrehDtvWbw/s320/P1080840.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Handsome Maasai guys</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We came home, washed the dust off our feet, and took a nap. It was a great day, everyone was so welcoming and happy to have us there. We took hundreds of pictures and got a peek into a totally different culture.
Many Tanzanians look down on the Maasai, for their old style ways, and sometimes tease Ima for being Maasai. When the newspapers report an accident, they might say that ten people were killed, and two Maasai.We were discussing it in class one day, because the kids said Ima was beating them, neglecting to mention that they had been harassing him. So we talked about it, and I asked how they'd like it if Ima ragged on them for being Kaguru and not having any cows. Ima has 12. As my parting shot I reminded them that tourists spend enormous amounts of money to visit Africa, but they're not here to see Kaguru ( predominant tribe here in Berega).</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w9DEUCN2mi_FVqdJdkRlDjUyicve7pVYzLBorEQuVLiMUpZb2OFGggRyl31Sx4g3QI11aW5yjSVb4Hgwb1Eoau6CzsLXeGEmQyDgRoTk83RSzygJzNydtsjnZD_p6slxrGN4ytHGTUc/s1600/maasai.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w9DEUCN2mi_FVqdJdkRlDjUyicve7pVYzLBorEQuVLiMUpZb2OFGggRyl31Sx4g3QI11aW5yjSVb4Hgwb1Eoau6CzsLXeGEmQyDgRoTk83RSzygJzNydtsjnZD_p6slxrGN4ytHGTUc/s320/maasai.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What can I say? Is this cool or what?</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> What I like about the Maasai, is they don't care what anyone else does, they just do their thing. Even if they come in and get regular jobs, as some do, they are still very much Maasai. They saunter through the village in their Maasai garb, jewelry, and weapons, head and shoulders above everyone else, myself included. They are supremely cool, and they know it. I hope to go back again, maybe for a wedding or some other sherehe. Good to have friends in cool places.</span></span></div>
Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-86585002310954068102013-11-11T19:23:00.000-08:002013-11-11T19:23:44.635-08:00An African Hospital<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I live near a hospital, just across the bumpy dirt road from my house. The same bumpy dirt road that the pikipikis (motorbikes) use to transport patients. Imagine being in labor and traveling down a road that's horrible for a car, and then even worse on two wheels. But this is the way here, and without the pikipikis some folks would never get here at all.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3cwLnuKqHlly6yQRSuor1TKDXRkjhbjEXhFjcTzlBuKXGJbowocuBKp0GZwmR-0imnZk2Xc3MJ44bZSvKl5_a2QCZcylvMnaMjELhPyP5LnVbhcduw9xeZiQRgLYsxnEZ0BZMKl35w0/s1600/mensward.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3cwLnuKqHlly6yQRSuor1TKDXRkjhbjEXhFjcTzlBuKXGJbowocuBKp0GZwmR-0imnZk2Xc3MJ44bZSvKl5_a2QCZcylvMnaMjELhPyP5LnVbhcduw9xeZiQRgLYsxnEZ0BZMKl35w0/s320/mensward.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men's Ward at Berega Hospital<br />
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This is a hospital with problems, like all hospitals, and like all hospitals everywhere, we have healthcare issues. But our problems are different. Sometimes there is not enough medicine, or not the medicine required. We have machines in our lab, but we don't always have the reagents to run the tests. Maybe if they had been able to zero in on Jackie's problem, he could have been helped. Maybe.<br />
<br /> Sion, a doctor from the UK, has been here for seven months, and has done incredible work, but it is taking a toll on him. This is not a preventive society. Prevention is a western idea, and a luxury here. So this man is trying to prevent in a place that knows only to react, and it's frustrating. I've been here a long time, so I know all about this, and my skin is thicker. But he gets up every day and soldiers on, and I have immense respect for him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW2CZROEvfBGZ4Yh84GPxqglT5qXHoRFtIFsVv56Pu_b6clVl9zVLpCiUFxHOJ1o_wL9R34cqQZhQWa78oivzsYAO2waOarQHp3cFBlq4UBOdc1hqwdEl0Plswr97_3EnHz2gBxE8sow/s1600/NursingStation.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW2CZROEvfBGZ4Yh84GPxqglT5qXHoRFtIFsVv56Pu_b6clVl9zVLpCiUFxHOJ1o_wL9R34cqQZhQWa78oivzsYAO2waOarQHp3cFBlq4UBOdc1hqwdEl0Plswr97_3EnHz2gBxE8sow/s320/NursingStation.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nursing station</td></tr>
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<br /> We also had David and Anne visiting. They come here every year to help out. David is a pediatrician in his sixties, so he has a mountain of experience, and Sion is getting all he can from him. So that's my intro.<br />
<br /> Very early one morning they got a call from the orphanage to come immediately, one of the babies was in trouble. Triplets had been born ten days prior, and the mother died, so the girls went to the orphanage. This orphanage does a very good thing; babies come after a mom dies in childbirth, and Ute, the manager, keeps the them for two or three years, with family to help and visit. After those years, the babe goes home. Here in the villages, if a mom dies, it's a very real possibility that the child will also. So she keeps them 'til they are strong enough to live in this hard, hard place.<br />
<br /> Two of the girls were fine, eating and growing and lying there looking cute. The third was only one kilo, with some genitourinary issues I don't need to go into at this point. But she was looking bad, and not gaining weight. As I was going into Morogoro anyway, they asked if we could transport her and her caregiver Vienna to the hospital in Morogoro, to see a specialist. Hamna shida. I decided to stay until the baby was seen, as sometimes a very sick person can wait a long time to be evaluated.<br />
<br /> We arrived at the hospital, which looked ok to me: relatively clean, and happily not crowded. There were only about three of us in the under five waiting area, so we sat and waited. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvfO5DbcDiZIkKOEZe_edqfZMql-AHP_waOvGKdpICsNkaBd_pyNTb3ytgxJvV-n8p3F8DLR4ToGldHzdk2ydCKdxNkOG7IupvpN5a0zcFjq0yglTBW2aw1GlDZVMM-kGIXBBYW-p4xE/s1600/labor.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvfO5DbcDiZIkKOEZe_edqfZMql-AHP_waOvGKdpICsNkaBd_pyNTb3ytgxJvV-n8p3F8DLR4ToGldHzdk2ydCKdxNkOG7IupvpN5a0zcFjq0yglTBW2aw1GlDZVMM-kGIXBBYW-p4xE/s320/labor.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Labor room at a local clinic near Berega</td></tr>
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<br /> Around this time an ambulance pulled up. So who has been to the circus? Remember how the tiny car drives into the ring and 9,000 clowns get out? Well, an ambulance arrived, a couple of guys jumped to the ground, dragging out a very ill man and threw him onto a gurney; limp, dirty and moaning. Then more men got out and dragged out yet another man, also unconscious, and threw him onto another gurney. Then a third. Vienna and I just looked at each other and wondered how many clowns were actually going to emerge from this ambulance. One more, as it turned out. Unfortunately there were no more gurneys so they just dragged him into the center of the ER and plopped him down. Then the clowns who could walk jumped into the ambulance and left.<br />
<br /> These guys were truly a mess. I was only able to get part of the story, as it was in Kiswahili, so I found an English speaker and she told me that these men had been put into a closed metal crate to be smuggled from Somalia to possibly South Africa. Apparently this is common. They go for work. But as it's illegal, they are transported this long way in a closed container. If there are problems on the road, or any delays, which are bound to happen here, they stay in the hot crate and suffocate, starve, dehydrate, or a combination thereof. This happens in America as well, but the Somalis are Mexicans, and the results are frequently the same. I asked what would happen to them. She said they would be treated, and those that lived would be sent back to Somalia, to try again. Somalia is a rough place; I wouldn't want to live there either. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-NzGTp7o_T89OwRz9AEhijFCPVRrgL8AxtWF6FfRc5FQo53jPVpEE0HQwjSF7ODqx3Kxx3aCqZngvpU65A9i18G6xOcmf8PcP2ldf1WFAxZMqW8vdtubCyrZE0Dt_F3kxKoMf-J9Flk/s1600/Pharmacyandcashier.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-NzGTp7o_T89OwRz9AEhijFCPVRrgL8AxtWF6FfRc5FQo53jPVpEE0HQwjSF7ODqx3Kxx3aCqZngvpU65A9i18G6xOcmf8PcP2ldf1WFAxZMqW8vdtubCyrZE0Dt_F3kxKoMf-J9Flk/s320/Pharmacyandcashier.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pharmacy and Cashier</td></tr>
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It was our turn to see the doctor/nurse; I wasn't sure which as no one introduced themselves or explained anything. This is typical in here, a patient sees a provider, they get medicine, and leave without knowing any more than they did when they came in. The baby had a temp, so I removed her wraps, which is not usually done here. Babies are wrapped here and the sicker they are, the more wraps they use. The intake nurse didn't try to stop me, to her credit, but the next nurse who came by told me to cover her, which I did not. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dental clinic in Magubike</td></tr>
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<br /> To have a baby exposed to the air is a sign of bad mothering here, and I have to say, as a mom and an RN with many years experience, I felt the pressure to cover her. Strange that I can live in a culture long enough to feel like a bad mother for doing exactly what I am supposed to do. <br />
<br /> We made it into the ward, and there ensued a lengthy argument over the correct feeding schedule and amount to be fed. She is tube fed, and the doctor seemed to feel that the problem was that the feeding schedule was wrong, and the abdominal distention was due to gas. Personally, I was more concerned with her ragged breathing, her gray color, and her fever. She looked very bad. I've seen that look on many people; generally they are dying. It was also a concern that the doctor was doing the feeding calculations by counting on her fingers. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dental tools</td></tr>
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<br /> The specialist arrived, and I left the hospital to do some business. I came back about an hour later and she was in a little crib in the same room as the baby warmers so it was very hot. She was on oxygen, but even grayer, with dark rings around her eyes, taking a gasping breath about every ten seconds. They had failed to insert an IV for fluids and meds, but that's no surprise, there wasn't much to her. They gave her antibiotics IM.<br />
<br /> Remember that she was pretty fresh from the womb, tightly packed in there with her sisters, and now lying naked in a crib with nobody near. It's been proven that any attention is better than none, and as a nurse I know an unconscious person can still hear and respond. So I leaned in and started to talk to her, mostly about nothing, and she did respond. Her breathing quickened, she moved her little chicken arms and legs. I did promise her that if she lived, I would pay her school fees, which could get expensive as there are three of them. <br />
<br /> Vienna had gone to get a soda, and when she returned I told her I was leaving and asked her to talk to the baby. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I explained and she agreed. That was Saturday, and on Sunday she was still alive. We hoped the meds would take hold and she could be stabilized. Her genitourinary issues would be dealt with when she was not so fragile.<br />
<br /> Her name was Emalie, and she died on Monday.<br />
<br /> Two more babies died over the next few days, here in Berega. If you consider that most hospitals are understaffed, poorly equipped, and too few to be readily available, then multiply that by the thousands of villages in this country, and in most countries in Africa, possibly you can see the depth of the problem. It's truly staggering, and depressing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clean water mural at Berega Hospital</span></td></tr>
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<br /> Sometimes what I write is depressing, but then, sometimes this place is depressing. But good things happen, right now some very good things. About two months ago, we painted part of the pediatrics ward and turned it into a play area for the kids who are well enough to use it. Then just a few weeks ago a volunteer arrived, named Ann, and she commissioned John to paint the hospital walls with information for the patients to read while they wait. One wall is about clean water, two are about nutrition, and currently the maternity wing is being painted with pictures of fetal development. So much of what happens here could be prevented if people just knew some simple facts. It's all very basic information, but that's <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">where we are here. Basic.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nutrition wall at Berega Hospital</span></td></tr>
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Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-53201581694421781772013-10-31T21:42:00.000-07:002013-10-31T21:43:20.788-07:00Being Badoed<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There's a word here, bado, it means not yet, or wait a bit. I'm being badoed, which is grammatically poor but does succinctly describe what Immigration has been doing to me since my first trip to Africa. I have always tried to do what they asked, when they asked, but only once have I gotten what I needed. Why do they do this? Same reason dogs pee on trees. Because they can. There's some territorial issues as well. These guys have way more power than they need, certainly more than they can handle without acting like a pack of imbeciles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />When I got here in January of 2011, we applied for my work permit through our lawyers, to whom Brad pays a hefty retainer for just this type of thing. In his first trip innocence he assured me we would have it in no time because "we have lawyers". I said fine, ok, you bet, and three months later in April I made my first trip to Malawi to renew my visa. I made yet another border run in July, because there were some issues, but bado, it will come. Just about the time I was ready to make my third run, it arrived. O Happy Day. I was legal in Tanzania, which I hadn't been in Ghana and twice in Tanzania, despite my efforts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Earlier this year I mentioned to Brad that although it was about six months until my permit expired, we should probably get on it. Having lost his virginity on my first permit, he readily agreed. Well, my permit expired in August, and as of this day, October 13, I am without a permit. We almost had it but bado, there was no paper at Immigration. Only in Africa would this be offered as a legitimate excuse, and only here would it be accepted as one. I fell for it. I was laughing, but since nothing here can be headed off at the pass, we just wait till something happens then run around trying to fix it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Apparently the paper shortage was severe, because two weeks after they ran out of paper, I still had no permit. I did have, however, a letter from the lawyer stating that I had paid my fee and turned in my paperwork. This was signed, and did have a stamp, just not they stamp I needed. I was planning a trip to Nairobi, so I called the lawyer, now and forever to be referred to as Otilia, that moron, and asked if I could take my valid passport along with this note, and cross into Kenya. She said of course, hamna shida (that should have been my first clue). Before I made my bus reservations, and before the Somalis attacked the mall near the place I was going, I called the other lawyer to double check. He laughed and advised me not to try it. He would call around and get to the bottom of the issue, so bado, he would call me the next day. That never happened, so we called the head guy of the firm and he said hamna shida, he would talk to the others and have an answer for me in a day or two. That was the last we heard from him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />I go on vacation in six weeks, so I'm a little nervous. What if they don't let me out of the country, and if I do get out, what if I can't get back in? We called Otilia, that moron, again, and got the number of someone actually at Immigration. Ruth called and hamna shida, I can use the note to get my permit endorsed. Apparently my permit is AT Immigration, but now I need to bring the note to them. Also I need to bring another letter asking if I can use the note to ask for my permit. Please, if any of this makes sense to any of you, let me know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />I have another mgeni (guest) arriving on Thursday, so will go in early in the am to Dar and sit at Immigration, with my valid passport, my letter, and my letter asking to use my letter, and await my fate. I try to be optimistic, and if I succeed you will hear the ASIFIWE BWANA JESU all the way to the US, but in my heart I know will leave Dar dejected, shoulders slumped, letters in my backpack, with the promise that hamna shida, come back tomorrow or the next day. Bado kidogo, you will get your permit, Mungu akipenda na Inshallah (if God wishes and if Allah sees fit...I try to cover all the bases).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Just in case you were wondering, Curly, Larry and Moe are not dead, far from it. They are here in Tanzania, running the Department of Immigration. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt07PNS-TVEEWRSBIn5zniIEmdZ7BvLcoXjvgMxYO81CF76TSz6tN696iQ-AXn7tcey1Sh6nUrBuu42ZgDbIgZvPz5QJlM1-hBusU1MOqNPviVNDqhmvjccs5QwsxGp8zD7rpngfEnmw4/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt07PNS-TVEEWRSBIn5zniIEmdZ7BvLcoXjvgMxYO81CF76TSz6tN696iQ-AXn7tcey1Sh6nUrBuu42ZgDbIgZvPz5QJlM1-hBusU1MOqNPviVNDqhmvjccs5QwsxGp8zD7rpngfEnmw4/s320/image.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Update: well, it's Thursday night, I'm home and wonder of wonders, with a valid visa. Waited at Immigration for about an hour, and they gave it to me. Up until the last minute, I was sure they would refuse for some reason, no pens, no ink for the stamp… O me of little faith.</span><br />
<br />Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-64625373312131281952013-10-17T02:37:00.000-07:002013-10-17T02:37:32.356-07:00Just Trying to Get Home<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I've been feeling a little beat up by the village lately, it's not always easy living here. The food is monotonous and sometimes hard to get, there's no place to ride a bike, and just really nothing to do. Our two restaurants, The New Florida, and the Jesus Is Lord New Restaurant, are less than appealing and would be more aptly named Ptomaine Ptowers and The Dysentery Diner. There is no rain. The riverbed is sand. Kids die.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> My students are great, but the parents can make me want to poke my eyes out. It seems word has gotten around that if a parent doesn't feel like paying school fees, in spite of being offered work at the farm, that dumb mzungu will pay, that dumb mzungu being me. So I decided to get away from the village for the weekend and go to Dar for a little time to myself when nobody, and I mean nobody, would need a thing from me. This is not what happened. This is a sad story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> I boarded the bus in Morogoro, wanting a seat on the shady side. There were none, but I noticed the last row had a window seat. The back row is the last picked, as the suspension on these buses lack any actual suspending properties and you can arrive quite bent and sore. I walked toward the rear seats and noticed what looked like a scarf or scrap of fabric on the seat, so I figured a woman had left her kanga. As I got closer, it looked as though something was under that bit of fabric. I got to the end of the bus and there was a man lying under the wrap, a young Massai man. At first glance I thought he was dead, but there was life in his skeletal face. Not much life, but life nonetheless. He looked straight at me with his sunken eyes and I was just stunned that someone should leave a man in such distress alone on the bus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Very soon a tall young man walked up behind me and said this was his cousin, who was very sick and wanting to go home to his parents. He had become sick a while back and had recently begun refusing treatment. It wasn't helping anyway. His cousin had no English, and my Kiswahili is poor, but there was a nice Rastaman sitting nearby to translate and we all began talking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Isaya, the dying man, was only 19 years old, from a village many hours from Dar es Salaam. He had left his village to see some of the country, as young men will do. This is not acceptable behavior among some Massai, and a family can disown a man for abandoning his family, his tribe, and not helping with the cows. He was, at this point, suffering from TB and typhoid. TB is very common in the end stages of AIDS, and many people here who die of TB are HIV positive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> His cousin said that in fact, his parents would welcome him home, they knew how sick he was.The brother, however, had been left with the care of the cows, and wanted nothing to do with him. So the young man, I think his name was Joshua, was charged with bringing him home. He thought he would be able to get Isaya home by nightfall, when in reality they would not reach his village until the next night. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> Isaya was unable to sit or stand, so he was stretched out along the five back seats. Joshua had paid for three seats, one for himself and two for Isaya. But Isaya, being Masaai, was well over six feet tall, and using the entire last row by himself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> This left two unpurchased seats, and I will tell you that they would be filled before the bus departed. So I bought the two seats so Isaya could stretch out for the six hour trip to Dar. Massai are beautiful people, especially the men, tall and elegant, with stunning bone structure and a regal, dignified bearing. You cannot help but notice them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> This poor kid was a skeleton, weighing no more than his bones. There was nothing else to him. He had been having diarrhea and vomiting, and there was a blue bucket near his head should he need it. He was dehydrated. His lips were chapped and parched, he hadn't taken anything by mouth in quite some time. I bought some water, and helped lift him so his friend could slip in behind him for support. He drank the water, then started vomiting. I bought him some lollipops to take the taste away, and for a bit of sugar. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> We got underway, and Isaya lay there sucking on his lollipop, and dozing. I asked Joshua where he planned to stay the night since there would be no bus until the next morning. He just looked at me, and it was obvious he hadn't even thought of this, and had no idea what to do. He wasn't much older than Isaya, and not city bred. So he said they would probably spend the night at the bus station. About this time I looked out the window and started to cry. I have three sons, and this was too much to bear. Mothers internalize, it's what we do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> He had not planned for this, and was totally unprepared a trip of this kind. He had no idea what it would take to get Isaya home. I told him I would set them up in a "guestie", a small inn with cheap rooms. They could sleep there and get the bus the next day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> We got to Dar, but there was no guest house in the bus station, so we found a cab, and planned to find a room somewhere. His friend had a hard time picking him up, he was light, but very tall and it was awkward in the very narrow bus aisle. As he picked him up it was obvious Isaya was naked under the wrap. I pulled out my brilliant pink kanga, and we covered him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> We got him into the cab and the usual african discussion ensued. There were four of us actually involved, but somehow about ten people gathered to weigh in regarding where to go, how much to pay for the cab, and whether or not to buy tomorrow's tickets tonight. At one point I looked at one man and asked what the hell he had to do with this, how he was even involved, and why didn't he just go away. Then I pointed to a hotel across the street and told the cabbie to take us there. Enough already. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> So we took a two minute taxi ride to Mic Hotel, and I booked a room. It's a very modern hotel, the room was beautiful, the bed soft and clean, and we got him comfortable. He gestured me closer to say asante and then asked for a pair of captula,(shorts). Poor kid, bad enough he's dying on a bus, but he's naked but for his Massai wrap and my fluorescent flowered kanga. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> I asked Joshua to show me his money, and there was not enough for Isaya to have the last row on the bus. So we got that squared away, I gave him some travel money and some extra for his shorts. In the old days, a Massai would wear nothing under his robes, but nowadays they wear shorts. I showed Joshua how to use the key card, and the toilet. It was very plush and I admit I spent a few minutes myself figuring out the shower. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> So I left, and hopefully they had a comfortable night, got clean, and made it home so he could die with his family nearby. I told you this was a sad story. He may still be living, though I doubt it. Looked to me he was just holding on till he could see his Mom and Dad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> The rest of the weekend was fine. Had a few good meals, found a coffee bar with iced mochas and brownies to die for. Got some books for myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /> I'm back in Berega, getting beat up by the village again. There's just no escape, other than escape out of here, which I'm not ready to do. Still have not heard about Isaya. I hope he made it home. Hope his brother came around and was happy to see him. Hope he died comfortably, not laid out on the back of a bus in the hot african sun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />L</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-77579728546126155412013-10-06T00:43:00.000-07:002013-10-06T00:43:18.223-07:00You Can't See Kansas from Here, Toto<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm here to teach, not to tell folks how to live, so if the kids are well educated, it follows they will figure out the rest by themselves. As Maya Angelou says, folks who know better, do better. I am mindful of this as I go about my day, correcting pronunciation, introducing grammar concepts and generally failing to adequately explain our bizarre English spelling. I have yet to approach the six ways to pronounce ough, I just don't see it ending well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Evening classes continue, folks coming and going as work and family life permit. Amon is one of my adult students, a sweet, gentle, hardworking guy who can't remember a pronoun to save his life. Our routine is to talk about our day, our families, just generally converse together, and here's what happened a few days ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Me: Hello Amon, how are you?<br />Amon: I'm fine teacher, and you?<br />Me: I'm fine. So, </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">how was your day?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Amon: Ah, Teacher, today was bad.<br />Me: Why, what happened?<br />Amon: Today I beat my wife.<br />Me: Really? And why did you do that?<br />Amon: I came home and there was no food, so I beat she.<br />Me: You beat her. Was she sick?<br />Amon: No, she was not sick, so I must beat she.<br />Me: You must beat her. Did you beat her badly?<br />Amon: Teacher, I am making a story. I did not beat she.<br />Me: You did not beat her. So how was work?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Like I said, I'm just here to teach English. Other than the above, adult education moves along at a steady pace. The kids are a lot more exciting, and know their pronouns. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,helvetica,arial,sans serif;">What happened to the poor chicken who didn’t lay fast enough.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All of the kids are reading so well, easily above their grade levels, and they love picture books. The ones we get here are mainly of the Aesop's Fables genre, a story with a moral, and bright, pretty illustrations. We were reading about the chicken who laid golden eggs, geese not being common here. As the story unfolded, the farmer became greedy and decided that instead of waiting for the hen to lay, he would just cut the gold out of it's stomach. There followed a full page picture of the farmer and his wife, a boning knife dripping blood onto the floor, and one mortally wounded chicken on the kitchen table. I was taken aback, and even the kids went a little wide eyed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Even more egregious than the pictures are the spelling and grammar errors. These books are published by Vika, a company out of India, and as I read to the kids I correct the spelling and grammar with my black pen. Every time. Without fail. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQNLsQn_xr7jJiOmnTj8TIy1NMHcGv-C3xOSOa5xPTXDeZQ6iUsxWbwPUbHE6sxz-YaZCRGN80_Tuip3W0f0jTUtA5tpf01Hv3GqxnAiF_sLQPIMddDAj95kTxXO2H6lrThh1-iN0ssU/s1600/P1070137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQNLsQn_xr7jJiOmnTj8TIy1NMHcGv-C3xOSOa5xPTXDeZQ6iUsxWbwPUbHE6sxz-YaZCRGN80_Tuip3W0f0jTUtA5tpf01Hv3GqxnAiF_sLQPIMddDAj95kTxXO2H6lrThh1-iN0ssU/s320/P1070137.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,helvetica,arial,sans serif;">And out comes my red pen, as well as my blue magic marker. Does anyone edit these things?</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">American books present their own problems, although not with grammar and spelling. They like the Sesame Street books, but Oscar lives in a garbage can and we are fresh out of them here. We actually never did have them, which accounts for the garbage strewn all over hell and half of Berega.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />So nothing is perfect here, but we love our books, especially the ones about Africa. I found a bookshop in Dar specializing in English and Kiswahili versions of african themed stories, and I buy them up as fast as I can. They're all about village life, animals, and the kids' favorite, Kaka Sungura, which is Kiswahili for Brother Rabbit. Kaka Sungura is a very bad rabbit, stealing maize and other crops from the hardworking zebras, monkeys, and lions. He gets into all kinds of trouble and is in constant conflict with the other wanyama. The kids read both the English and Kiswahili versions. I read only the Kiswahili, and I'm about at level 5 now. These are much loved books, and already re-stapled and now duct taped.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfcvDMQ5mI0KPe3iU941rkGZhPOniwl_FHwLnXQRgmiuHzXhtGbYL_mUVrYGs4M_T4LzEdh3hAS8LFaPnO7YlY8GkQ0Lzy60Y_0r7ltqtC8teklXukusQ2BMRJbrIEYYMdm4Cc3pHb2A/s1600/P1070135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfcvDMQ5mI0KPe3iU941rkGZhPOniwl_FHwLnXQRgmiuHzXhtGbYL_mUVrYGs4M_T4LzEdh3hAS8LFaPnO7YlY8GkQ0Lzy60Y_0r7ltqtC8teklXukusQ2BMRJbrIEYYMdm4Cc3pHb2A/s320/P1070135.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,helvetica,arial,sans serif;">What can I say?</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When a person grows up speaking a language it's easy not to see the gray areas. We know what to say, we know the right answers, we just don't think about it. The kids have made me aware of the many shades of gray in my mother tongue. We've been discussing opposites and I asked them the opposite of full. Dani said hungry. I was actually looking for empty, but here hungry works just as well. Dani is a very bright kid, but the opposite of buy is not don't buy, although it was a good try.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were discussing rhyming words, and the word to rhyme was cat. Samweli said bat, Mbuli said fat, but Jenny was stumped. I tried to help her out so I said, "You put it on your head'" to which she said "a bucket". True, but not quite what I was looking for.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Two plus two is four, now and forever, the answer is the answer. Not so in cross cultural English. We were doing some fill in the blanks the other day and the sentence was "Amina has long black_____. " The correct answer, according to the book, is hair. Well here, nobody has hair and everyone is dark skinned except me so Susy got points for fingers. And she does have long black fingers. Long black legs and arms as well. She's a very tall girl. The answer to "We eat with____, " here in the village, is hands, or even fingers. Not one kid wrote fork or spoon. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQNw-p0uN8_OIScxAkoRDufuK5mqigLb7f5GvgY3C_c8Yp8Hn3s0rFuS4ZpbrwudFx3hSFyQmntGA6evt7Z9J25NQl3GDvm6bseXYcqny4XBlKU-SleIRg5z1PpJ_wjyOKCk_j13Rd2U/s1600/P1070133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQNw-p0uN8_OIScxAkoRDufuK5mqigLb7f5GvgY3C_c8Yp8Hn3s0rFuS4ZpbrwudFx3hSFyQmntGA6evt7Z9J25NQl3GDvm6bseXYcqny4XBlKU-SleIRg5z1PpJ_wjyOKCk_j13Rd2U/s320/P1070133.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,helvetica,arial,sans serif;">V is for Vika Publishing that can’t think of another word to use for V.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />There has been good progress with r and l, although nobody except Std 2 can say ruler. Sometimes I ask Std 1 to say it, just for kicks. They think it's hilarious, and it's good to be able to laugh at ourselves. "Long Live Rock and Roll" is going to take some time, and if they concentrate, they can say sixty. I kind of miss the old sikisty though, but preschool is still mangling it pretty well for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />In the govt schools, kids who make a mistake can be beaten or humiliated by the teacher. We just laugh and correct. Nobody is safe, even the teachers. So the kids laugh at themselves and each other and the teachers (who can't say ruler either). I hope and pray that none of these kids ever transfers to a govt school, because we've ruined them for anything else.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEztorDQgRprWmcdtmuEjBB-GVcJqzSZofQSiZHJc6LVZP8q2wk6mFxnRoEo2oJ6vMjqJKc2iqr633QzCKSugqEn18YfETJKt3oUnMYb7ls4nFMXbEPiU3iF7EQUuuFrgWNZUioGEatEI/s1600/P1070138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEztorDQgRprWmcdtmuEjBB-GVcJqzSZofQSiZHJc6LVZP8q2wk6mFxnRoEo2oJ6vMjqJKc2iqr633QzCKSugqEn18YfETJKt3oUnMYb7ls4nFMXbEPiU3iF7EQUuuFrgWNZUioGEatEI/s320/P1070138.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue,helvetica,arial,sans serif;">What is strange about this picture is that most of our kids have never used a toilet with a seat.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />There are still some uniform issues, mostly involving buttons and panties, or the lack thereof. Folks who wouldn't think of leaving their house without decent clothes will send their kid to school with a shirt that has one, and only one, button. Some of the girls come without underpants, which is a real problem in a country where girls wear dresses. We've collected a large bag full of chupi, (thanks Janet and Sarah), and have sold some, and will give away others. One of the teachers suggested we do like they did when she was in school, which is to line the girls up once a week and have them lift their skirts. I'm not easily shocked, and at first I thought it was a joke, but nope. All the teachers said this is just normal, and we need to check the boys as well. I had to laugh, just thinking about how fast an American teacher would be fired, or even jailed, for pulling a stunt like this. But then, here it's common for the headmaster of the upper grades to send the girls for pregnancy tests. This is done without consent from either the students or the parents.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />This is where I live, where I chose to live. As I was correcting Amon's grammar it occurred to me that I was less concerned about him beating his wife than his total inability to to use the proper pronoun. Have I crossed over to some other universe? Probably not, but I guess it's like that AA prayer. Grant me the strength to change what I can…….And the brains to know the difference. Something like that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />L</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-87989716951160103722013-09-13T03:14:00.000-07:002013-09-13T03:14:30.675-07:00A Hot Time in Old Dar<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Went to Dar a while back looking for teachers. As usual, Dar was interesting, too hot, and more than a little frustrating. I stayed at Safari Inn, deep in the 'hood. But this time I got a room with a fan and AC. My attitude toward Dar has changed over the years. While I still dread the trip in general, I've decided to focus on the good parts, i.e., the food, the bookstores, and the AC. I like to go out at night, despite all the tourist warnings. It's cooler, and everyone is out, kids included, so it's actually very safe. And everything looks so much cleaner in the dark, a good thing when you dine al fresco.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKVkL2elHwjmOsn34um3-qpXAUVRLPLjDsxf-cO_rs9WE1C8TkZ9wV27pNcBdcZmWC2wNbCU9mz5yjdZJuaI757UT6ULm0IBIK77og7e2mi4wDvyE3LhD4a0OSLzArVnbpdc4MDf9QLs/s1600/dar2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKVkL2elHwjmOsn34um3-qpXAUVRLPLjDsxf-cO_rs9WE1C8TkZ9wV27pNcBdcZmWC2wNbCU9mz5yjdZJuaI757UT6ULm0IBIK77og7e2mi4wDvyE3LhD4a0OSLzArVnbpdc4MDf9QLs/s320/dar2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garlic butter naan made in a tandoori oven. To die for. </td></tr>
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My current favorite greasy spoon is Mamboz Barbecue. It's just a hole in a corner, but at night they block off part of the road and put out plastic furniture and grills. Real classy. The grilled chicken is excellent and they make their own garlic naan in a tandoori oven right there on the street. While you eat, guys come around and try to sell you DVDs, kids toys and assorted crap. Folks call in their orders and drive up, honk and pick up their food. McDonald's has arrived.<br />
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I spend a lot of money when I'm there, mostly for food and transport to places with AC. For getting around town I like a bajaji (a big golf cart.) Taxis are expensive, and charge more for AC. So I go with the open sided bajaji. About half the price, and a good breeze.<br />
<br />On Sunday I went to Sea Cliff, aka Wazungu Heaven, where I sat in a coffee shop for a good long spell, enjoying an iced coffee and of course the deliciously cool air. On the way back to the hood, I caught a bajaji, with a driver who was concerned that I hold onto the sides at all times because "hamna mlango" there is no door. None of the bajajis have doors, but if you brace your legs against either side, you can balance well enough to take pictures while you weave in and out of traffic. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhha3glnQ6_z94GdKTC590AEuqmDtfm1MyWMvum88LiHMTlm0ukIZtMu9I_idNS8N08S0qhbN-BPuDX__i0wMK6M3fsjx3Ap3m5z-GRhXT3wni9NrhdHaCvL0SYSQi7CENrWYgt-6oLx0Y/s1600/dar4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhha3glnQ6_z94GdKTC590AEuqmDtfm1MyWMvum88LiHMTlm0ukIZtMu9I_idNS8N08S0qhbN-BPuDX__i0wMK6M3fsjx3Ap3m5z-GRhXT3wni9NrhdHaCvL0SYSQi7CENrWYgt-6oLx0Y/s320/dar4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is very little offered for folks with missing parts, so mostly they work<br />
the median. A tough job on a good day, but worse when the traffic is heavy.</td></tr>
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<br />All was well until just outside of town, when we were stopped by the police. I knew I hadn't done anything, so I figured the driver had somehow transgressed, and settled down to watch the show. First the cop stood in front of the bajaji and looked at all the insurance stickers, but everything was in order. Next he shook the bajaji back and forth for a bit, I have no idea why. So then they asked for his driver's license and bingo, let the bargaining begin.<br />
<br />The driver got out, but I stayed in the backseat, at the curve of the road, watching this unfold and hoping not to get rear-ended. The driver said he in fact had a license, but sadly for us all, it was with his boss. Nobody believed him, and rightly so. It's all too common for drivers to be unlicensed, or hold a fake license conveniently purchased from a friendly DMV employee for about 10,000 tsh (roughly 6 bucks.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsE_Zq0VGHbJIhfG6E2aHe9gl909qOjeelsJMCLQ8KgB3CcnROsXrQkMlg9QtjJ8f26cDwjVnB_LnXLgpGcmI8z6tIBgCu22SPoL9aqmz20zdU-PmeWVl0RN7XiaHjqdO9RbwgbV5aEE/s1600/dar1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsE_Zq0VGHbJIhfG6E2aHe9gl909qOjeelsJMCLQ8KgB3CcnROsXrQkMlg9QtjJ8f26cDwjVnB_LnXLgpGcmI8z6tIBgCu22SPoL9aqmz20zdU-PmeWVl0RN7XiaHjqdO9RbwgbV5aEE/s320/dar1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local market selling rice and beans, with a liberal sprinkling of flies.</td></tr>
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<br />It was Dar hot, and the bargaining was taking forever, so I decided to weigh in. Me: "We know why you're here, you know why you're here, so can't we just name a price and move on?" Apparently not. The fine for driving without a license is 30,000 tsh, about 20 USD. So why can't he pay it? Because that's the legal price, if the cops actually give him a ticket. Which means the cops don't make money. What we need to do now is find out how much it will take for these guys to go away. By now I had exited the bajaji, thinking the longer I sat in the backseat the sooner I would be hit from the rear by yet another unlicensed driver, necessitating further bargaining with the cops.... <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-KJCG395AjUdgjf1YiBBSiKSmMKqAj8YAOES1Fx4-VfkmrI-iIA2Yt0UDRHc-yAVaq26dqlesozSQWR9nHUuukXLnE1syhBivgcpRJOejwgjT13CvekFRzY5XfnKfAlUPQvMl5Ms8g4/s1600/dar3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-KJCG395AjUdgjf1YiBBSiKSmMKqAj8YAOES1Fx4-VfkmrI-iIA2Yt0UDRHc-yAVaq26dqlesozSQWR9nHUuukXLnE1syhBivgcpRJOejwgjT13CvekFRzY5XfnKfAlUPQvMl5Ms8g4/s320/dar3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local bajaji, with cops inside, preparing to haggle.</td></tr>
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<br />Eventually Dar's finest decided to take the negotiations to a more private place. They got into the backseat, and off they drove to "talk", promising to return in 2 minutes. I walked around the beach and sure a mavi, a few minutes later they drove back, got out, and the driver and I were free to go. I asked him "Ulilipa shillingi ngapi?" How much did you pay? He said 1000 tsh/per cop. About 75 cents each. All that drama for 75 cents? We all know what's happening. Only an idiot doesn't know what's going on. But that's how it's done here. <br />
<br />So on to the real reason for my visit. We wanted to start a program for student teachers from a teaching college in Dar. We get free labor and they get experience. Good all around. I met up with Victor, the coordinator, and we walked to the school. It was blazing hot, and I was weak, flushed, and soaked to the skin when we arrived, at which point he told me the interviews would be conducted near his office ON THE EIGHTH FLOOR. There is an elevator, but pole sana, imeharibika. It's broken. I've been here too long to be surprised, and I know also that broken things generally stay broken for a good long while. Maybe they've rented the dead elevator to students from out of town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoHuTnmiZIuXOwvd-826RL6CCpiVok0BUhDWnoByNuZzzw9SqDGVNsFfEg5aTpows06oMhKPktl75in2oPsFV_JAhWMFVwmJtNF-swW6iieOyAZHyeyAp-39ZmR6_sSDOZeXHJaaC54Q/s1600/dar6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoHuTnmiZIuXOwvd-826RL6CCpiVok0BUhDWnoByNuZzzw9SqDGVNsFfEg5aTpows06oMhKPktl75in2oPsFV_JAhWMFVwmJtNF-swW6iieOyAZHyeyAp-39ZmR6_sSDOZeXHJaaC54Q/s320/dar6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hitching a ride, Dar style.</td></tr>
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<br />Not wanting to look weak and pitiful I soldiered on, and climbed what was the longest eight floors in the history of the world. The good news is that when I did get to Victor's office, it had AC. Asifiwe Bwana Mungu! After a short recovery period I went into the interview room to find about 30 student teachers, of which 3 had enough English to make the eight floors worthwhile. It's sad to talk to these new teachers. They all want jobs, they've worked so hard in school, but they just don't have the English. I usually begin by asking their names, which is no problem. Then I ask where they come from, and it's downhill from there. I picked three lovely young teachers and they will start soon.<br />
<br />The problem is that English is taught from a book, with exercises. Questions and answers. Not much time is spent just speaking, so when students leave school they have little practical experience conversing, and can't put what they learned in the book into actual face to face dialogue. Added to this, if you change the wording of a sentence they've memorized, they're totally confused. It's rare to find a village kid with any real command of the language, so when I do, I hire them or pay their school fees so they can finish.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cr23PMs6UDaumLv8QdqXstErXVozg0xjEfQmzCwN9mhlfdugMF7ysZHk6n3oMEAxSVEMQJ8xmJigKLZnxDFc2omY4EYxUwLmu0cstFIZIhaPZ5ftQfuIkHqOYyyjW8gFiWbHIhxBI04/s1600/dar5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cr23PMs6UDaumLv8QdqXstErXVozg0xjEfQmzCwN9mhlfdugMF7ysZHk6n3oMEAxSVEMQJ8xmJigKLZnxDFc2omY4EYxUwLmu0cstFIZIhaPZ5ftQfuIkHqOYyyjW8gFiWbHIhxBI04/s320/dar5.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy hangs around my hotel. One leg, a bundle on his head which he never drops,<br />
and clearly insane. I gave him 2000 tsh to take his picture (About $1.50.) I generally don’t<br />
take pictures of the beggars, but this guy was so unusual I couldn’t stop myself. </td></tr>
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<br />We have hired Sylvester, a young man who recently completed Form 6, and is waiting for his results. His English is so good I was convinced he was schooled in Iringa or Dar. Nope, right here in Berega. So he's working at the school till he goes on to teachers college, and at night he teaches me Kiswahili. I spend so much time speaking English that my Kiswahili is barely adequate, so three nights a week he comes to my house and is my mwalimu. We speak Kiswahili for 45 minutes and then switch to English. He wants to polish his skills, and 45 minutes of Kiswahili is more than enough for me. My poor brain is swimming with ambayos, ambachos, ambapos and all the other ambos. The only way for me to be fluent in this language is to actually be imprisoned for 6 months. That should just about do it. It should also strip away the baby fat I've been carrying around since my kids were born. I have grandkids so that should tell you how long this baby fat has been hanging around my waist and hips.<br />
<br />Nakupenda,<br />
L<br />
<br /><strong>Update</strong>: Sadly, the student teachers didn't work out. Their English was bad enough that the kids were correcting them. Added to this, one left for a week without notice and another left for a funeral and stayed gone for a week. We have since found two good teachers, experienced and motivated. All is well, but I doubt that we will attempt another student teacher program. Such is life.<br />
</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-7791074824156299822013-08-31T11:57:00.000-07:002013-08-31T11:57:30.456-07:00JACKIE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you work with kids, you get attached, you can't help it. When I was in Ghana, I got attached to a sweet little girl called Akosua, but I called her Sally. She was sick when I met her, and after much time we had a diagnosis, which is not easy in Africa. There's not much to work with. She had TB, and was doing well by the time I had to leave the country. She died about a month after I left.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just got back from the orphanage where a student of mine, Jackie, is lying dead. Nobody knows why, but he's dead. He's been sick for a while, on and off, but there's not much to work with here, like in Ghana.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dr. Sion, bless his heart, tried his very best to figure out what was wrong, but nothing worked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please don't respond to this blog, it won't help. I just wanted somebody to know that a sweet, funny little 7 year old boy who was just enjoying being a kid is dead. Even if nobody out there knows him, we did, and he meant a lot to us.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes I hate this place.</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-74362217895730467272013-07-21T18:38:00.000-07:002013-07-21T18:38:09.768-07:00Give a Chicken an Inch<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Folks like to be around nature, albeit in varying degrees. City dwellers content themselves with potted plants (or pot plants as the Brits call them), or parks where they can walk or jog or take their leashed, groomed and sweatered dogs for a run. And if you leave any evidence that your dog has been in the park/street, you pay a fine roughly equal to one months salary here in old Berega. There's tree lined boulevards in the tonier areas and neighborhood gardens for folks who want to get their fingers in the dirt but not actually bring it home.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Country folks have more actual contact, lots of trees, farms, cows and such. Lakes for fishing, mountains to climb, wildlife to see. However, there's an element of control here, you can participate or observe depending on just how much nature you can handle at any given moment. You go to it, and leave it when you've had your fill. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Not so here in Berega. We live in relative harmony with nature, but it's by no means controlled. Take for example, the monkeys, which according to some of my evening students steal maize with regularity and impunity. There's absolutely nothing that can be done about them. But then, they don't do anything about the humans who steal their maize either. A few weeks ago I was sitting on my porch and a three foot green monitor lizard skittered by me, last month there was a turtle on the playground. Two tourists recently got eaten by a lion while changing a flat at Mikumi Park. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I spent Easter week in Kyela, where the hippos and crocodiles are raising hell on the rice farms. Adamson told me that hippos are a true bother during rice growing season, as they like the rice, as well as the cool, muddy water it grows in. So at various times some brave soul will grab a big stick and beat the water, causing vibrations which hopefully frighten off the hippo. You can't get too close to a hippo because not only will it kill you, but it will toy with you for a bit first. Sometimes they kill with their gigantic teeth, other times they stomp you to death. Either way, it's decidedly unpleasant and you should try to avoid it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Crocs are sneaky, lying in wait for dogs, monkeys or the odd unfortunate villager cooling off in the river or washing clothes. Personally I would transport the water to higher ground. For some reason they don't eat the head. My friend from Kyela told me this, and as she had no idea why, I promised to google it. Some conversations you will only have in Africa.</span><br />
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a break from whatever it is dogs do, secure in the<br />knowledge that he can sleep
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Village dogs and cows will lie down for a rest wherever they please, and although the cows will move if you hit them with a stick, the dogs sleep unmolested by cars and passersby. One day as we were driving around a skinny, mangy specimen lying in the middle of the road I asked Abdallah why the dogs never move. He just looked at me and said "Mama Liz, that dog was born here." I had no response to such simple logic, and we drove on. There were a few other home grown canines scattered here and there on our way to the big road, and we drove around every one of them. You have to love this place.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The chickens, however, have forced me into an offensive mode. We feed the kids breakfast and lunch, sitting in the courtyard between the two classrooms. Kids being kids, there's usually bits of ugali and beans on the ground after meals. In the past a chicken or two would come to school and peck at the leftovers on the plates and in the dirt. Well now we have 63 kids, which has made the pickins more lavish. The chickens have told all their friends and now we have an entire army of free range fowl running around the school. The first time a chicken came into our Math class I just laughed and let the kids chase it around for a bit till Mbuli caught it and escorted it to the yard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's gotten out of hand and now they're sneaking in through the drainpipes and sashaying through the gate. Some manage to fly over the wall. They've made themselves quite at home in the classrooms. The kids love chasing them around, but there's feathers all over the place and today Freddy slipped on some chicken mavi and almost hit his head. The final straw was today when they showed up BEFORE Mama Dani, who brings the food. They were WAITING FOR HER, like old friends at a favorite restaurant. We've found an abandoned building near the school and will be cleaning it up so the kids can eat there. It won't stop the chickens, but it will get them out of class.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were discussing local transport one day and my student asked if the buses in America are like the buses in Tz. I said that in the US we don't have five people in a seat made for two, and there's no chickens and goats allowed inside the bus. They were shocked and wanted to know how we transport our chickens and goats. Yet another conversation you won't have in the US.</span><br />
<br />
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">And
as always, the road wanyama. If there's only one or two, you can muscle<br />them
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The First World tries to control and legislate wildlife, so no one is hurt or inconvenienced. There's laws about where you can have chickens and how many you can have. You can't have a cow if you live in New York City. If a dog bites or mauls someone, it's put down.
Here the animals are just part of life, they stroll down the road, come into your house, and occasionally eat someone. It's just one of the perks if you are, as Abdallah puts it, "born here".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">L</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-80840105082022946082013-07-02T00:54:00.000-07:002013-07-02T00:54:07.425-07:00Bette Davis Was Right<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's a bumpy ride.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The other day at school the kids were eating their kande (stew made of beans and maize and not much else) when out of the sky came a cloud of smoke which settled directly over our tiny diners. This has happened before so I dropped, rolled, felt the door for excessive heat, and beat it across the road to the Pastor's house. Literally across the road, his house is maybe 30 feet from the school. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He was burning leaves and branches, and there was a veritable mushroom cloud over his house. Near the burn sight was a tree, and tied to that tree were two of his cows. Pastor has beautiful cows, he takes excellent care of his livestock. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Stew made of spare parts of a cow. I would rather eat spare parts of a car.</span></span></pre>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I crossed the road I saw him frantically untying said cows from the tree and bringing them to an area far away from the swirling, choking smoke. I walked over and greeted him, because every conversation here begins with a greeting. A maniac with a machete would wish you a hearty good morning before cleaving your head in two. Africans are genetically polite.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anyway, after saying hi I asked him why he was moving his ng'ombe. He said smoke is bad for cows, of course. So I pointed across the road to the school, barely visible inside the nuclear cloud enveloping our kids, the church, and everything within a fifty yard radius, and asked him to extend the same courtesy to the kids as to his bovine friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was ever so polite about it too, you'd be proud.
He was shocked, and quickly doused the fire. Pastor is a sweet guy, and always means well, but this is just an example of how it is here. Burn at will, wherever and whenever you please, with nary a thought for udderless bystanders.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Kids never know when they cross the line, but parents do.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was giving the kids a math test a few weeks before this, just staring out the window while they sighed and erased and borrowed erasers. I've finally gotten past them asking the kids at the next table to borrow their rubbers. Anyway, (it's very hot, obviously I'm having a hard time staying on track) there was a woman on the road with her small boy, he couldn't have been more than two, if that. She was whipping him on the butt and legs with a small stick, while he sat on the ground screaming and for the most part, dodging the blows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I guess she wanted him to get up, and if at first you don't succeed, keep whipping. I actually counted about 30 whacks (most of which fell short), during which time he decided to make a run for it and headed off down the road with mom and her stick in hot pursuit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By now I'm sure you're asking yourself (or you should be), why I didn't intervene. Kids are beaten here, every last one of them, at school, at home, wherever they happen to be when they cross the line. Remember the parents have all given us permission to cane their kids. They know we don't beat the kids at school, although they just can't figure out why not. Maybe they think that since kids are doing well, they'd do twice as well if we caned randomly every week or so to keep the little buggers on their toes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We're in a time warp here, and except for mobile phones, motorcycles, and the colorful plastic buckets women carry on their heads, village life looks like a scene from the Old Testament. No kidding. Things in America have been changing at light speed due to technology, but the computer age hasn't hit the village. Change is unbelievably slow here, and folks do as they've done since Jesus was a kid. Although I'm hard pressed to imagine Mary chasing the son of God down the road with a stick. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like I've said many times, life is hard for a village woman.
This ancient woman should be resting under a tree, but she's not. </span></span></pre>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I asked Vicent the other day how old he was and he said one. Another kid said sijui (I don't know). School kids at home know how old they are, but time stands still here, and nobody has birthday parties anyway, so I guess it's no big deal. No Christmas presents, Easter baskets, no chocolate bunnies...Life isn't much more exciting for women either, but the men seem to have it pretty good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm sure all you politically correct folks out there are having heart attacks over what I've just written, so come on over here and see for yourself. Life is very different here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For example...
In Dar es Salaam they occasionally necklace a thief. Necklacing is dousing a tire with gasoline and tossing it over the head of the miscreant. Then of course the tire is lit and everyone stands around watching the show. Fun for the whole family. Our new teacher Pasiana was in Dar one day and came upon the remains of a recently necklaced ne'er-do-well. Almost worse than the necklacing is the lack of an actual trial before sentencing, just street justice, so possibly the criminal is, in actuality, not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Before you cancel your plane reservations I want to say that necklacing is not too common. More often the thief is beaten to death, which is probably no real consolation to the thief, but smoke free and therefore environmentally sound.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGegyl8vZMCg0llNVeqHQG3d41gioVRFQd6AJ-W0tFWQ4z1vrNLSGjqDdNnQr91mPqHZYTMhHvCBA1tPn5bpNH2-kpY8tKNvgMl7NTfZiQIo70TIhXggclRFnKXiXt0NF6nnzR5OCpkZ0/s1600/P1060206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGegyl8vZMCg0llNVeqHQG3d41gioVRFQd6AJ-W0tFWQ4z1vrNLSGjqDdNnQr91mPqHZYTMhHvCBA1tPn5bpNH2-kpY8tKNvgMl7NTfZiQIo70TIhXggclRFnKXiXt0NF6nnzR5OCpkZ0/s320/P1060206.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Went to Mikumi Park the other weekend and were wondering why there were so few animals.
When we saw these guys we understood why all the other wanyama had bagged. Spent about
an hour taking pictures of them. They look like big soft kittens, who can tear your throat out.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have a friend who was trying to interest people in health insurance, at ridiculously low rates, and having a hard time convincing folks to sign up. As one man said in refusal, "But I'm not sick"' My point being that health insurance is a western luxury. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Africa is not preventative, Africa is reactive. It's that same mindset that sends a kid to a govt school when the parent can afford private school fees. The kid hasn't failed yet, so why bother. But he will fail, and so it goes. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOUaOlmMdwxdKPknQ99Rk1T1sZa6LCoxwenwqbrakqWww4thzq_0FSzvUlG6x98IQ6-iBtYFEERQHxT7MfMKkX9BBDMlpCyD6nt4kSSlST6PM-kR6rPgwsEqEnVr3svp8TxOkMjmFIfI/s1600/P1050936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOUaOlmMdwxdKPknQ99Rk1T1sZa6LCoxwenwqbrakqWww4thzq_0FSzvUlG6x98IQ6-iBtYFEERQHxT7MfMKkX9BBDMlpCyD6nt4kSSlST6PM-kR6rPgwsEqEnVr3svp8TxOkMjmFIfI/s320/P1050936.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">These are Vicent, Vale and Ima, three red blooded African boys.
Ima is wearing a Hanna Montana sweatshirt, Vicent is arrayed in a
Dora the Explorer vest and Vale sports the tiara. I love this place. </span></span></pre>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I try to spend most of my time in Std.1 and 2, because chekechea makes me want to poke my eyes out. The crying, the blank stares, the uncontrolled urinating. We've been working on simple addition, as well as sitting properly and not eating boogers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They need to answer a math problem before they leave for the day. I was working my way through the kids and stopped to tell Daudi to sit properly, to which he responded "7". My one consolation is that by next year he will probably be reading, no thanks to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I like village life, but it can wear a hole right through your brain. It's a tough place to live. Everything here is normal, if you're from here. If you're not, it's another thing altogether. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIXe6-hdPQsXoMW9fOUax2E5sCCToSk_JjlKeJPniI7fb2s4ZLgchcw79APzZMqyLV1TSp8f-JaVhb3t_wEUHHHZ_1hT49XHGoGiC2VWRH_YQD5HCv6MTq79Ow2Smu7_43rEjws55pwY/s1600/P1050926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIXe6-hdPQsXoMW9fOUax2E5sCCToSk_JjlKeJPniI7fb2s4ZLgchcw79APzZMqyLV1TSp8f-JaVhb3t_wEUHHHZ_1hT49XHGoGiC2VWRH_YQD5HCv6MTq79Ow2Smu7_43rEjws55pwY/s320/P1050926.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sometimes on Sunday they have revivals up in the heart of the
village. Lots of music and dancing, hell fire and brimstone. </span></span></pre>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The other day a young man came to my door and told me his bibi is sick and can't work so can I pay his school fees. My first response was "Who are you?" I did tell him that there are lots of jobs up at the Hands4Africa site and I would arrange work for him. All he had to do was go to the site and ask for Ruth. He never showed. I guess his bibi had a miraculous recovery. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We've been reviewing our Math and English for the big test, and I wrote letter combinations on the board so the kids could write words underneath. Under cr, my Jenny wrote crap. I asked her if by any chance she meant crop. This cute little kid with four missing front teeth said, "No Teacher, crap". I guess she's been listening, and I am grateful that's all I've said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">L
</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-85599834510719442842013-05-04T02:53:00.001-07:002013-05-04T02:53:46.657-07:00 Up To My Knees In ItSomeday I'd like to go to China. Not to see the Great Wall, or the
temples, or wherever it is Chairman Mao has been interred. What I want, instead,
is to stand in the middle of the street surrounded by bicycles and
vent my frustration about the crap they send to Africa. How can it be
that the nation that invented gunpowder, built the Great Wall, and
first used toilet paper (that may have been the Egyptians), not be
able to manufacture a decent battery or a pencil that doesn't lose
its tip every five minutes, or toilet tank innards that don't leak
all over my freaking floor? I could have planted rice.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFeVS5cKswy2mcAUdcXMHVMz2UaY1ncejk8VDUbqZEQ74I9xjTg2ysmL-snZQUjYyrxV9Zv98oi1RpcWzciCFWhBxRnkOjqMUgZWOzvdzHE3mXMcfxTu3BfIqKJsQj9BUm4uHdc9CkYiw/s1600/avianinvaders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFeVS5cKswy2mcAUdcXMHVMz2UaY1ncejk8VDUbqZEQ74I9xjTg2ysmL-snZQUjYyrxV9Zv98oi1RpcWzciCFWhBxRnkOjqMUgZWOzvdzHE3mXMcfxTu3BfIqKJsQj9BUm4uHdc9CkYiw/s400/avianinvaders.jpg" width="485" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is when you know you're in the country.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are two toilets in my house, and generally at least one is
functional, so I guess I shouldn't bitch. But I'm down to one now, and
it needs to be bucket flushed. About two weeks ago a wire inside the
tank rusted out. Berega water is <i>chumvi chumvi</i> (salty), so this
happens upon occasion. Usually I don't call the <i>fundi</i> right away,
because I still have another <i>choo</i> and they know it, so won't come
anyway. They may say <i>kesho</i> (manana), but it's low on their list. And
given that they use a pit in the ground I try not to get too verklempt
about my second flushing toilet.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwS3fo6x30GbVziByplLENO3svjNrbB_xgMPD-NMc78H2o04uB6gL66H6RF0SglJejfvcUHctOGLYhIqqAv3uGtlBe0b42ukiY14oSP5yuZhFl_EOSxyjxyRBUruD7HOWpYENylVF3hp4/s1600/posers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwS3fo6x30GbVziByplLENO3svjNrbB_xgMPD-NMc78H2o04uB6gL66H6RF0SglJejfvcUHctOGLYhIqqAv3uGtlBe0b42ukiY14oSP5yuZhFl_EOSxyjxyRBUruD7HOWpYENylVF3hp4/s320/posers.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their moms tried to convince me these<br />
kids are 5 years old. But they are 3,<br />
and along with 6 others, make up our<br />
PRE pre-school. They cry a lot, are<br />
only barely toilet trained, but look so<br />
damn cute in the uniforms.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Unfortunately, the other day my tank sprung a leak, not a significant
leak, but a leak nonetheless. Sometime the following day it became
significant enough that I had to use every towel in the house to mop it up.
Remember now, this is Africa, and construction being what it is, all the
maji rushed downhill to my bedroom, the spare bedroom, and the living
room, as well as the other bathroom with the toilet that doesn't flush.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BKSHJVx93UbmsSGx3x4k9iWDrtmJAJWZaQcS1jD3vyzxof_yXC08ZfSLSRqO9C2gnjWNOyxLdaebJVDbpUZfLFdudpt_tRRMcX9T4-7Z9hsbPnRlx91G-sTBG-PS-Xr_pleN-G8yTUQ/s1600/loosetooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BKSHJVx93UbmsSGx3x4k9iWDrtmJAJWZaQcS1jD3vyzxof_yXC08ZfSLSRqO9C2gnjWNOyxLdaebJVDbpUZfLFdudpt_tRRMcX9T4-7Z9hsbPnRlx91G-sTBG-PS-Xr_pleN-G8yTUQ/s320/loosetooth.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With 64 kids, at any given moment<br />
someone is losing a tooth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I went up to Isaac's house to ask him to call the fundi then rushed
back to my house to wait for the fundi that never came. About two
hours later I called Isaac, just before he went to bed, and asked
where the hell the fundi got to. He was <i>shangaa sana</i> as he thought the
matter was solved. We do live in hope here.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p>
He came down with Barton to attempt a quick fix, but neither of these
sweet guys are fundis. They fiddled around for a while, pointed at
lots of stuff, like guys do, during which time I got my giant squeegee
thing and tried to push back the rising tide. It was about two inches
deep in some places. I threw all my saturated towels outside and began
on the blankets. It's hot out now so I won't be needing them for a
couple of months.</p>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu3HZtAdsgWG5E1yX_eFTad9uJ7BPX4eFgmmwsV6Al8k7vb5_Z9VhTeccJ1Nrth92T5FW3-brKgiEue-_K2VD_AO75TPv6beOpixtHlKeKD3aB8JpvXOjM6Sry-K3uZgbofElre085x4/s1600/checkers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu3HZtAdsgWG5E1yX_eFTad9uJ7BPX4eFgmmwsV6Al8k7vb5_Z9VhTeccJ1Nrth92T5FW3-brKgiEue-_K2VD_AO75TPv6beOpixtHlKeKD3aB8JpvXOjM6Sry-K3uZgbofElre085x4/s320/checkers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teacher Martha and the kids learning to play<br />
checkers, or draughts, as they call it here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally they called Bayona, not the originally contacted fundi, but a
fundi nonetheless. He came and fiddled around a bit, pointed at a lot of stuff and
ended up disconnecting the flexible pipe that goes to the tank, folded
it back on itself, and tied it with a piece of rubber tubing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<p>Then he
took out most of the insides of the tank and called Titus, who lives
in Morogoro, who said he'd bring up the part in the morning.<br />
Well that didn't happen (no surprise there) maybe tomorrow. He knows
I've still got another toilet, what he doesn't know is it doesn't
flush. And as it's not a pit in the ground I'm not planning to suck
around for sympathy which would not be forthcoming anyway.</p><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUsjxBqojg5rcAOMbLhYLZFHynUiNK-Gysst_an9X33ScIQh2us2A95vqTztNG3XCI3Olv8tfS4NFqmlfVKg9dRdQL6pdRWTiIwvkDZMA8BT3wczny6QbKHBwYiSW5p-MoiXKT05f06g/s1600/ecrown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUsjxBqojg5rcAOMbLhYLZFHynUiNK-Gysst_an9X33ScIQh2us2A95vqTztNG3XCI3Olv8tfS4NFqmlfVKg9dRdQL6pdRWTiIwvkDZMA8BT3wczny6QbKHBwYiSW5p-MoiXKT05f06g/s320/ecrown.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CMy grand-daughter Ayla let me have<br />
her tiara for the kids. Evander is 12,<br />
male, and in Standard 1. He was math<br />
winner that day and proudly wore the<br />
crown. You can only do this here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<p>Now if it was Brad with the plumbing issues, you could bet your socks
there would be a fundi or three working up a sweat over this. But I'm
a woman, and I'm not the boss, so it gets fixed when it gets fixed.
Added to that, it will take at least two or three tries, most likely
three. TIA. Not to mention,(oh why not), the sink in the toilet leaks,
and it's been fixed four times. I don't even bother with it, there's
three sinks in my house so there's no way in hell the fundis are
getting worked up over this. I'm thinking of planting geraniums in it.
The light is good on that side of the house. Maybe goldfish.</p>
<br />
There's one fundi, the sweetest guy ever, who comes to fix things now
and again. While he does show up and he does try, he always forgets
that when you disconnect a pipe, <i>maji itaondoka</i>. Water will come out.
Every time. He always acts so surprised about the whole thing, as I
scramble to throw down all my towels. I suppose I'm just as dopey. I should have
the towels right by the door to save time. But as I said, we live in
hope.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
I did ask if we could turn off the maji, like you'd do anywhere else
in the world, but this isn't anywhere else in the world, it's here,
and you can't turn off the water. In defense of my friends, the fundis,
pit toilets being the norm, it makes sense that they'd have trouble
fixing a western toilet. Or have I been here too long?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_zHM08oQT3v9k7kt0QrzTOZ79_QyR_aXXfUANW_IZm9GEY2HJJ-FipL7XLiNrdvBY5rxOQP72fgVw6Y0QMm_7XBu2YsGChnwsVOC1W-_j-RYqUJy_jL6t2GEnO6rVE3T715L0bdIizo/s1600/toothangst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_zHM08oQT3v9k7kt0QrzTOZ79_QyR_aXXfUANW_IZm9GEY2HJJ-FipL7XLiNrdvBY5rxOQP72fgVw6Y0QMm_7XBu2YsGChnwsVOC1W-_j-RYqUJy_jL6t2GEnO6rVE3T715L0bdIizo/s320/toothangst.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like the loose teeth, someone's<br />
usually crying. Mostly over nothing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Skool Nooze</b>:<br />
1. Enrollment is up from the six original kids to 64.<br />
2. Even the chekechea kids are reading English and Kiswahili. It's
amazing.<br />
3. Magubike, the village down the road, has enrolled 11 kids. They are
transported by the Hands4Africa driver, Abdallah.<br />
4. We started Standard 2 in January.<br />
5. We just got new tables because the kids were sitting on top of each
other, and will probably need more soon.<br />
6. We have hired 2 new chekechea teachers. That brings us up to 5.<br />
7. We hired a teachers aide, the mother of one of our students, and
she's working off her fees helping out with the kids.<br />
8. Teachers have sent us unsolicited employment applications. Word is
spreading.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8bluoSM-RGP3Nzh2OqYTZilj3aUUUd4X_kgwWhyFtN_6BdmuV9b05O4zUxor7MgkVZmIhmP6yd5I-iaHi7G-qxQlByKIwWi1tIJnRBgXxQpEiJMRZflWdRvfdZ3kzaTx_7aXE72TP8g/s1600/freedayB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8bluoSM-RGP3Nzh2OqYTZilj3aUUUd4X_kgwWhyFtN_6BdmuV9b05O4zUxor7MgkVZmIhmP6yd5I-iaHi7G-qxQlByKIwWi1tIJnRBgXxQpEiJMRZflWdRvfdZ3kzaTx_7aXE72TP8g/s320/freedayB.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free day before vacation. The kids could<br />
choose to go home early or stay and<br />
play. Most stayed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>General Hands4Africa News</b><br />
1. The plantation is now employing 60 people, 60 happy people who now
have steady work.<br />
2. Parents who want to send their kids to our school can get the fees
working for us.<br />
3. The naysayers are now yeasayers.<br />
4. We have jatropha seedlings doing well.<br />
5. Mipango Pub is doing a thriving business, thanks in part to the a
portion of the 60 people now gainfully employed by Hands4Africa. It
trickles down.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AWiSXTPRwAGw6bnTxGm7F0jtV1YOxmAtgN29fG6BtrpsfuwoGpMsXRS8hFytcbvYoNakAN_AciQhN_62XZnC0PmQG9rNABIkoSbivGhPwzWX8l6oqau9yl1iQ7WmUg3SnG0qZXfolzk/s1600/killfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AWiSXTPRwAGw6bnTxGm7F0jtV1YOxmAtgN29fG6BtrpsfuwoGpMsXRS8hFytcbvYoNakAN_AciQhN_62XZnC0PmQG9rNABIkoSbivGhPwzWX8l6oqau9yl1iQ7WmUg3SnG0qZXfolzk/s320/killfood.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My one attempt at killing my food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
I don't want you to think it's all butterflies and sunshine. We've got
problems. We're bursting at the seams and need to start building the
actual school, complete with boarding facilities. It's the only way we
will succeed. Right now we're in the black. Of the hospital, the
nursing school and us, the school is the only thing not running at a
deficit.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm thinking of having a pit toilet dug in my
backyard. No moving parts, relatively maintenance free, and it's a
great place to throw trash.<br />
L<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Uiz1ehBFOU7vS-9o_clV-IiPzwiWDC3HgQBdAp77cKSCRrL3vHj1MyrJ6BC22TWQwjxTCOh3AleZ_aOHH9HyUHVBfyEE41HFwMzNF_eoHqmuJTr2jHubUeWxdGDoez4wKql7LRDhTbw/s1600/killfoodwimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Uiz1ehBFOU7vS-9o_clV-IiPzwiWDC3HgQBdAp77cKSCRrL3vHj1MyrJ6BC22TWQwjxTCOh3AleZ_aOHH9HyUHVBfyEE41HFwMzNF_eoHqmuJTr2jHubUeWxdGDoez4wKql7LRDhTbw/s320/killfoodwimp.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm such a wimp.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Update: It took 4 visits, but both toilets work again. My towels and blankets are dry, But now the light in the toilet doesn't work. I have a flashlight so as long as my supply of American made batteries (thanks boss) lasts, I'm ok.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-9970187452346030852013-03-30T20:34:00.000-07:002013-03-30T20:51:12.428-07:00The Etiquette of Abuse
I teach adults in the evening, focusing on conversation rather than grammar. My students are farmers, a nurse's aide, a driver, the pastor, a tailor, and a group
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 0.4em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhF4lL0qC5iW4lGhOdmUhxY9PcPPdv0rJjVKGWaeBh9pO2QHclmdLp1mr7Z0ExNFiPdWjgreqvqhO5AJOAN-HpaI4GDlxT0w2VwuiKAMV-EP3mKjE89AvxPx_v4faXncTOkJx5geYNFA/s1600/martha.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhF4lL0qC5iW4lGhOdmUhxY9PcPPdv0rJjVKGWaeBh9pO2QHclmdLp1mr7Z0ExNFiPdWjgreqvqhO5AJOAN-HpaI4GDlxT0w2VwuiKAMV-EP3mKjE89AvxPx_v4faXncTOkJx5geYNFA/s1600/martha.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teacher Martha with Shafi Wyatt Abdallah, and some visitors.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlLigFAQ3V-lKEZeRsMdIKn084-fGZeDRHLOwqHECI5UMLC2vKAjYD0ZdYAl5K9bPqAuEC6orABNC_QHMnmSDR9bw1qAMF8_3eFda-GukY8QxxXHiA4UC388xybymoa0kdJJLMV8Al_U/s1600/blackboard.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 0.4em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub4U6zJMVbyeKyIn4ygcGnX5Ak-xejNahPhqMk5vv43j3NHDVwTuqLbPRn5D4fw5g20Vk1avgqHk1_b_GU2kxQw63gwDY8KXElUuOUOIrpBNWBsDNBZS0wRCiutMnPwK6C286S8ibaZc/s1600/scrabbleboys.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0.4em;"></a>of secondary school students. So we sit in the Standard 1 classroom on tiny chairs and talk to each other. Usually someone has a question about two similar words. Today David asked me about beating vs striking, which led to a lively and illuminating discussion re the difference between being beaten (kupiga) and getting sticks (kuchapa ).<br />
<br />
Apparently, being struck just once (even lightly) constitutes a beating, which explains the high drama when one kid accidentally bumps into another. You should see it, they throw up their arm to cover their eyes and wail like their nails are being pulled out, all the while screaming "He is beating me". Bunch of drama queens. I've gotten so tired of it I usually ask <i>"Unakufa"?</i> (Are you dying?) They say no and I say <i>"Helafu, sijali"</i> (Then I don't care). Then they stop. Just like that. Like turning off a faucet.<br />
<br />
One mtu mzima cannot cane another mtu mzima (adult), but you can beat him with your fists. Kids get caned, and for maximum effect they are required procure their own stick. But you can't use a big stick, just a thin, bendy one. You don't want to break anything, just inflict stinging, enduring pain, which, according to all the adults in the village, helps the kids to learn.<br />
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You cannot say njoo (come) to an adult, it's considered rude and demanding. But you can njoo a kid all you want. So I learn the finer points of village life, which you miss on your average commercial safari.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: .4em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlLigFAQ3V-lKEZeRsMdIKn084-fGZeDRHLOwqHECI5UMLC2vKAjYD0ZdYAl5K9bPqAuEC6orABNC_QHMnmSDR9bw1qAMF8_3eFda-GukY8QxxXHiA4UC388xybymoa0kdJJLMV8Al_U/s1600/blackboard.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: .4em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlLigFAQ3V-lKEZeRsMdIKn084-fGZeDRHLOwqHECI5UMLC2vKAjYD0ZdYAl5K9bPqAuEC6orABNC_QHMnmSDR9bw1qAMF8_3eFda-GukY8QxxXHiA4UC388xybymoa0kdJJLMV8Al_U/s1600/blackboard.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free time at the blackboard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The carpenter guys next to the hospital have been teaching me local greetings. Poa means cool, like the old beatniks,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlLigFAQ3V-lKEZeRsMdIKn084-fGZeDRHLOwqHECI5UMLC2vKAjYD0ZdYAl5K9bPqAuEC6orABNC_QHMnmSDR9bw1qAMF8_3eFda-GukY8QxxXHiA4UC388xybymoa0kdJJLMV8Al_U/s1600/blackboard.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: .8em; margin-right: 0.8em;"></a> the proper greeting for those who smoke, purchase and deal lots of ganja. I have been advised not to use it, lest I tarnish my reputation. Obviously, I haven't revealed to them the details of my exquisitely misspent youth. I should have guessed though, about mzuka, they chuckle every time I say it. Makes me wonder what else they've taught me.<br />
<br />
Shwali is another new word from the carpenters, so I checked with the Pastor who said it's ok because it means calm and it's in the Bible. As in Jesus calmed the waters.
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: .4em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkKRrPyNy9xcCHES4iLaPsekjVliRhWGnyGipqM9liUB31SxeDNYybMe70WMnxo1HFNT_VSSYDh0IWeFuESbIX7OQDA2KgThhmWI4ILnVz_Td4ynJwgkqOj89r-DzwZQ03JX8rvx8sWo/s1600/pencils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: .4em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkKRrPyNy9xcCHES4iLaPsekjVliRhWGnyGipqM9liUB31SxeDNYybMe70WMnxo1HFNT_VSSYDh0IWeFuESbIX7OQDA2KgThhmWI4ILnVz_Td4ynJwgkqOj89r-DzwZQ03JX8rvx8sWo/s1600/pencils.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny little pencil nubs from the bottom
of my pencil can...<br />
which I gave to the kids as zawadi (gifts)..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRbRQGXJqYkQVmLTJeFhGuflch9QUjrLaDaBN_826a99xSxskwsK5uH00SwYtllCYKsXUctFfbiu8dBs05bV038fvH0mVCaKUj9IycXX6qu2tN1RasyYOernCZyDv7Z7zLSyvtasM9_U/s1600/jenny.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Pastor says as long as it's in the Bible I can say it. That's also where they get the ok to cane every kid in class if they don't pay attention. So I need to check whatever these carpenters teach me before I walk up to the Pastor and tell him
I have six nipples and can he help me score some weed. It doesn't matter where you go, there's always someone willing to take advantage of the new kid.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I went up to Mbeya for a few days to visit friends, and check up on the kids in school. Martha and Chris are at Shukrani International Secretarial College and doing very well. They have one more year, and should be able to get good jobs. Ahadi, Rosie and Violet are at VETA, a vocational school. Ahadi is studying fitter mechanics, and Rosie and Violet are working toward a certificate in food preparation. They have two more years to go, and are passing.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: .2em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRbRQGXJqYkQVmLTJeFhGuflch9QUjrLaDaBN_826a99xSxskwsK5uH00SwYtllCYKsXUctFfbiu8dBs05bV038fvH0mVCaKUj9IycXX6qu2tN1RasyYOernCZyDv7Z7zLSyvtasM9_U/s1600/jenny.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 0.2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRbRQGXJqYkQVmLTJeFhGuflch9QUjrLaDaBN_826a99xSxskwsK5uH00SwYtllCYKsXUctFfbiu8dBs05bV038fvH0mVCaKUj9IycXX6qu2tN1RasyYOernCZyDv7Z7zLSyvtasM9_U/s1600/jenny.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenny is all excited because she has 12<br />
pencils. She also has small hands.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have learned to focus my efforts (and money) on projects I feel will succeed. I know that probably sounds stupid, why would a person do anything else? But the schools here, from primary to secondary, are bad. Unbelievably bad. Many villages have no passes in primary or secondary school. I've already talked about why this happens in other letters, will refrain from jumping on the old soapbox yet again. But please think about where your money goes. Giving funds to put kids in schools, kids who will not pass, doesn't accomplish much. Obviously they need to be in school, but wouldn't it be better to send money to people who are actively working toward improving existing schools? There aren't many of these people, but I do know some of them. We are some of them.<br />
<br />
The government of Tanzania has decreed that all villages must have a preschool. It is now a law. Unfortunately that law does not provide a
salary for said teacher. Parents must foot the bill. Teachers may charge 1,500 to 3,000 tsh/month, about a dollar or two, and they don't
get it. And as there can be up to 150 kids in a class, it's impossible to teach anyway.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub4U6zJMVbyeKyIn4ygcGnX5Ak-xejNahPhqMk5vv43j3NHDVwTuqLbPRn5D4fw5g20Vk1avgqHk1_b_GU2kxQw63gwDY8KXElUuOUOIrpBNWBsDNBZS0wRCiutMnPwK6C286S8ibaZc/s1600/scrabbleboys.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: .4em; margin-left: 0.4em;"></a><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: .4em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub4U6zJMVbyeKyIn4ygcGnX5Ak-xejNahPhqMk5vv43j3NHDVwTuqLbPRn5D4fw5g20Vk1avgqHk1_b_GU2kxQw63gwDY8KXElUuOUOIrpBNWBsDNBZS0wRCiutMnPwK6C286S8ibaZc/s1600/scrabbleboys.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 0.4em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub4U6zJMVbyeKyIn4ygcGnX5Ak-xejNahPhqMk5vv43j3NHDVwTuqLbPRn5D4fw5g20Vk1avgqHk1_b_GU2kxQw63gwDY8KXElUuOUOIrpBNWBsDNBZS0wRCiutMnPwK6C286S8ibaZc/s1600/scrabbleboys.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dani and Mbuli making words with Scrabble tiles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A passing grade in Tanzania is 40%, so maybe you can understand my horror when kids don't pass. By the way, this is the standard for secondary school as well. Our little school holds to the western standard, and our passing grade is 70%. I was on the website which gives the test results for the government school Form 4 kids, countrywide. I looked through over 150 pages of names and grades and found ONE kid who passed with decent grades. Everyone else had Ds and Fs. I'm not kidding, not exaggerating, not skewing information. This is what I saw.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 0.4em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBUu-zvlzyI1Y5IvV4kI_EKO4W82G_uNOg4k9J5ZNdw4wHqBOIxB3HaGo6Hxauz04BRKv0Nvo57_iqtN1IPt8MCESbQncj3s76JoRx0odL5MHgCna3prpyM3AiM9ruqS9pMAR6LuYSXk/s1600/words.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 0.4em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBUu-zvlzyI1Y5IvV4kI_EKO4W82G_uNOg4k9J5ZNdw4wHqBOIxB3HaGo6Hxauz04BRKv0Nvo57_iqtN1IPt8MCESbQncj3s76JoRx0odL5MHgCna3prpyM3AiM9ruqS9pMAR6LuYSXk/s1600/words.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The words Dani and Mbuli made.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kids in private schools do better. Most have a decent pass rate, but then, most people can't afford private school. In 2003, countrywide, the government run secondary schools had a 100% fail rate. Maybe it's time to force these NGOs to work toward school systems that will produce kids who can pass.<br />
<br />
It's not the kids. They're as bright as any other kids, but the system is a failure. Anyone with any money sends his kids to boarding school, outside the country if possible. Just a small belabor, sorry, can't seem to help myself.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m9_0WGG_40GUqIvV1MVT0D9ialnz3E1AUdJe96OVL8RNpVllY6QOIedySoEUicW1e172j1BZXjpCsZp5ZQAJ2U_w7e6ccOxNTcoeJZU3J-X0yQrQg8W8fIYaNAbumRy5YX1WUhxI_I0/s1600/sink.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 0.4em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m9_0WGG_40GUqIvV1MVT0D9ialnz3E1AUdJe96OVL8RNpVllY6QOIedySoEUicW1e172j1BZXjpCsZp5ZQAJ2U_w7e6ccOxNTcoeJZU3J-X0yQrQg8W8fIYaNAbumRy5YX1WUhxI_I0/s1600/sink.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our sink. One day we will have a proper sink. Right now,<br />
I just try not to touch it too much.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last week my friend told me that I need to be careful about what I write, that I could get in trouble for criticizing the systems of the country in which I live as a guest. In the first place, I'm not widely read. In the second place, I stand by what I write, and the statistics will show I'm not lying. There was an article in the paper stating that of the six countries of East Africa, the schools in Tanzania are at the bottom. I can believe it, because, try as I might, I can't imagine anything worse than this outside of a refugee camp<br />
or a country at war.<br />
<br />
L<br />
<br />
<br />Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-30806854013852853242012-11-02T08:39:00.000-07:002012-11-02T08:39:07.001-07:00Namibia and Back - from July 2012<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxC0b1nzzNA0HGUCEDAeZtwrk00eq52zfsHUul3CRjZKMqWiQWQbd75utxtxJ0YpOZor0dhBq1b6GU1Dsd0EZoFV5Rb3tHP-df2Xn9mF9rZEabqoJb4rqrswwFCfqGzrmy6MNcHxLEIY/s1600/AnimalWaterNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxC0b1nzzNA0HGUCEDAeZtwrk00eq52zfsHUul3CRjZKMqWiQWQbd75utxtxJ0YpOZor0dhBq1b6GU1Dsd0EZoFV5Rb3tHP-df2Xn9mF9rZEabqoJb4rqrswwFCfqGzrmy6MNcHxLEIY/s1600/AnimalWaterNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
The animals actually come in groups, then when another group </div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
comes, the first group leaves. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />I'm on likizo, vacation. In Tz we get two 6 week school vacations, in July-August and December-January. I was invited back to Ghana to visit friends, so purchased a ticket for July 6. I went into Dar to get new pages for my passport and to fix my visa for Ghana. The border guys are starting to complain there's not enough room for stamps, and it pays to keep those guys happy.I know this from personal experience, having gone the other way on a few occasions.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />I usually stay at the Safari Inn, it's a dump, but it's cheap, the staff is friendly, and it's near everything I need to be near to. I didn't book far enough in advance, and they were full so I called my alternate dump, Jambo Inn, conveniently located around the corner from Safari. Full also. Hamna shida, I got online and found the New Bondeni Inn, farther from town and about twice the price.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHv36yutjS18IoXxWI509NLCzw1b7VtmV2aiRlQmeqk9ECuSj8gPuDohvUfr4IrhQ8J0n7GReF7R5JVl2pE-65KUuftdF0ZalrHaDpLwq0VtCx033jSY139HRDgaLV3OGAio24JM7YzQ0/s1600/BirdNamiba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHv36yutjS18IoXxWI509NLCzw1b7VtmV2aiRlQmeqk9ECuSj8gPuDohvUfr4IrhQ8J0n7GReF7R5JVl2pE-65KUuftdF0ZalrHaDpLwq0VtCx033jSY139HRDgaLV3OGAio24JM7YzQ0/s1600/BirdNamiba.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">forgot the name</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />When I got there it was bigger and a little cleaner, but not 23,000 ths better (about 14 USD). I got to the room and was still unimpressed, although there was a TV. It was late afternoon and there wasn't much to do, so I decided to rest and catch up on some TV, perhaps a movie. The first channel was soccer. Usually in Dar you get from 5 to 10 channels, many of which are sports or Hindu soap operas. So I switched the channel and found out why this dump was so much more expensive. Free porn.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBYZlWjYN_LT2_NfLP7zZWIqI0ZJRsJ8hFNorj8WS943r4wqZNFl_2y6j1ZeFmOTS4Bgso6d2uXzZHDBBH_RL9zvFkWAR9DnCa1h-ipwQW5KUD0cQZFn6xIXZGdMJbIZM3zmVVVYyF7U/s1600/CheetahNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBYZlWjYN_LT2_NfLP7zZWIqI0ZJRsJ8hFNorj8WS943r4wqZNFl_2y6j1ZeFmOTS4Bgso6d2uXzZHDBBH_RL9zvFkWAR9DnCa1h-ipwQW5KUD0cQZFn6xIXZGdMJbIZM3zmVVVYyF7U/s1600/CheetahNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cheetah</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />I'm old enough to have seen most things by now, and I'm rarely surprised, but I have to tell you, this was a surprise. Not the porn itself, but the body parts being used . I had no idea that the human foot was so versatile. Just for research I watched for a bit, and I just don't get it. After dinner I turned on the TV again, hoping for a movie, but it must have been some kind of foot fetish marathon. I will say this, she had beautiful feet, little stars tattoed on her big toes, a great pedicure. I looked down at my village feet and decided not to quit my day job.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bgHm3gZR_-J_xid3WmCZ2gECwL58LFatuq0I0zjcd6LE5_s3QC41Xnj0JJZh-0u4UdqYAi8xzOI3KnGo-GWqNWbnz7V-RGszgGEE1EEUZc29fXIKSiS0G7T14n2iOaIq8fc2CSqyoMQ/s1600/CoffeSwakoNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bgHm3gZR_-J_xid3WmCZ2gECwL58LFatuq0I0zjcd6LE5_s3QC41Xnj0JJZh-0u4UdqYAi8xzOI3KnGo-GWqNWbnz7V-RGszgGEE1EEUZc29fXIKSiS0G7T14n2iOaIq8fc2CSqyoMQ/s1600/CoffeSwakoNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
Outdoor coffee house. German coffee is strong enough to</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
straighten your hair. You should have seen the looks I got </div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
as I doctored my coffee so I could drink it without my eyeballs</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
popping out.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />Even less endearing than the free porn was the shower water, which I noticed smelled like sewer water. It was a short shower. The next morning as I left for the Embassy I told the receptionist about the water. I was trying to be delicate about it, she was such a sweet, polite little thing, so I just said the water smelled bad. So she looked up at me with her innocent face and asked me " It smells like sheet?" Yes, exactly like sheet. She assured me they would either fix it before I got back or switch my room.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpQaYB6sKLqtE_DAPWFxA1NwelfRd_Tb3j1hkDyIutNYVAUPtRFdHOj9PN315fjs_S7Tuj6qiXts5T5dmBcGFFExxYr9c891b1eD38nZX9RhQJx2nI8dEbHb-S07RZZkzx32pkknNpK0/s1600/Desert2Namibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpQaYB6sKLqtE_DAPWFxA1NwelfRd_Tb3j1hkDyIutNYVAUPtRFdHOj9PN315fjs_S7Tuj6qiXts5T5dmBcGFFExxYr9c891b1eD38nZX9RhQJx2nI8dEbHb-S07RZZkzx32pkknNpK0/s1600/Desert2Namibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Amazing dunes on the walk. Pictures just don't do it justice.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />I went to do battle with the Embassy and came back to find they had switched my room. The water no longer smelled like sheet but the Dr Scholls Porn A Thon was still going on. They seemed to have come to the end of their repertoire though. I guess, in the end, there's only so much you can do with a foot.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnL8icuNjzkk0lURxLph0aeChYe6aBYr6a2NH62wDu8DGcfdHQytkfunRpXoVCxpMgoldKG1JL8EyaXQ9wndCAj6ElIzugacjir1ORUiqmqoKAI80L3KBCzKS1_shuZ49MCzVTe56lp4/s1600/Desert3Namibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnL8icuNjzkk0lURxLph0aeChYe6aBYr6a2NH62wDu8DGcfdHQytkfunRpXoVCxpMgoldKG1JL8EyaXQ9wndCAj6ElIzugacjir1ORUiqmqoKAI80L3KBCzKS1_shuZ49MCzVTe56lp4/s1600/Desert3Namibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
Sossouvlei is a big basin of dead trees, very beautiful, but</div>
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again, you had to be there.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />Trying to get to Ghana proved more difficult than I had anticipated. First they want a letter of invitation, even for a two week visit. These guys are severe. Many countries will give you a 90 day stamp on arrival. Ghana has a whole laundry list of stupid crap they want you to do. So about two days before I was to depart I got fed up and decided to go to Namibia, which will give a stamp on entry.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62dRdktAXgNleuga4INz6T568HR7q3pUB8zgmckDeh9J5YIvpUb2l066NIf7Elpo0bnbxoHfEicnn91Ao2LvPr4JoTjHDZ2hqLUtkg1MsrtGc_OqvZHJYjl6Nw_qPVdxVQ91mhXgh6a8/s1600/DesertNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62dRdktAXgNleuga4INz6T568HR7q3pUB8zgmckDeh9J5YIvpUb2l066NIf7Elpo0bnbxoHfEicnn91Ao2LvPr4JoTjHDZ2hqLUtkg1MsrtGc_OqvZHJYjl6Nw_qPVdxVQ91mhXgh6a8/s1600/DesertNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
We took a 6 km walk to a place called Sossouvlei, probably</div>
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my favorite part of the trip.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />Namibia was wonderful. First, it's the cleanest place I've ever seen. Namibia was colonized by the Germans, and it looks like pictures I've seen of the Alps. No kidding. As I had come on the spur of the moment I had no idea what to do first, so I talked to folks and got some ideas. People are usually happy to tell you the best places to go. I spent the first night in the capital city, Windhoek, and travelled the next day to Swakopmund, which is on the beach. More surprising than the cleanliness was the cold. It's winter below the Equator, and I was so cold I had to go buy warm clothes. This was easy to do as Swakopmund is a tourist town and has malls and coffee shops and German bakeries...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ru5IKEDIyUq1f1VbvFY_j05lS1LWgtqDcvEg_kYgh9kwe6PYkFxPk7QXG5BvjCwVXFpG7-Lg3m3cSZagEAeX5hUa6ZI_IZT-D8fivDDB96JSabGANpCp_3qYSdOKWJydPT2UmP95dDI/s1600/DesertTreeNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ru5IKEDIyUq1f1VbvFY_j05lS1LWgtqDcvEg_kYgh9kwe6PYkFxPk7QXG5BvjCwVXFpG7-Lg3m3cSZagEAeX5hUa6ZI_IZT-D8fivDDB96JSabGANpCp_3qYSdOKWJydPT2UmP95dDI/s1600/DesertTreeNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
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These trees are hundreds of years old, but because of the</div>
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climate, are not decaying.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />Found a nice hotel for 380 ND. The rate is 8 to 1 in my favor so I had a great room with a shower AND a tub, plus coffee in the room, and a TV. No porn though, just movies.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;">So I spent a few days relaxing, taking tours, eating pastry and meat, and taking baths. Then back to Windhoek for an actual safari. All this time in Africa and I finally went on a safari. It was great. I went with this company called Wild Dog Tours and we camped and went to see the animals, and the desert. Namibia is mostly desert.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufz3GT9LKdhYXMNKGgY7v5iWo4CuDdnVh4keyWghu7y-bNQnxiBO5OEt01WlBpI3j8Tz9LYWXpYzd83TplPKhRD_622HX_1Pol3mmZWMUZTsS-OD4pLBRQfe-5WRAlj-mmn7GruTaTrw/s1600/ElephantsNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufz3GT9LKdhYXMNKGgY7v5iWo4CuDdnVh4keyWghu7y-bNQnxiBO5OEt01WlBpI3j8Tz9LYWXpYzd83TplPKhRD_622HX_1Pol3mmZWMUZTsS-OD4pLBRQfe-5WRAlj-mmn7GruTaTrw/s1600/ElephantsNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swakopmund beach</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />Some differences between Namibia and Tz</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtjrhgKxOe4Ny41hnBxj_4VfIazBKsGqh9baTE_gY14L0BK-fq831ivIAwW9mbxklIuHjbRhThz6XiyCB_q2XgfIUOLnzo50-_gSIY_j7QWEhqtHk8Xyw91l4B54m3TpVIqTl6DsG8eM/s1600/HotelSwakoNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtjrhgKxOe4Ny41hnBxj_4VfIazBKsGqh9baTE_gY14L0BK-fq831ivIAwW9mbxklIuHjbRhThz6XiyCB_q2XgfIUOLnzo50-_gSIY_j7QWEhqtHk8Xyw91l4B54m3TpVIqTl6DsG8eM/s1600/HotelSwakoNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swakopmund hotel.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />1. Clean streets. It's as if little elves come out at night and sweep the entire town. There's also rubbish bins, which are lacking in Tz.<br />2. A bus with 14 seats takes only 14 passengers. This same bus in Tz would carry 35 people, plus luggage and assorted wildlife.<br />3. Delicious bread, cakes, anything bakeable. I did my best to work my way through all the carbs on offer. You'd be proud.<br />4. Pathological punctuality, the polar opposite of Tz, which is pathologically late.<br />5. Drinkable water. I was told, but unable to actually drink it. I've been trained like a lab rat to steer clear of tap water and cant bring myself to use it.<br />6. Chewable meat, tender and juicy rather than hockey puck hard.<br />7. Price tags. Very little bargaining done here, and never in the stores.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO37LeE5KmS3p32Xg1f0BJxI3T8tz2lgE1NbXThAxCiIql_XzG0ZMXOGKTdkw50hdq_54dPoYs2DhFpc9uvG6eCFaWS0djjHoPac24nKx2buniqIh6wWD0_FUrsIquy42WvHQHFOG7gbc/s1600/IronRockNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO37LeE5KmS3p32Xg1f0BJxI3T8tz2lgE1NbXThAxCiIql_XzG0ZMXOGKTdkw50hdq_54dPoYs2DhFpc9uvG6eCFaWS0djjHoPac24nKx2buniqIh6wWD0_FUrsIquy42WvHQHFOG7gbc/s1600/IronRockNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
Desert rock. These particular rocks have a high iron content </div>
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and clang like pots when you bang them together. They also </div>
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decay</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />The only problem I had was with my American bank. This is the second time the Bank of America has denied my card. The first time was when I got to Tz. I told them before I left America to expect transactions from Africa, as I would be living there, yet they denied me my own money. When I finally reached them, and it wasn't easy, they said there was suspicious activity from Africa. Where I live. I reminded them of this and they pressed a button and all was ok. So like an idiot I thought this would carry over to my vacation. Nope. Denied again, and after some tine, and about 300 ND, I got an actual person on the phone who said there was suspicious activity on my card from, you guessed it, Africa. That night at my hotel I overheard, then joined in on a conversation with other travelers about their own personal banking horror stories. From what I heard, Chase Manhattan is worse than BofA. Nothing better than my bank protecting me from myself. Time to change banks, but from what I heard in Namibia it won't be any better anywhere else. I'd be better stashing it under my mattress.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WqK2nt_Yi9K3zieUkzo6S6pJi6KbqqGFO0QLBUrzLx7RvTT0hmr5bsGsII1X0FZVflHv5jZ2QG_xq2gsJUs6-YokfqwdvalxXu18mVO-sK41-2k0wnts1U89Heojl6gfTA97x49frjo/s1600/KaiserSwakoNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WqK2nt_Yi9K3zieUkzo6S6pJi6KbqqGFO0QLBUrzLx7RvTT0hmr5bsGsII1X0FZVflHv5jZ2QG_xq2gsJUs6-YokfqwdvalxXu18mVO-sK41-2k0wnts1U89Heojl6gfTA97x49frjo/s1600/KaiserSwakoNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Love the name. These guys need to learn to let go.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />So I'm back in Berega again, where the water is salty, the meat is tough, the buses overcrowded and everyone is late. It's good to be home.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRYtRQAacCdzq7QLGp_ikvNTkMZS6vBQDDTQT_lG54w9GxXDp7TSi3yA6OZRlJHCXtqcXtOJ3usnM64xK0UjhLBh4Nege7blh4-jKqYKNhMRjYnp7HQzB9U1xub-UHTgQ0oW-5-N0wxyA/s1600/LionsNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRYtRQAacCdzq7QLGp_ikvNTkMZS6vBQDDTQT_lG54w9GxXDp7TSi3yA6OZRlJHCXtqcXtOJ3usnM64xK0UjhLBh4Nege7blh4-jKqYKNhMRjYnp7HQzB9U1xub-UHTgQ0oW-5-N0wxyA/s1600/LionsNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">inally saw lions. They're actually reclusive so this was a good day.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPliBApWRDzQbfZhvq1VcjumJru7Ouctp9R5BtqqfOkLUJBxc63EUCePh9pS7Sg3hLSnm6FdKGSoU-bYZ-N-hf2msVztx9MKwk4Z0fkjEHLiGysagrzU_WOe7yR7ARplHtMAEeQNcIdR8/s1600/PelicanNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPliBApWRDzQbfZhvq1VcjumJru7Ouctp9R5BtqqfOkLUJBxc63EUCePh9pS7Sg3hLSnm6FdKGSoU-bYZ-N-hf2msVztx9MKwk4Z0fkjEHLiGysagrzU_WOe7yR7ARplHtMAEeQNcIdR8/s1600/PelicanNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pelican catching a fish.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qzZcB7d0t1VlEhKaet0bqfhMVWIb2SRq7EGAnsANvFxWcIdqLZuZmOJTWw3gdHhAkMbtfoJ1XlU9ZyYgRXu_mEF1XKUI5bs0buIBXPJSVitLN3osXxiZnh4xQN_0t3PZoh0TnCSLgUA/s1600/SealsNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qzZcB7d0t1VlEhKaet0bqfhMVWIb2SRq7EGAnsANvFxWcIdqLZuZmOJTWw3gdHhAkMbtfoJ1XlU9ZyYgRXu_mEF1XKUI5bs0buIBXPJSVitLN3osXxiZnh4xQN_0t3PZoh0TnCSLgUA/s1600/SealsNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">About 20,000 seals live here.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtdaqc9xHf-D5PNoYAehkp6dW5muszUqwnGu-L0TRXzGJVq1n6D-oS5zixt6EGVbxv3jFS9LMn24WL9njRt3OAQohuNEiX1QsyYHX65wV6tPDuR8G9432Wi4UJLo3ZRmEECjf_11Y6iM/s1600/SwakoBeachNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtdaqc9xHf-D5PNoYAehkp6dW5muszUqwnGu-L0TRXzGJVq1n6D-oS5zixt6EGVbxv3jFS9LMn24WL9njRt3OAQohuNEiX1QsyYHX65wV6tPDuR8G9432Wi4UJLo3ZRmEECjf_11Y6iM/s1600/SwakoBeachNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swakopmund beach</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBpXOu0IGTPVRIrHDFGb1spWDyJJk1C7RAa11qJ9upmwUWqcVrJ9hnsLq19FqNZetBIm-cJ9qTRXv0enRYi9iP9flPii7psiuJ0e2DbKaM9Nb2nfBc3wnGBmgyQvnDhsuB7puLfoRaG4/s1600/SwakopmundNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBpXOu0IGTPVRIrHDFGb1spWDyJJk1C7RAa11qJ9upmwUWqcVrJ9hnsLq19FqNZetBIm-cJ9qTRXv0enRYi9iP9flPii7psiuJ0e2DbKaM9Nb2nfBc3wnGBmgyQvnDhsuB7puLfoRaG4/s1600/SwakopmundNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
Downtown Swakopmund. Namibia has been described as</div>
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Africa for beginners. I have to agree. Bit it's a nice place to</div>
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visit.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrLpY3Ef9aKbe_vYI5K6HyUioT94gvPUfHn32VU5QVVcNnjpRaK_On7SXdWRwSrg-dfjGuzS9Av7GpmBpnHsI3sx8lPKuPGzMU07i9-d1vRSGU_hJkGAw1Z6VumajpmTkcHfBpP4YwhI/s1600/WidebeastisZebrasNamibia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrLpY3Ef9aKbe_vYI5K6HyUioT94gvPUfHn32VU5QVVcNnjpRaK_On7SXdWRwSrg-dfjGuzS9Av7GpmBpnHsI3sx8lPKuPGzMU07i9-d1vRSGU_hJkGAw1Z6VumajpmTkcHfBpP4YwhI/s1600/WidebeastisZebrasNamibia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
The wildebeasts leave, the zebras come. Amazing how </div>
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orderly nature is.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br />L</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-41902560039443079232012-07-25T15:14:00.002-07:002012-07-25T15:14:47.033-07:00Door Number Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Sometime in the 60's there was a game show called Let's Make a Deal, hosted by Monty Hall. Anyway, contestants vied for the chance to win prizes. They could choose a prize on stage, or one of three prizes hidden behind doors numbered 1, 2 and 3. One door would be a fabulous prize, a cruise, or a car. Another door would be a good prize, but not the great prize, maybe a washer or furniture. The third prize was a joke, frequently it was a mule with a hat, or a pile of old tires.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Contestants would agonize over their choices,"Do I take the sofa or go for the mystery door? It could be a car, but then it could be a mule." Personally I always went with the mystery door. I figured if I showed up with nothing, even a mule with a hat was an improvement. It took me years to figure out that the mule and the tires never actually left the studio, a rip off if you ask me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">You're wondering if there's a point here. Every Friday we have a review test. I divide the first grade into two or three groups, depending on class size that day. We have team captains and team names. Dani is captain of Manchester (Berega is rabidly pro Manchester), Mbuli leads the Lions, and Vicent heads up Brazil.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Showing off math tests. Everyone passed, </div>
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70% or better. Mbuli got 100%.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We have math drills, spelling tests, fill in the letter... and all the kids score points. At the end the winners get prizes. For our first contest I spent a good while gathering books, blocks, jump ropes, cards, all the stuff I figured they'd like. I had them all attractively displayed, showing them off like an aged Vanna White. There were also some pencils, pencil sharpeners, small stuff just in case.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I forgot who won the first game, but every kid picked a pencil and sharpener, except Jenny who took a jump rope. And I think she only did it because she felt sorry for me pimping the good prizes while everyone went for the mule with the hat. Go figure. Manchester won last week, and they went nuts, jumping around, hollering, holding up their erasers like Olympic Gold medals. The week before it was madaftali (exercise books).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5mo_eSxyz3ZW6i1Vu5IrosCLvZjgU_njkjLpLMOkcJ5Pdbzh5o9ypIaOHxV6tKZdoqnMgGUulHhyphenhyphenla7SRFg1vHB5trwoRI2nqIjEjwknGY3nI-pX1z5558QcLMvrKkpG8I3urwFoF6o/s1600/KidMotorbike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5mo_eSxyz3ZW6i1Vu5IrosCLvZjgU_njkjLpLMOkcJ5Pdbzh5o9ypIaOHxV6tKZdoqnMgGUulHhyphenhyphenla7SRFg1vHB5trwoRI2nqIjEjwknGY3nI-pX1z5558QcLMvrKkpG8I3urwFoF6o/s1600/KidMotorbike.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Biker baby. Note lack of helmet, also lack of supervision. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Growing up we had a junk drawer in the kitchen, I'm sure there's one in every First World house. Pencils, erasers, tablets, scissors, you name it, it's there. But as it's a junk drawer, it's all entwined with old shoelaces, so sometimes it's not worth untangling everything to get to a paperclip. Point being there was a place to find all the piddly things you needed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GPgZ7RN_hRDP68uGQtUVPmGiVmTbNRWrjga4DaT6moP8jUXHNZpIsAcDlorTFeeAffIE6D5lS54ALrULx1mNomkT2IvriNOxzvDFU3Yy95C1ZjYsMgAOgqWCCxXXM4p7ZtmIZEF_kxk/s1600/KidsReflectionBumper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GPgZ7RN_hRDP68uGQtUVPmGiVmTbNRWrjga4DaT6moP8jUXHNZpIsAcDlorTFeeAffIE6D5lS54ALrULx1mNomkT2IvriNOxzvDFU3Yy95C1ZjYsMgAOgqWCCxXXM4p7ZtmIZEF_kxk/s1600/KidsReflectionBumper.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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Two kids checking out their reflection in the chrome bumper </div>
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of our car. I wonder if they knew it was them.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjVFz6WE7zpR4z_LHQmUlTzLmSG_OCI7YZHi4ioPGGHGMHarvKKhh6b803bttsN2r_uqSqEhWPH9ntewJV6NmAS1rsPpluMrqxN-Dskd6uOTDFTDray-uKXKw7OSfYaX9jZlasQXRyWg/s1600/LunchOutside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjVFz6WE7zpR4z_LHQmUlTzLmSG_OCI7YZHi4ioPGGHGMHarvKKhh6b803bttsN2r_uqSqEhWPH9ntewJV6NmAS1rsPpluMrqxN-Dskd6uOTDFTDray-uKXKw7OSfYaX9jZlasQXRyWg/s1600/LunchOutside.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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Lunchtime. We used to eat inside</div>
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on the tables but what a mess.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">No junk drawers here, or drawers for that matter. If kids needs school supplies, they have to hope Mama or Baba or Bibi will cough up 100-250 shillings (6 to 17 cents respectively). Some parents buy supplies, some don't. So this is why they pick the mule, because for them, it's the car. Freddy dropped his pencil down the choo last week, so now he shares a pencil with his mom (one of my adult students).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_6VF-a3bGLqB3f7FkNZxKW8ahyphenhyphenA9ZIPvuUczeXqWT85xlF1YgCiQgwhbWQgGZoMkuDPyoZhbEcQbEFSKWGaKAuZ0_4vsQ5DQDxb52IUuo8NiXJILPCUMQAELGb8voHWzp73_RwWFz3E/s1600/KidsDancePractice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_6VF-a3bGLqB3f7FkNZxKW8ahyphenhyphenA9ZIPvuUczeXqWT85xlF1YgCiQgwhbWQgGZoMkuDPyoZhbEcQbEFSKWGaKAuZ0_4vsQ5DQDxb52IUuo8NiXJILPCUMQAELGb8voHWzp73_RwWFz3E/s1600/KidsDancePractice.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Kids choir practicing for Sunday.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I try not to give out free supplies, I just don't have enough, plus if I give a pencil to Freddy, Mzee wants one... But only the winning team gets prizes, so I try to move the kids around each week so everyone gets a chance. Sometimes the kids who don't win sit at their table and cry, which is tough to watch cause it's just a mule. Like a Massai who measures wealth by by the size of his herd, for us it's school supplies. Jenny walked up to me the other day and said, "Teacher, I have 2 pencils now." I'm not in Kansas anymore, that's for damn sure.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Some of the kids have to wait a week or longer for mom or dad to give up the money. So we've gotten creative, when the exercise book is finished, we flip through and find half pages and empty spots and use them for our practice tests. I suspect that most of the parents have the 250 tsh, but they figure if they wait, I'll take care of it. Which, in essence, I do, but the kids have to work for it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The world is the world, we have some parents who are actively involved in their kids progress, and others who think it's entirely up to the teachers. And a kid's progress is directly proportional to the degree of involvement. Like everywhere.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eroIyWPbN2-KuIodYLAcdC5WwANol5G-mwhyphenhyphen6T5g_2PFu9CyNrnP50-4RHOSLIZB7kfHEuDf1H6H46Ec_o83IJMrilKI2RATr5V6cQfo7nn1vJG3Gw_336gCBSknnQvDrjXI3M2MEms/s1600/KidsDancePractice1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eroIyWPbN2-KuIodYLAcdC5WwANol5G-mwhyphenhyphen6T5g_2PFu9CyNrnP50-4RHOSLIZB7kfHEuDf1H6H46Ec_o83IJMrilKI2RATr5V6cQfo7nn1vJG3Gw_336gCBSknnQvDrjXI3M2MEms/s1600/KidsDancePractice1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">the same.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So get ready to empty your junk drawers, and don't be shy, even small pencils are good, the kids have small hands. We import lots of things from China, the current country denuding Africa of it's resources in the name of friendship and development. I'm sure China has some good products, they just don't send them here. Chinese pencils are garbage. They must use broken lead pieces, which is why you can sharpen a pencil down to the chewed up eraser in about two days.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOIxMKfVGokk7gTgl4jCgRlTCrKXELd1R6R5zhfgT38jHLiuFGB_EPH7v35yjPguY6UsLovPKLcllKf6Txb-a5KAvk0AUvym9I18UwPfbkG-yz7r87eA7qTE8G2RsTkhRLmkVhuaFdfk/s1600/LunchInside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOIxMKfVGokk7gTgl4jCgRlTCrKXELd1R6R5zhfgT38jHLiuFGB_EPH7v35yjPguY6UsLovPKLcllKf6Txb-a5KAvk0AUvym9I18UwPfbkG-yz7r87eA7qTE8G2RsTkhRLmkVhuaFdfk/s1600/LunchInside.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Atukuswe. He's only three, and not a student, </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">but he shows up at lunchtime and eats his share. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mom is probably at the farm. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">My friend Jeannie in Michigan is a tutor and sent me a bunch of books. Thanks Jeannie. I was looking at an ESL book and one chapter was about "How we get Bananas" Very interesting. It mentions the bananas being picked, packed, sent, displayed, bought, all the way to the actual eating, a good English lesson. I had to laugh because that's not how we get our bananas here. What usually happens is during Math or English I might see a woman walk by the school with about 200 bananas in a basket balanced on her head. At that point I go to the window and ask "Mama, unauza?" (are you selling?) If the answer is ndiyo, she walks in and I buy them right there. much simpler. I may use the same ESL book format for class, but will substitute batteries or pencils from China.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1ZcFJuKV-pLVroWYHs8O4iRRQOFT-3DI2NHZ-MuOF2rQ9tbTqCYrKnI5hJekXDtDkl5xI96nmQtroclWcsO5IOV1CE7_XjXFfxOw6teikfNvgWVSKaq4UlmIODzzQFaRawaDLzdtvkk/s1600/TestTaking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1ZcFJuKV-pLVroWYHs8O4iRRQOFT-3DI2NHZ-MuOF2rQ9tbTqCYrKnI5hJekXDtDkl5xI96nmQtroclWcsO5IOV1CE7_XjXFfxOw6teikfNvgWVSKaq4UlmIODzzQFaRawaDLzdtvkk/s1600/TestTaking.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Teacher Martha giving Kiswahili test.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, if you'd like to empty your junk drawer, I'd like to receive all your junk. There's a saying here, hamna ni takataka, nothing is garbage. Send all your mules and tires to Brad Logan MD, Director, Hands4Africa.Inc,13046 RaceTrack Rd., Suite 242,Tampa, Fl. 33626. He can bring them on his next trip, which is Aug 8. Thanks.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The kids. Vicent and Jackie are starting to show signs of, if not superior intelligence, at least an ability to learn. I was worried for a bit, it's not easy for orphans. I don't see them becoming doctors or CEOs, but there's no reason they can't do just fine. When I asked Vicent what he wants to do when he grows up, he said he wants to herd goats. So fine, but maybe he can learn enough be a very savvy goat herder. Little Gile just turned five and she's crazy smart. She's flying through the work. She's a hoot because she's our smallest kid but she's got a voice like Betty Davis. Sounds like she's been a pack a day smoker for all her (short) life. She's one of our scholarship kids, and I'm so glad we have her.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOswVUNxFXrCCKDzk17_JpQvPPbQBcemMZQpflyhr33jEcIlfDKtA0zJHR96bDnF-JfAmCtiR1FN8b1l0mrNdVeGZfqbC9k4OtXeSJFXKlRXw1aH6KCsjSq0GaUfgl69bkuBN7Adtlls/s1600/GileBirthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOswVUNxFXrCCKDzk17_JpQvPPbQBcemMZQpflyhr33jEcIlfDKtA0zJHR96bDnF-JfAmCtiR1FN8b1l0mrNdVeGZfqbC9k4OtXeSJFXKlRXw1aH6KCsjSq0GaUfgl69bkuBN7Adtlls/s1600/GileBirthday.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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Gile on her birthday, complete with beads, </div>
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earrings, fancy dress and eyebrow pencil.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Enrollment is up to 26 now, from six when we started in Jan of 2011. We got five new kids this month. One is a 12 year old we had to start in preschool. He's an orphan and hasn't been to school in about two years. He knows nothing, but he will. Martha will teach him, because Martha rocks. She's so patient, and they learn so much from her. Two hours with the preschoolers and I want to poke my eyes out. I take them in the afternoon when it's mostly games.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Have added papaya to the lunch menu, once a week, hopefully more later. And double the veggies with their beans and ugali. Just so you know, when you put twenty six kids in a room after lunch, at any given moment three will be passing gas. Just so you know.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-64351262538723448482012-06-07T17:58:00.000-07:002012-06-07T17:58:27.611-07:00Poultricide in Africa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Fowl wise, May was a good month for me. Jenny Abduli and Blandina's parents each gave me a chicken. It's a big deal, and I'm grateful. On the other hand, have you ever watched someone saw the head off a chicken?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">For most of us meat comes cleaned, wrapped, gutted and featherless. We remove ourselves from the actual homicide, no guilt, no lingering mental images of cows and goats pleading for their lives, just tasty legs and thighs. Not here. It's hand to hand combat in Africa, if you want meat, you either kill it yourself or go to Monday Market and have the nyama guy hack off a hunk he's got hanging from a tree, flies buzzing around above and skinny dogs hanging around below. Neither of which I find overly appetizing.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've mentioned the African Nine Step Program, how it applies to all aspects of life here in the village.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Here's how we do Colonel Sanders in Berega.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. Chase down the chicken.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uvoLBOPBGnXNovtQUyLxsaBZDsSjID8KhRdVgrULnvfN5uf7u2HN9kh_xeCV1hHe75Gie6LK82gk14BWp4XrekgU5Po5nnvRNUCIKkTsq839_FXeoqtty_q1GomzPfHePP8dShxnKFw/s1600/ChickenHold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uvoLBOPBGnXNovtQUyLxsaBZDsSjID8KhRdVgrULnvfN5uf7u2HN9kh_xeCV1hHe75Gie6LK82gk14BWp4XrekgU5Po5nnvRNUCIKkTsq839_FXeoqtty_q1GomzPfHePP8dShxnKFw/s1600/ChickenHold.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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2. Lay it down and stand on its wings and feet<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhAmUvEVCVQ9CbLZlhz0XV2UTgPQlyzmpNVohRiy11XDxM8fKROnv2zhCfasBTpvTxJvA-ZbbK6ia57xny0w6Le_7_iVfK8Nt-QbVS3oHz3qLwY4vVQTdwz_a3iRhyphenhyphen2wND_lBUHrkDVA/s1600/ChickenStand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhAmUvEVCVQ9CbLZlhz0XV2UTgPQlyzmpNVohRiy11XDxM8fKROnv2zhCfasBTpvTxJvA-ZbbK6ia57xny0w6Le_7_iVfK8Nt-QbVS3oHz3qLwY4vVQTdwz_a3iRhyphenhyphen2wND_lBUHrkDVA/s1600/ChickenStand.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. Pluck some neck feathers right where you plan to make your incision.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBo4kzNbj_gKtzhtwuzMJIafaEvexxxy3wvfxeGyBaeuI5kBmhN7hz0OdebN17hckXj4oUzBkM0D-rDJJdBMAi8apW_ytN_s9NJO16J8RRrjjg2YF1DwNsH1DPPWYIcCA1ii6JSUb9_ow/s1600/ChickenCut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBo4kzNbj_gKtzhtwuzMJIafaEvexxxy3wvfxeGyBaeuI5kBmhN7hz0OdebN17hckXj4oUzBkM0D-rDJJdBMAi8apW_ytN_s9NJO16J8RRrjjg2YF1DwNsH1DPPWYIcCA1ii6JSUb9_ow/s1600/ChickenCut.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. Dig a small hole in the ground to catch the blood that will all too soon be gushing from its stump.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3OqI664fz4kDQX8DoYgNFnvWlEVR1hLKRdr-PfzyPl4KZRVSUDTgwFHSZeKZ9ydR_1-CX_4qzIRVJT7Th2WHj3gazVgJ_N9ubyy6HDRdITzHzBAb2KFXpu9q3ZXrs5h4qzRkUsNa2CA/s1600/ChickenMove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3OqI664fz4kDQX8DoYgNFnvWlEVR1hLKRdr-PfzyPl4KZRVSUDTgwFHSZeKZ9ydR_1-CX_4qzIRVJT7Th2WHj3gazVgJ_N9ubyy6HDRdITzHzBAb2KFXpu9q3ZXrs5h4qzRkUsNa2CA/s1600/ChickenMove.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">5. Hold the chicken by the head with one hand and commence sawing with the other.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7A2qAtsKB0zUDxY8Y82E7acv-tfK2y65si0b_0wul5bCimU4oei0d4_QSG1nX2HJWc4Cb9BF8Rexiy4SvVMNmdrkylWnladz8-JesfaKskUKbIsSipXtPdfCKkAAiWhCwX8VraspcxI/s1600/ChickenNeck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7A2qAtsKB0zUDxY8Y82E7acv-tfK2y65si0b_0wul5bCimU4oei0d4_QSG1nX2HJWc4Cb9BF8Rexiy4SvVMNmdrkylWnladz8-JesfaKskUKbIsSipXtPdfCKkAAiWhCwX8VraspcxI/s1600/ChickenNeck.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">6. Hold the neck over the hole as its life blood oozes into the dirt.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">7. Remain standing on the wings for a bit while your dinner twitches and seizes</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">8. Tuck the headless neck under the wing for transport to the pot.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFA289DXSVB5lF1Evaw4jvxIE6XwWCpPiS-2F2xKFEdj_mrN1gIAg13RAXsaxEwZI_dcrIOdcGWrPSCGSJ1tHhcWYr9aa_2SvBuvBCY8srllXxFVAHk9m86hWmJbaQyUP1mRRNk8Hd-k/s1600/ChickenPrepare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFA289DXSVB5lF1Evaw4jvxIE6XwWCpPiS-2F2xKFEdj_mrN1gIAg13RAXsaxEwZI_dcrIOdcGWrPSCGSJ1tHhcWYr9aa_2SvBuvBCY8srllXxFVAHk9m86hWmJbaQyUP1mRRNk8Hd-k/s1600/ChickenPrepare.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">9. Immerse in hot water</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FOACVZL7-cRKYzkpa8ERGu9FE6QzkZ_uM0FEyNCwkaXH-Pwk4I2Xz0Bz4vFUneaZ4E4z9iyI7_od3odAx9AFN4m9ZxDDG4bUkgmZJSlPeV9rD7Z88WVf0bcD7O43vrXPWUtBRJrHSmY/s1600/ChickenCook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FOACVZL7-cRKYzkpa8ERGu9FE6QzkZ_uM0FEyNCwkaXH-Pwk4I2Xz0Bz4vFUneaZ4E4z9iyI7_od3odAx9AFN4m9ZxDDG4bUkgmZJSlPeV9rD7Z88WVf0bcD7O43vrXPWUtBRJrHSmY/s1600/ChickenCook.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">10. Remove and pluck.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqHX6BfPpf-x_EFp7ObK6Vv7l4SKEoUq79IDzBrXdNw3ZW5eRzKzAcuOQfcSkQh1xfovTaXhlokKX-JdmXWVr_PFTxGq96ta6MT7_fFoNgzNtIjDypZxjRCddZqx3nhQdw5OGksGccu8/s1600/ChickenPluck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqHX6BfPpf-x_EFp7ObK6Vv7l4SKEoUq79IDzBrXdNw3ZW5eRzKzAcuOQfcSkQh1xfovTaXhlokKX-JdmXWVr_PFTxGq96ta6MT7_fFoNgzNtIjDypZxjRCddZqx3nhQdw5OGksGccu8/s1600/ChickenPluck.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">11. Cut off feet and gut chicken, saving all the choice bits for your friends. (Mbuli likes the liver)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpNcsAIW4YbC0bIiNJAF8sbZZJxxFclYlqXkbPcnAuL5bIIN_9D3BtMS4LLy_aUW_rl5IF9NnsbLYP4Y16_9wLb9MYR354b_XLjVazRAW6tWN9fjkJ-8BbxLv356cuFCSAUb81CZu8_Q/s1600/ChickenKid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpNcsAIW4YbC0bIiNJAF8sbZZJxxFclYlqXkbPcnAuL5bIIN_9D3BtMS4LLy_aUW_rl5IF9NnsbLYP4Y16_9wLb9MYR354b_XLjVazRAW6tWN9fjkJ-8BbxLv356cuFCSAUb81CZu8_Q/s1600/ChickenKid.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That's two extra steps, but I just opened an account at Barclay's Bank and it only took four trips to town, so it evens out over time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTccwiReqR55X2T2-m737P6I2nx93BYnQK8gLBeeOn0tceParuRBpKQdA0bvzmUJRcvZikh8IC5p2jmczreXXPA_BlPSQkc7jk7I30-n7p9xK4aalHKL86qJOpEt5OxjaOJl0ziyfpPQ/s1600/ChickenEat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTccwiReqR55X2T2-m737P6I2nx93BYnQK8gLBeeOn0tceParuRBpKQdA0bvzmUJRcvZikh8IC5p2jmczreXXPA_BlPSQkc7jk7I30-n7p9xK4aalHKL86qJOpEt5OxjaOJl0ziyfpPQ/s1600/ChickenEat.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That's how Chenai and Mbuli, Ruth's sons, killed my bird. The only problem was after they finished the gory little episode I couldn't eat it, and I gave it to Teacher Martha.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That's what happened to Blandina's chicken. Jenny Abduli's chicken is still happily pecking around in Ruth's yard. When I get a chicken I board it at Ruth's, as she has chickens and I have no idea how to care for one. Also I have no other chickens, and I think they're happier in a group. But fortunately for Jenny's chicken, the last killing was traumatic enough that it may live a good while, it may even die of old age.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">In the meantime, I eat eggs, although a village egg can be just as traumatic. Sometimes it doesn't look or smell like an egg when you crack it, and sometimes there's pieces of the baby chick inside. In Ghana, the chickens were fed fish meal and they smelled and tasted like fish. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">And the yolks were white. I think I ate 3 eggs the entire seven months I lived at that orphanage.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I eat lots of fruit and vegetables. I can still get parasites, but I don't have to stand on a mango as it flaps around in its death throes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">This may be the most ridiculous blog I've written. But then, in Africa you can go from sublime to ridiculous at light speed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Strange but true, I have begun eating small lumps of ugali. I know I said I never would, but by lunch time at school sometimes I'm just too hungry. What I do like is the greens, Mama Dani makes good greens. So I put some greens on a small bit of ugali and it's ok. It has no real taste of it's own, so it's just a means to get the greens into my mouth. It's very filling though, a little goes a long way. But then it reconstitutes in my descending colon and there it stays. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Something to remember the next time I'm planning a long bus trip.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The kids are great. You should hear them reading English and Kiswahili. Spelling is still an issue, but slowly they improve. English is a ridiculous language. The rules make no sense, and things don't sound like they look. Ough has six sounds, and I dread the day I introduce it to the kids. Then there's silent letters, if it's going to be silent, why use it in the first place? I never really thought about all this crap until I started teaching,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Martha teaches the preschool in the morning, while I teach English and Math to the Standard 1 kids. We switch after lunch. She does a great job, the little guys are chattering away in English, and narcing off all the kids who slip into Kiswahili or Kaguru.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The school year ends in December, so by January we will have preschool, St.1 and St.2. We're going to need a Standard 2 teacher, o yeah, and a classroom. I'm less worried about the classroom, it's a small class and we will find a place, we can use my house if we have to. The teacher is going to be another matter. Anyone interested? I'm beginning the search now, things take time here. But it's a sweet deal.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">There's a free place to live, a stipend, plane fare, lots of perks. Electricity and running water (cold, but running). And freedom. Africa will let you do almost anything you want. All you have to do is say you will. The folks here are just great, very welcoming. They'll even kill your chickens for you, and you can't ask for much more than that. The food isn't all that tasty, and it's the same thing all the time, but you don't have to worry about your weight. Hard to get fat when there's nothing tempting and the cookies taste like pesticide.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I'm trying to give an honest assessment of life here, I wouldn't want anyone to think they've been conned. It's good and bad, like everywhere, but definitely more good. The monkeys have been raiding the shambas and stealing the maize, but that won't be a problem for you. Living in Africa is definitely a positive experience.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So if anyone is interested, let me know. I can talk you through how to get here,what you need, what you don't. Oreos, dental floss, maybe a knife sharpener.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Christina got sent home the other day for telling Freddy "kuma kwako" which is Kiswahili for the C word. We had her go home and bring back her mom, who asked to speak to some witnesses (the entire class). Than she asked Dani to go out and select a likely looking stick so she could beat the daylights out of Chris. She was hoping to do it in front of the class, as an example, but I insisted she beat her outside the school, so she said she'd wait till after work. I can't believe some of the conversations I have here.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-59739916062282111102012-05-21T05:54:00.000-07:002012-05-21T05:54:46.307-07:00Ze Lain in Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW9RpU5TrzSimrByvWy2c2jHCXfGydwlf1hYxvus83KPdfQ6UAqfrVGxtO9gvxraBGFpiZC09qR6oF7WLrbeTRbeujAG3zoq8OKlaGcTyRZkNfYsadajRZDMkZ5sxLTgtnVVj6nEyiJL4/s1600/Bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW9RpU5TrzSimrByvWy2c2jHCXfGydwlf1hYxvus83KPdfQ6UAqfrVGxtO9gvxraBGFpiZC09qR6oF7WLrbeTRbeujAG3zoq8OKlaGcTyRZkNfYsadajRZDMkZ5sxLTgtnVVj6nEyiJL4/s1600/Bird.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Don't know the name of this bird, but it's a beaut.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">In case you didn't know, and even if you don't care, R and L are not interchangeable. In Tz, and other parts of the world, people have difficulty saying and apparently hearing the two sounds. To them, either one is ok. I've seen people spell their OWN name using either one on different days. It's been me against them in this vicious consonant war, but I will prevail, despite being the only person in Berega who can differentiate between rock and lock. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">This is a true story.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">A few years ago Carlee and I were at our favorite, actually only, bar in Kyela, a little border town between Tz and Malawi. We were having a cold Safari, which comes in a larger than usual bottle as well as having a larger than usual alcohol content. So we were happy girls and more than ready for a guffaw or two. Our friend Gody, Zambian by birth but living in Tz, was busy ignoring us and engrossed in the newspaper, so we weaved over and asked him what was so interesting.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Gody: I'm reading an article in my home newspaper.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Me: What's it about??</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Gody: Zambias big erection.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Me: Oh really, that IS interesting, and what about it?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Gody: Well, its going to be a very big erection, and everybody will come from all over Zambia.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Me: Well I imagine they will. I might even go.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Gody: Everyone is talking about it, it's very exciting. It's a very important erection.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Me. I guess so.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Well this went on for a bit, he dug himself in deeper and deeper, egged on by us two giggling half drunk wazungu. After a while I dried the tears from my eyes, and attempted to explain that he was actually talking about an election, but as he doesn't hear the difference between r and l, he never caught on, and village folks dont like to talk about sex, so I gave up. l also never found out any more about Zambias giant erection, although I hope all went well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We have a spelling test everyday, and I begin by saying a word, after which the kids ask me to repeat it about five times, until Teacher Baraka says it. He has the same accent they do, so if I say hop, he says hope, and they spell. But if these kids hope (or hop) to go on to university, they're going to have to get this straightened out. People with good jobs making good money have had to do it, and so they will as well. I expect a lot, but being here would be pointless if I didn't.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">As well as the r and l issue, Tanzanians are totally incapable of ending a word on a consonant. I am Teacha Lizzi, look is pronounced and spelled ruku, hip is heepu, rat is lati. We've been studying letter combinations and have started with sh, which they get, but can't spell ship or sheep unless I translate first into Kiswahiki. " Teacha Lizzie, sheep meli or sheep kondoo?" (boat or lamb).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">This and these are turning into a real migraine, from either end. Both come out like zeez. I feel like such a hardass sometimes, but they asked for a native speaker so this is what happens.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The kids with English speaking parents do better, but everyone is catching on slowly, even Samweli is improving. He doesn't spit on me anymore when he says TH, for which I am grateful. It helps that his front teeth have grown in.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VjpnHfN3kpYTWswy6a_j_fa2NaJ7uB72XniHPfAWpkj-w8umFLn6vBbaa3PWGENt__drjiK-L1yMcKWuIWtwEaiNrca6hNN6Oi-XSVw4dwmnqgt9UVAmqDaZcKcsp8r_HUsKEvIjcgU/s1600/WorldVisionPicture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VjpnHfN3kpYTWswy6a_j_fa2NaJ7uB72XniHPfAWpkj-w8umFLn6vBbaa3PWGENt__drjiK-L1yMcKWuIWtwEaiNrca6hNN6Oi-XSVw4dwmnqgt9UVAmqDaZcKcsp8r_HUsKEvIjcgU/s1600/WorldVisionPicture.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Vicent getting his picture taken with the WV soccer ball. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Normally no kid has a ball, they make them from plastic bags</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">and twine. I like them, they don't pop.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Last week the kids were all squirmy and excited about old division. I'd never heard of it, and frankly we're having enough trouble with two digit addition and subtraction. Shouldn't we add first, then maybe subtract, then divide? Is there new division? So I asked Teacher Baraka, our volunteer third teacher, but then his accent is thicker than the kids (he's had it longer). After much discussion, I found out that old division is World Vision.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">They have a chapter here, down the road a mile or two, and occasionally give the kids stuff. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIoRx4m6A6ofWA-gyNBezENuoixd6KF2mbfSGab0qt2WD9ioRpOJ5tntfli6GBujhVcUJEHek6e_hcGzEMuTep-3Plbh33osopPkmwlCcuj5wz1O6D_5NliKtp4Cna-VpfLEtp9j4w0WM/s1600/WorldVisionGifts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIoRx4m6A6ofWA-gyNBezENuoixd6KF2mbfSGab0qt2WD9ioRpOJ5tntfli6GBujhVcUJEHek6e_hcGzEMuTep-3Plbh33osopPkmwlCcuj5wz1O6D_5NliKtp4Cna-VpfLEtp9j4w0WM/s1600/WorldVisionGifts.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Signing up for their zawadi (gift).</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Over half our kids are helped by Old Division, not financially but with needed items. Sometimes school supplies, or food. After it became obvious I wasn't going to get anywhere teaching, I asked Abdallah to drive us down to Mgugu School so we could collect our stuff and move on with our day. They were so cute, so excited, visions of exercise books and pencils dancing in their little heads.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">A big crowd had gathered, the kids showed their Old Division ID cards, and had their pictures taken with a soccer ball. Then they gave each kid a container of body oil and we went home. The kids looked like Ralphie on A Christmas Story when got a pink bunny suit from his aunt. I asked if this is what usually happens, and they said WV was good while they were actually here, but they are gone, and now the local people in charge sell off most of the stuff or give it to their friends and family then give the kids just a small portion of their intended loot.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqXiWYoDBJuixXlSZ7nD-Oivaman0fAGeuGwtqK9XQyk1lg0LUZhsx7MYSoMsOBZNC93yi9FpmY5kAjFj17rtnUyexyBNDYcGr_fGGeWpRiO-9qZ9rO0ZxxMIp3ca1NNpx0x_kAIq9Ds/s1600/SickKid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqXiWYoDBJuixXlSZ7nD-Oivaman0fAGeuGwtqK9XQyk1lg0LUZhsx7MYSoMsOBZNC93yi9FpmY5kAjFj17rtnUyexyBNDYcGr_fGGeWpRiO-9qZ9rO0ZxxMIp3ca1NNpx0x_kAIq9Ds/s1600/SickKid.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Sick kid at giveaway, we took him to the hospital when we </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">returned to school.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">They weren't blaming WV, they just said that everything is corrupt here, and so they don't complain. Besides, who would they complain to, and if they did, maybe they wouldn't even get the oil.This just strengthens my belief that large organizations, while trying to do a good thing, just get too big to manage. When all the people who work for an NGO start driving around in fat white Land Rovers, you know the money is finding other destinations.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Note girl with orange hair. Not a fashion statement, this is a </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">sign of malnutrition.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Small organizations, while they do smaller projects, and have less money and don't go on TV trying to guilt you out of money by showing pictures of emaciated kids with flies in their eyes, are more conscientious with your money. It's all well and good to put thousands of kids in school, but if the school is so bad that less than 10% of the kids pass, what's the point? Better to work on the school itself. All my evening students finished Standard 7 but didn't go on because they didn't pass. This is the reality here, so why not focus on improving the system rather than adding more kids to a class that already has over 100 kids crowded into one room? That's been sticking in my throat for a while, it's a relief to get it out.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Went to Mikumi with my adult class. Philipo,Amon,Abdallah </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">and Frank.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We've been having a problem with parents not paying school fees. Christina and Susy are in St 1, nice kids, but very poor and definitely hungry. Susy's shoes are about worn through, and the heels are gone.They eat their uji every morning, then sit patiently waiting for the kids who can't finish theirs to pass it over. Then for lunch they eat theirs, the littler kids leftovers, and whatever is left in the food bucker Mama Dani brings.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbsRvz0A1QMy2gAEZ4iyVnqrYTcgx7MC76UCrlTejzsKaziQhQmZ2FxzWKev-QnVkNFBiSUMxPIDGSIAyrYDTytQJANC1daPqsYTZxNKkPI8RMdFXyIQW_0OLxCWQPb7ixIX48Jc6jrI/s1600/EnglishClassGirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbsRvz0A1QMy2gAEZ4iyVnqrYTcgx7MC76UCrlTejzsKaziQhQmZ2FxzWKev-QnVkNFBiSUMxPIDGSIAyrYDTytQJANC1daPqsYTZxNKkPI8RMdFXyIQW_0OLxCWQPb7ixIX48Jc6jrI/s1600/EnglishClassGirls.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Happy, Esther, Aissa,Teacher Martha and Jeska</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Suzy's mom owes 385,000 ths and Chris's mom owes 270,000 tsh. Isaac and I sat down with the moms to try to figure something out. Mama Susy (s and z also interchangeable), makes 30,000 tsh monthly and Mama Chris makes about 65,000 tsh. She has 5 kids and Mama Susy has 4. I asked them how they figured they could make those payments, they said they hoped to try. But the math just doesn't work (it can't), so they owe big. They also don't always eat in the evening, which is why C and S hoover up all they can at school. But they're good kids so we're keeping them.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYO4dDBJQ8K04tpl1u-_6mLHYgcCxokODca5P-A16FWq4rR29WV_xI1Y5ReaRBHTa2S3ZJeQchMiVBPDOr-lKxQFdxQ9oFqpeAHxf0MqrTveKvksOJ3F4na58DhHWma1k1u76CUkuKuu0/s1600/GiraffeZebras.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYO4dDBJQ8K04tpl1u-_6mLHYgcCxokODca5P-A16FWq4rR29WV_xI1Y5ReaRBHTa2S3ZJeQchMiVBPDOr-lKxQFdxQ9oFqpeAHxf0MqrTveKvksOJ3F4na58DhHWma1k1u76CUkuKuu0/s1600/GiraffeZebras.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Zebras aren't small, so imagine the size of this giraffe.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">After much discussion it was decided that the families would sweep both classrooms every day, and clean both choos. They will mop every Friday. I'm too happy about this, I still pay, but we're getting something done in return. The mamas are happy as well, and hopefully they can buy more food for the house. It also explains why the kids never complain about the monotonous menu, they're too hungry to care. They're lucky girls, though, lots of kids here live like this and don't get school lunch.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiriRvMZYnI9x5JFKm4uB8V1mVxg-j71jwYjOUPdUwpISlCIOG20P5QFUoaTxiMcwtzn8052u1_q51kA7jl3l2z8msBlaB5z1YkNjObqYJxoHXCaThsGlgkxKa1cXk3FzXMmsU9qCEPANE/s1600/FlatTire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiriRvMZYnI9x5JFKm4uB8V1mVxg-j71jwYjOUPdUwpISlCIOG20P5QFUoaTxiMcwtzn8052u1_q51kA7jl3l2z8msBlaB5z1YkNjObqYJxoHXCaThsGlgkxKa1cXk3FzXMmsU9qCEPANE/s1600/FlatTire.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The park roads were rocky and twisty so we had no idea</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">how long we drove on this, but we found it when we </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">left the park. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">A friend of mine just wrote and said sometimes he doesn't believe what I write. But then he's never been to the Third World. Long ago, I worked in an Alzheimer's Unit, and here are similarities. Some things are sad, some things are funny (because you might as well laugh), and some things just don't make sense. But it's all true. You can't make this stuff up, so, you just go along with it, because you have to. Like the time one of my patients walked up to me and said "Dear, this is such a lovely boat".</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqo4bDZ62ebSQdHRQ-H0odsQBUazey5AxbGaSV8raNsn8dBostp5eFQmfYWk2NGHrHJww525_lQV5l1MJxwbRkSyh2WIZHnDpybIfF7yBpH8PQuesPemM0FjTjkLRD1FKSFvwAFIyVe4/s1600/FlatTrireFix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqo4bDZ62ebSQdHRQ-H0odsQBUazey5AxbGaSV8raNsn8dBostp5eFQmfYWk2NGHrHJww525_lQV5l1MJxwbRkSyh2WIZHnDpybIfF7yBpH8PQuesPemM0FjTjkLRD1FKSFvwAFIyVe4/s1600/FlatTrireFix.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Guys all over the world. One fixes, all the others stand </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">around and watch.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-39102040266819781942012-05-04T15:07:00.001-07:002012-05-04T15:26:02.185-07:00PrevailingA pictorial history of Beregea kindergarten and first grade.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aWFOv1li4xwscisUwzAhx53gKrz46W6hsNal516d1v2P6cNwoh-S5-9ojNmgfkr-MVvJunsvlKkqIMoTaKXebOEy8ohFuX9aG7bjett1VnJaEhpuXrp-yltu3MoRmya3ly3oY3XBpwg/s1600/PreschoolWk1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aWFOv1li4xwscisUwzAhx53gKrz46W6hsNal516d1v2P6cNwoh-S5-9ojNmgfkr-MVvJunsvlKkqIMoTaKXebOEy8ohFuX9aG7bjett1VnJaEhpuXrp-yltu3MoRmya3ly3oY3XBpwg/s1600/PreschoolWk1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">This was the preschool on the first week. Pre renovation.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflwoApFLJjmwEpAzR0Tr56xgk1RA4JpImTRK1aqt0DO_vTqWlcQ9YOSQPkB3uE_75AL6rRQaSpLC40XugcVphEXmmmJeH-2zHJ8TlUEmRkt2qavwForflYjA0ZP4YQvyUGzDX3V-CUh8/s1600/PreppedWalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflwoApFLJjmwEpAzR0Tr56xgk1RA4JpImTRK1aqt0DO_vTqWlcQ9YOSQPkB3uE_75AL6rRQaSpLC40XugcVphEXmmmJeH-2zHJ8TlUEmRkt2qavwForflYjA0ZP4YQvyUGzDX3V-CUh8/s1600/PreppedWalls.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">We painted over Jesus, but it was for a good cause.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR6VNFrsii2Qn05OpKL5gkMQnog-7YxeIKEjG4qP8DuFugrqLggvUaRAf2BF0CKFS1BPpf6NgdnFb0dS5wMmmX1b3ZZm6EcqQs3DPR8iYU8foKGe5Mt69uaI5r_Msb6KxHR3DdntH9AY/s1600/PeanutsWater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR6VNFrsii2Qn05OpKL5gkMQnog-7YxeIKEjG4qP8DuFugrqLggvUaRAf2BF0CKFS1BPpf6NgdnFb0dS5wMmmX1b3ZZm6EcqQs3DPR8iYU8foKGe5Mt69uaI5r_Msb6KxHR3DdntH9AY/s1600/PeanutsWater.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Our original free meal program, peanuts and water outside. </div>
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You can see enrollment increasing.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItgy7MxEh6aZjba_Tn1Ydz5MZ5Ulcm-tENCkz5a6MS26Xkrn0S1wMF-_JnUmvRVE8HtNumV4nJxHNbFYvQP-NHcENLk7JBU1jHrYfKmCZhaIO1nPlJKXXPSsYPexx-JJrg-GO0q8YyKQ/s1600/PartlyPainted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItgy7MxEh6aZjba_Tn1Ydz5MZ5Ulcm-tENCkz5a6MS26Xkrn0S1wMF-_JnUmvRVE8HtNumV4nJxHNbFYvQP-NHcENLk7JBU1jHrYfKmCZhaIO1nPlJKXXPSsYPexx-JJrg-GO0q8YyKQ/s1600/PartlyPainted.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Part way through, usable but still pretty bare.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS5o-MMWuP2uAKpvCll3gyTswPoVTMb4pzQRpClWwBgGzHuEQLSfttjf9Ncf0tJGKNnWEdspBdEmyFLJb145aAtI0nZnu-h77H0uX2aDn-ohjw2PBL1Nsr23XP8FQ_S7VT9KHqY_9pr4/s1600/Students9TeacherMartha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS5o-MMWuP2uAKpvCll3gyTswPoVTMb4pzQRpClWwBgGzHuEQLSfttjf9Ncf0tJGKNnWEdspBdEmyFLJb145aAtI0nZnu-h77H0uX2aDn-ohjw2PBL1Nsr23XP8FQ_S7VT9KHqY_9pr4/s1600/Students9TeacherMartha.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">9 students and teacher Martha</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR6VNFrsii2Qn05OpKL5gkMQnog-7YxeIKEjG4qP8DuFugrqLggvUaRAf2BF0CKFS1BPpf6NgdnFb0dS5wMmmX1b3ZZm6EcqQs3DPR8iYU8foKGe5Mt69uaI5r_Msb6KxHR3DdntH9AY/s1600/PeanutsWater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR6VNFrsii2Qn05OpKL5gkMQnog-7YxeIKEjG4qP8DuFugrqLggvUaRAf2BF0CKFS1BPpf6NgdnFb0dS5wMmmX1b3ZZm6EcqQs3DPR8iYU8foKGe5Mt69uaI5r_Msb6KxHR3DdntH9AY/s1600/PeanutsWater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcMunKR1jVe87yGZzmLnYEdeoR-357sbwdaxz0I1qwJTWQtE4IIAEq-eCptFMiHfcSN4q3SLWriF5qTX4jnIUt69srWASeE-9gOCwZnyMqFQOXgX6hCafKci695yorX9zkfFY32BeJqw/s1600/Leopeoard3Days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcMunKR1jVe87yGZzmLnYEdeoR-357sbwdaxz0I1qwJTWQtE4IIAEq-eCptFMiHfcSN4q3SLWriF5qTX4jnIUt69srWASeE-9gOCwZnyMqFQOXgX6hCafKci695yorX9zkfFY32BeJqw/s1600/Leopeoard3Days.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">That leopard took me three days.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKk7efJdBolvNMYik5eATprpIA6XVTdA4y1rKO_SX3M_BaUXjEDZ1zvPV2YUgblTQeJ9McsnsWWflom-4E3UJXd9Kz6UnVYrGWuEOn_dxUatlN7_8f1cnVOa9W0SoVw_hakNxjuyQngM/s1600/Mural.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKk7efJdBolvNMYik5eATprpIA6XVTdA4y1rKO_SX3M_BaUXjEDZ1zvPV2YUgblTQeJ9McsnsWWflom-4E3UJXd9Kz6UnVYrGWuEOn_dxUatlN7_8f1cnVOa9W0SoVw_hakNxjuyQngM/s1600/Mural.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Look at John's mural in the background, it's a beaut.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZWC7lQ59tgKUhMbCdl9AZUMPLwbTRItexLmsKI2K2ZOtF6THF724WQGnRfU3Z4vbzsAqQkYjFT-R4p3TFYVca2wmsRnRwHZ_8aN1sMte6M3-ZwKdAz3pPN0oPLpHXCcXKLWJQAXh8OE/s1600/OneRoomDone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZWC7lQ59tgKUhMbCdl9AZUMPLwbTRItexLmsKI2K2ZOtF6THF724WQGnRfU3Z4vbzsAqQkYjFT-R4p3TFYVca2wmsRnRwHZ_8aN1sMte6M3-ZwKdAz3pPN0oPLpHXCcXKLWJQAXh8OE/s1600/OneRoomDone.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">One room done.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65cFI3w9i1ISXvu8BQS9fMwPseudQSAdTOnetoBHOBGQ3vybja9OcTA15t4oEZdA0rdL7y1GgiDFKg9YQBnioJ_J-RT8JMCAIf94hJTUFdQXuHBymC68wnACU4vqareE6tWCvx3X0Cys/s1600/MorningUji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65cFI3w9i1ISXvu8BQS9fMwPseudQSAdTOnetoBHOBGQ3vybja9OcTA15t4oEZdA0rdL7y1GgiDFKg9YQBnioJ_J-RT8JMCAIf94hJTUFdQXuHBymC68wnACU4vqareE6tWCvx3X0Cys/s1600/MorningUji.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Morning uji, enrollment still increasing.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Movie day every Friday.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0o79ragIoR4Wi7NO_6R98EYgcwNjtp3fYRL1LmGdCG0Itve-LlWFM7-hHTSIGrjuwNaVRlkKezr2M20mcwJwASZN22fgkZ9hXe2I4c_jeBgvpHWNvn2i0aYtC9kKZUFUN2R5ORHaJFI/s1600/Lunch20Kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0o79ragIoR4Wi7NO_6R98EYgcwNjtp3fYRL1LmGdCG0Itve-LlWFM7-hHTSIGrjuwNaVRlkKezr2M20mcwJwASZN22fgkZ9hXe2I4c_jeBgvpHWNvn2i0aYtC9kKZUFUN2R5ORHaJFI/s1600/Lunch20Kids.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Lunch. We're up to 20 kids now. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8ZYADGyFJBdw3HV5111pCGx6BPtDQo00h1puuvuZK3OIns9Pa0r804PJCgs81MXI5-oHxeaMMOd7QMsXTeifXkRL3p6IhOJXnk4XsS6KSImTtSgguUXsa-itDJm0vv0Zsa8q1oZT_VQ/s1600/RoomNextDoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8ZYADGyFJBdw3HV5111pCGx6BPtDQo00h1puuvuZK3OIns9Pa0r804PJCgs81MXI5-oHxeaMMOd7QMsXTeifXkRL3p6IhOJXnk4XsS6KSImTtSgguUXsa-itDJm0vv0Zsa8q1oZT_VQ/s1600/RoomNextDoor.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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We painted the room next door so we could separate the </div>
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preschool and first grade.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFa4eAhTePpUGA0NDM39_urmdtjHrUmb7cIbRYnv4pzal70c8A9yCfIWUYXexfl35hPkIrBcSAkfGg1Ddj8QF0ViM4nWGQXNCti3ZFhzfn9FJUrOEHCX7B_5m9lUpRkff0E1KwpISxRc/s1600/RoomNextDoorPainted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFa4eAhTePpUGA0NDM39_urmdtjHrUmb7cIbRYnv4pzal70c8A9yCfIWUYXexfl35hPkIrBcSAkfGg1Ddj8QF0ViM4nWGQXNCti3ZFhzfn9FJUrOEHCX7B_5m9lUpRkff0E1KwpISxRc/s1600/RoomNextDoorPainted.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">The room next door.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyqPDIERHH5MEV1QXdAGq9MShRQc2W07QtM4dN2LFb8rgcll4zY7jgeYyJpxECQslpmC2MhSfmQd3r4SCdxs93IZXzKMLNvW4-LgTJ0ySJmKc5SmZqLSWOsyJfo9QuHDkwl0u16zx3VQ/s1600/SchoolLibrary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyqPDIERHH5MEV1QXdAGq9MShRQc2W07QtM4dN2LFb8rgcll4zY7jgeYyJpxECQslpmC2MhSfmQd3r4SCdxs93IZXzKMLNvW4-LgTJ0ySJmKc5SmZqLSWOsyJfo9QuHDkwl0u16zx3VQ/s1600/SchoolLibrary.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> School library</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvsRIgMpqZAd6VMvduMk4CnLpr-N1cbrSghfsDJSFPabLh-A08IGTxKxFnE_tNIBwAQ6SSugOy9fZ8bIY5l2depeY-ZjDeELoBTC-VqLEfvJZEkA2Jtdp87n2dUXuDMBZswHKacQgd48/s1600/SimonAnasema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvsRIgMpqZAd6VMvduMk4CnLpr-N1cbrSghfsDJSFPabLh-A08IGTxKxFnE_tNIBwAQ6SSugOy9fZ8bIY5l2depeY-ZjDeELoBTC-VqLEfvJZEkA2Jtdp87n2dUXuDMBZswHKacQgd48/s1600/SimonAnasema.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Simon Says aka Simon Anasema</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLa3e5u-3JObxI3fkROT-D9YwF4QaFD26rd906U_Fw9yiDzloKFGJ25UZ7AnCtAKbxd5ejBiRwI9ua9XUH5m1Y-vcOtErcXI2rt9F31W8rNV_5av_-sGOwFsLCs-b7VRJqH8klU7WqHlo/s1600/Standard1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLa3e5u-3JObxI3fkROT-D9YwF4QaFD26rd906U_Fw9yiDzloKFGJ25UZ7AnCtAKbxd5ejBiRwI9ua9XUH5m1Y-vcOtErcXI2rt9F31W8rNV_5av_-sGOwFsLCs-b7VRJqH8klU7WqHlo/s1600/Standard1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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Some of Standard !, we've got 2 classes</div>
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now, chekechea and first.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I enjoy my vacations, in spite of Africa's seemingly continuous efforts to sabotage any trip I take. Or any other activity for that matter, like eating, shopping, breathing...Sometimes you just have to decide to not let it get you down.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Likizo started on Good Friday, and at dawn's early crack I took a 2 hour daladala ride to Morogoro so I could catch my luxury bus for the 10 hour ride to Mbeya. I arrived at 07, the bus was to arrive at 09, but by 0815 I realized, after much inner debate, that I really needed to use the choo (bathroom) before I boarded the bus for said 10 hour ride.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">In Africa I religiously eat light the night before a long bus trip, and during the trip I sip water and nibble salty stuff (sometimes it's good to retain water). The toilets in transit are too brutal to talk about, much less use.There's a public pay toilet at the bus stop, but it's unearthly, so I decided to catch a cab to Ricky's Cafe and use their clean First World toilet complete with TP. The bus guy warned me not to be late, actually he nagged me for a good while, but it's a small town so I wasn't worried. I grabbed a cab and roared into Ricky's, which on a normal Friday is open for business, but not this Friday. There are very few other non lethal toilets in Morogoro. What to do..</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Ricky's is conveniently located adjacent to a gas station so I asked to use theirs. While gas station toilets have improved over the years in America, I'm not in America. It was a squat choo, which I don't mind, and the floor was kind of a mess but I found a place for my backpack on a cleanish spot. I was planning to put it in the sink, until I looked into the sink. So there I was squatting and unlike Ricky's, there's no TP. There is, however, a grimy yellow water bucket situated under a faucet located beside my left tako. I squatted there for a bit mulling over my options, which were few. I considered doing what the locals do, you don't want to know, until I looked into the bucket and decided there must be something in my backpack I was willing to sacrifice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I got back to the bus stand with plenty of time to spare (minus a sock), and waited till 9 o'clock. Then I waited till 10. I started nagging the bus guy who told me bado (not yet). While I was being repeatedly badoed I eavesdropped on a call he had made to the driver of our bus and discovered all the buses were backed up because there was a lorry stuck across the road somewhere along the route. So I asked how far down the road and he said only 130 km. That's about 2 more hours and the lorry was still across the road. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I asked for a refund so I could get another bus. He gave me my money and he wasn't smiling, this after badoeing to me for the past 2 hours. I guess I can forget about ever getting a good seat on Mbeya Express again. But as ALL the buses were late and everyone with better Swahili than me (which is everyone) got seats on other buses, I was left alone, dejected, and busless on the first day of my vacation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Anyway I decided I was too tired/old for this and went to the Morogoro Hotel where I spent the day watching movies, eating Indian food and drinking Safari Lager. An auspicious start, despite the public transport systems efforts to the contrary.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Vacation was fine, all is well in Mbeya, except I discovered my banker is being investigated for fraud. My balance looks about right, so if he's stealing money, it's not mine.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">For the return trip I decided I wouldn't go by the same bus, and opted for Green Star, which is a very nice bus, or was. We broke down for the first time while we were still in Mbeya, the second time just outside of Ilula. It could have been worse, there's a whole lot of nothing between Mbeya and Ilula, but we were able to coast into town and were back on the road in about 2 hours. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I got to Morogoro too late to catch the bus to Berega, so spent another night in Morogoro Hotel, more movies and beer, and a very nice pork steak. So despite all of Tanzania's attempts to mess up my vacation, I had a good time. Sometimes you need to make the effort.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">School started again, the kids are doing well. There's lots of reading going on in Standard 1, in English and Kiswahili. The Kiswahili is going a little faster, it's not as complicated as English, but then, what is? Besides, once they sound out a word in their own language, they know what it means.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've had tables and chairs made to accommodate the new kids, but now I think we need a reading table. We have kids who routinely finish more quickly than the others, so I think it would be good to have a table in the back so they can read while I help the slower ones. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've always been a reader, and right now these kids are excited about this new thing they can do. It's a amazing thing to see the looks on their faces when they finish a book.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">If you've never lived here, you can't begin to know how bad most of the schools are. Kids here are working without a net, so if they can get a few really good years in early, they can do ok. Most kids don't get that, that's why so few pass. That and the lack of teachers, books, parental concern...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The fundraiser was a success, but I will accept further donations if you're of a mind. You might like to know how the money was used. There was a total of 1330 USD, which comes to 2,100,000 tsh. Nashukurani sana Leslie, Sharon,Chris, Sheila, Doc, Kathy, Max and Joanne. I has been spent as follows:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2,100,000 total received</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 540,000 2 full scholarships</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1,560,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 570,000 5 partial scholarships</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 990,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 230,000 books</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 760,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 30,000 videos</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 730,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 15,000 mats for nap time</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 715,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 10,000 repairs to the door of the school</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 705,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 20,000 paint</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 685,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 15,000 buckets for water to wash hands</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 670,000</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 374,000 two large cupboards to hold supplies and kids stuff</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> 296,000 remaining</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We have a wonderful school here. A few weeks ago John painted a preschool at Mgugu Primary where there's 160 kids in the class. So I am aware of just how lucky we are. Our kids get help when they need it, 2 meals/day, movies on Friday. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We've got books, a library, two full time teachers and a volunteer. I refuse to spend any time feeling guilty about the schools that don't have what we have. H4A is helping those schools as well, but what can you do with 160 kids in one classroom? We did what we could, it's not enough, but then, this is Africa, and it's never enough.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></div>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-45531840245713880092012-04-15T12:06:00.000-07:002012-04-15T12:06:36.798-07:00Defining Fine<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJzon72EEUJnASJu9TwEtMWbmd0622atduL6EhMZU8LRKHgcIdBAlIbAlE3bAfvj08Vf_qCkzilbBB_9x6ubWiNTgQ361pvF37jaoTiccyqQMJr_hTDA9R30TKmGuv0wQq9wQTzEktX0/s1600/ClearingLandAxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJzon72EEUJnASJu9TwEtMWbmd0622atduL6EhMZU8LRKHgcIdBAlIbAlE3bAfvj08Vf_qCkzilbBB_9x6ubWiNTgQ361pvF37jaoTiccyqQMJr_hTDA9R30TKmGuv0wQq9wQTzEktX0/s1600/ClearingLandAxes.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Land clearing</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That's one of my jobs here, to define fine. It's well known by the locals as well as every mzungu who lives here that an African will always answer nzuri (fine). If you come across a man lying in a ditch with an axe embedded his cranium, ask him Habari? ( How's everything?), and he will, with his last dying breath, whisper nzuri. This is how it is here. Which makes it difficult to run an NGO from America, as my boss Brad Logan is so valiantly trying to do.</span><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I explained all this to him when we met in Arizona, where we both worked for IHS. I told him he needed someone to define fine, and as it cannot be done by an African (see man with axe in his head), I volunteered for the job.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_TjQEam2KohCtPF7vNElo4Byko7zsDXTQqfwZc4HhEJqp2kf45oflBWS-kcpRQzSANx86CgEhas-V0TsRjeDojtTWjWZURcKHI_T7o64nsnzWn1K7oWGy22waBvKpR9tBiJ4SzBATK8/s1600/TreeStumpRemoval.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_TjQEam2KohCtPF7vNElo4Byko7zsDXTQqfwZc4HhEJqp2kf45oflBWS-kcpRQzSANx86CgEhas-V0TsRjeDojtTWjWZURcKHI_T7o64nsnzWn1K7oWGy22waBvKpR9tBiJ4SzBATK8/s1600/TreeStumpRemoval.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Digging out roots. Note the lack of covered footwear.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">All this time I've been here I've never explained in detail what Hands4Africa does, mostly because I hadn't seen it, but now that the project has truly begun and is doing fine...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_acxYEIlCyunEKeXjKRomV9Ez8mM6jKlaXynJ7hESAIFa0WMNXCYwF5HCXKD5AlKCMYdhrZeRPSmt2MzvCosMGOkfhz3OEodGZskTchcLkzLcMwsLIYX6Wyy2wQXyg8B6GYichWL9jxQ/s1600/CompostBinConstruction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_acxYEIlCyunEKeXjKRomV9Ez8mM6jKlaXynJ7hESAIFa0WMNXCYwF5HCXKD5AlKCMYdhrZeRPSmt2MzvCosMGOkfhz3OEodGZskTchcLkzLcMwsLIYX6Wyy2wQXyg8B6GYichWL9jxQ/s1600/CompostBinConstruction.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Bin construction. In the end, </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">there will be hundreds of these,</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">work for anyone who wants it.</div></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Life is hard here, hard for people, dogs and cats (remember Socks), anything with a circulatory system. There's little money for food and clothes, much less for medicine and schools. But rather than giving money, which will never accomplish anything in this swirling, sucking vortex of eternal need, H4A proposes to offer jobs, lots of jobs. Then folks can pay for what they need. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcJYrT7mZCf9RdVi4BDwZLAzbgvov7wC6yPBY_lJFGCKePCjsZu_IzAes67Bq8ahStGs3rlF_0L0X5TbJYp45tlMQyaJlO1RblqAsFF_UwS2tTPY-e3rtc12onNdycc6gKtdMSyFMrdM/s1600/CompostBin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcJYrT7mZCf9RdVi4BDwZLAzbgvov7wC6yPBY_lJFGCKePCjsZu_IzAes67Bq8ahStGs3rlF_0L0X5TbJYp45tlMQyaJlO1RblqAsFF_UwS2tTPY-e3rtc12onNdycc6gKtdMSyFMrdM/s1600/CompostBin.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Completed bin which will create and</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">hold the sterile compost made of</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">human waste.</span></div></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Where do the jobs come from?</span><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The project revolves around the growth and care of the jatropha tree, which produces a nut that can be pressed into oil. The trees are to be fertilized using compost made of human waste, called Humanure. This process turns buckets of what we all flush into usable, sterile compost. Jatropha farms are doing well in many places in Africa, and provide regular work. This work comes in the form of:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zjazS_OlsFIzQEiHATu9w9-oL9A06volym_zX34U0wKfrNs0d4A30bsXOYh21k11cqfsoWYu4M6M0Nh20vx5XXisv1VzCDRecI0xPsPtgjfDa_zFxx4Scdap2WboUDntcWWnboD5QGA/s1600/ClearingLandMachete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zjazS_OlsFIzQEiHATu9w9-oL9A06volym_zX34U0wKfrNs0d4A30bsXOYh21k11cqfsoWYu4M6M0Nh20vx5XXisv1VzCDRecI0xPsPtgjfDa_zFxx4Scdap2WboUDntcWWnboD5QGA/s1600/ClearingLandMachete.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Samweli clearing land. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">This is the guy who pulled Socks</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">out of the choo.</div></td></tr>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. clearing land for the trees</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2. planting and watering trees.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. fertilizing trees</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. collecting nuts, bagging nuts, generally preparing them to become oil</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">5. supervising the above</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">6. documenting the above</span><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">To expand on the fertilizer, jobs provided include:</span><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. building compost bins</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2. breaking rocks for bin making</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. carrying water for cement making</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. collecting materials (human waste and other biodegradable objects) to make compost and depositing them in the bins</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">5. supervising above tasks</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">6. documenting above tasks</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMWWRskmFUTRafkWDl7AzN-bpirf8bOvXFXHbm3_r1iiGmqlaXZlUl_UmTh2Q_Xbx0jeJK4hiZbfAa5QJkypsJgdO2_-peOZmiWF7a0jhTaZBNJ69E47A8M3jK9qMCOzgsH9uRgFJePo/s1600/WaterForConcrete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMWWRskmFUTRafkWDl7AzN-bpirf8bOvXFXHbm3_r1iiGmqlaXZlUl_UmTh2Q_Xbx0jeJK4hiZbfAa5QJkypsJgdO2_-peOZmiWF7a0jhTaZBNJ69E47A8M3jK9qMCOzgsH9uRgFJePo/s1600/WaterForConcrete.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Collecting water for the bin construction.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Humanure provides the following jobs:</span><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. remodeling pit toilets so buckets can be placed to collect human waste</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2. cleaning and supervising the kids using the toilets. We begin with the schools as kids are more adaptable to new concepts and can provide tons of what goes into the buckets</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. collecting and transporting the full buckets.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. replacing the full buckets with empty ones.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">5. cleaning buckets</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFx-0YUoZduAZKCVYFTkjm4poG1-ocERYXMHJMMje3U-NVyXuhuVp_AXA2HXJFkGCrmqNGQ3F7Wq5dEobdIVEW-QI1VWw7CvD01noFmbvg0N9Ypa9XPVkx8xCfboUMJkYsERu0hvpo68/s1600/AggregateSource.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFx-0YUoZduAZKCVYFTkjm4poG1-ocERYXMHJMMje3U-NVyXuhuVp_AXA2HXJFkGCrmqNGQ3F7Wq5dEobdIVEW-QI1VWw7CvD01noFmbvg0N9Ypa9XPVkx8xCfboUMJkYsERu0hvpo68/s320/AggregateSource.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Some rocks need to be dug out of the ground. This is hard </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">work, you couldn't pay me to do it.</span></div></td></tr>
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These are just some of the jobs available as this project unfolds. The village and the Anglican Diocese has given Hands4Africa lots of land, so people can be kept busy forever.The beauty of this system is that is, and I hate to use the S word, self sustaining.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The reason I dislike this word is that people come to Africa, set something up, and expect it to be self sustaining in a matter of months. This doesn't and can't happen. Africa just has too many problems. As I've said before, what takes three weeks in America will take six months here. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That's because in Africa there's 9 steps to anything you want to do. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but on average, nine. Kwa mfano (for example), to make a meal you must:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jMsb7wZZYqRwMrbmsPSEt_Kvai3ouwF7PxbQRCJa-bD4B-NaNVXOMyW0gtLsX9NlsErTXC4QHUbmiylchm7mZGZ9WtS8naiD2M5XUhgirjUZg8O3FnLOxCVQjlJNcLTU8P32TRLLIrc/s1600/AggegateMaking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jMsb7wZZYqRwMrbmsPSEt_Kvai3ouwF7PxbQRCJa-bD4B-NaNVXOMyW0gtLsX9NlsErTXC4QHUbmiylchm7mZGZ9WtS8naiD2M5XUhgirjUZg8O3FnLOxCVQjlJNcLTU8P32TRLLIrc/s1600/AggegateMaking.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Making gravel from rocks on the land that is being cleared.</span></td></tr>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. find some food</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2. find some firewood</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. get some water</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. boil the water unless you want to get sick</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">5. Start the fire and wait till the coals are ready</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">6. Pick the rocks and husks out of the rice, if you have rice. Ugali is generally rock free but requires more effort to cook. You can't leave it alone or it will burn right up.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">7. Cut onions and tomatoes for beans</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">8. Pick the rocks out of the beans</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">9. Cook the beans.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So that's nine steps and you haven't even smelled the food yet. There's still the cleanup. That's another three or four steps. Go buy your microwave some flowers, better yet, national Microwave Day. A Hallmark card for every occasion.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUYeNLSaqa0eNeRvVOULVcAyBLpcblygCcKTwUwPTRLSb-iR7y7HnrmDh4QlF2kFS8m3VpvGMT29ekbdfAuW1z-I3pdqZKKi0_rewwdfRZUxvsW8pRFl1zeCJDLHRi56Bxxv6zubVif0/s1600/HumanurePrototype.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUYeNLSaqa0eNeRvVOULVcAyBLpcblygCcKTwUwPTRLSb-iR7y7HnrmDh4QlF2kFS8m3VpvGMT29ekbdfAuW1z-I3pdqZKKi0_rewwdfRZUxvsW8pRFl1zeCJDLHRi56Bxxv6zubVif0/s1600/HumanurePrototype.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Prototype of a choo using a collection bucket.</span></td></tr>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">You can see that cooking is labor and time intensive, as well as everything else that happens here. Nothing is easy and you can't get from A to B without the nine steps.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I digress, but let me just say that self sustained living and subsistence living are at opposite ends of the spectrum.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQ3ccL0qxijNhWVswhpnL-G8iSu20m147D7mHYqGShW4hA-g0UIcp-kaeSTKpaGb3ScvoZ5WSVy80WFJCuswkBwEM3dDCOXamEYNMFLwsgi8Tkb2PjDzSEJQFVVpRpfJXaRR8PQ5NMzU/s1600/HumanureUser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQ3ccL0qxijNhWVswhpnL-G8iSu20m147D7mHYqGShW4hA-g0UIcp-kaeSTKpaGb3ScvoZ5WSVy80WFJCuswkBwEM3dDCOXamEYNMFLwsgi8Tkb2PjDzSEJQFVVpRpfJXaRR8PQ5NMzU/s1600/HumanureUser.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Bayona volunteering to <br />
demo the choo/bucket set up.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">A project like the jatropha trees will bridge the gap between the two. The trees need constant care, as well as the toilets providing compost for the trees. In the end, folks will make much more money planting a tree farm than planting maize. So they can plant trees, harvest nuts, buy more maize than they could grow, and have money left for school fees, medicine, all kinds of stuff. If a person wants regular work, they can have it, if they just need money for school fees or hospital bills, they can work till they get it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">It's a good system, and I have only glossed over the highlights. The set up is the hard part, as most everything involves well more than the nine steps mentioned above. But in the end, it will be, dare I say, self sustaining. I do, I dare.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-42092585938150231852012-04-08T07:39:00.000-07:002012-04-08T07:39:00.746-07:00A Little Bit Far<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've said before that Africans and Americans have ridiculously different concepts of distance. They walk everywhere, so nothing is too far. The other day Abdallah and Philipo went to Kilama to fetch wood for the desks, and I offered the company car. I thought I'd go along for the ride. I'm like the family dog, shake the keys and I jump in the car. I go on the assumption it's something to do and it might be interesting and I'm rarely disappointed.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpMkyVQsqCRWqD9KRVaeuwNdbg2ijA6w4rsCGi0mmcXBbZW1jiwPp0t5mqAazCujEnHNY89iGC9oqshIHb40mYAMkZ3ArXWXBPWzY9jqL4QnhCgk6UUyW1PDPPxnApQADD57n7Fnl_7E/s1600/BadRoadKilama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpMkyVQsqCRWqD9KRVaeuwNdbg2ijA6w4rsCGi0mmcXBbZW1jiwPp0t5mqAazCujEnHNY89iGC9oqshIHb40mYAMkZ3ArXWXBPWzY9jqL4QnhCgk6UUyW1PDPPxnApQADD57n7Fnl_7E/s1600/BadRoadKilama.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Road to Kilama. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I teach in the afternoons, at 4pm, and both Abdallah and Philipo know this, as both are my students. So when they said we should leave at 1pm, I figured we'd be back in time. They said it was a little bit far, and like a dope I believed them. I fall for this every time. So who's the moron now?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Philipo collects wood up behind Berega, in the bush which surrounds us. Usually he uses a bike or a pikipiki. It's hard work so he was very happy for the use of the car. My reasons were less than altruistic. I need the desks and I need them now.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQza9ilynJHvXC_L6vAy86Zvku-9zzVlRN4JYA11NRpZj-JIgWiUZogsncbbu93gt7auj75xR47V3DU-HAXLxBHwMN_G-aew7isCPU5GXKcLJm6aRHnjEbe11PRG3wQgMFNv2dT_aqHVE/s1600/BadRoadKilama2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQza9ilynJHvXC_L6vAy86Zvku-9zzVlRN4JYA11NRpZj-JIgWiUZogsncbbu93gt7auj75xR47V3DU-HAXLxBHwMN_G-aew7isCPU5GXKcLJm6aRHnjEbe11PRG3wQgMFNv2dT_aqHVE/s1600/BadRoadKilama2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Further on down the road</span></td></tr>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So off we went. It's beautiful country, small villages, hills, farms. But it's been a week since Philipo arranged the pickup, and in that time the rains have arrived with a vengeance. The further up we got, the worse the roads got. After about an hour I asked Bado kidogo? which is the african version of are we there yet? I was badoed about six times before I realized that the wood was very, very far away. I asked if we'd be back for class and the guys just laughed. Abdallah said the roads are bad since the rain, and it's a little bit far. So no, we wouldn't be back for class. I tried to call some of my students, but there was no network. There is frequently no network.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8WJoOnJx_NVI9CCDGWkF3u6FUjiTMNRWoRq19AIjwec4gZ74ex_THSSFndZawGqQzegHrpPW73sjGRyTNEabVnI6e4ts4xNYQZT0kqp-KLacxJwUxc2nahEjZmhj7XFam5ovq7ECrdc/s1600/BadRoadKilama3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8WJoOnJx_NVI9CCDGWkF3u6FUjiTMNRWoRq19AIjwec4gZ74ex_THSSFndZawGqQzegHrpPW73sjGRyTNEabVnI6e4ts4xNYQZT0kqp-KLacxJwUxc2nahEjZmhj7XFam5ovq7ECrdc/s1600/BadRoadKilama3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">This one was a tight squeeze.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMuvuG1GyxLeQAKF_bXXA6AzysGXLna-QHaqD-sJyxB-4gmIOciD80upaxdwWlXWhIsrblDAE1rMannJb24PhPNTeXCPKPiPM2mkUwZIjzSD2n1b-sWOZiyQ1J05nIjoFhDXSCgI3SqtQ/s1600/GoldMining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMuvuG1GyxLeQAKF_bXXA6AzysGXLna-QHaqD-sJyxB-4gmIOciD80upaxdwWlXWhIsrblDAE1rMannJb24PhPNTeXCPKPiPM2mkUwZIjzSD2n1b-sWOZiyQ1J05nIjoFhDXSCgI3SqtQ/s1600/GoldMining.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Gold mining in Tanzania</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We got to a tiny little village, more like a villagette, when A and P said we needed to stop to buy some rope. I was curious as to where we could do this, there didn't seem to be any likely looking rope stores, or anything else for that matter. He found a few small dukas, which had no rope. I did comment that Berega might have been a better place to buy rope because they actually do have rope, but A said Hamna shida mama.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsesk4FEuhrgeKCYddpGhN59ij-voAIR-Ar9EYSqxtilRQ5irCnTIaFAp5hN4JVW0jkYUL3nKEhg_m7ZdwB11QkXSwVAxpYLFrFORagDu1DVpHYep6eTRiGLJ3Im1qJov6JXT6VRJ79v8/s1600/GoldSpec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsesk4FEuhrgeKCYddpGhN59ij-voAIR-Ar9EYSqxtilRQ5irCnTIaFAp5hN4JVW0jkYUL3nKEhg_m7ZdwB11QkXSwVAxpYLFrFORagDu1DVpHYep6eTRiGLJ3Im1qJov6JXT6VRJ79v8/s1600/GoldSpec.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">If you look real hard you can see a speck of gold on his palm.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95ijPkx4ROAlmjF3Ce7rfOncvE4m1WG82Dni7dJXBAh0PK6OPU_q8jYWzYjtOb1_myw704vk9VP7NZjRHmHMyj6knrl14tvxGvBoVNyr8QseQTPl_4W0w9He1gMnWD8fnTnM5qrxUA68/s1600/GoldMining2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95ijPkx4ROAlmjF3Ce7rfOncvE4m1WG82Dni7dJXBAh0PK6OPU_q8jYWzYjtOb1_myw704vk9VP7NZjRHmHMyj6knrl14tvxGvBoVNyr8QseQTPl_4W0w9He1gMnWD8fnTnM5qrxUA68/s1600/GoldMining2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Rasta washing mud and sifting for the above pictured gold.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquQAMEQktZ7v9u_p52hcJJfZJAMcGuvT9JBrax5f3wvJeIi7mkAaU4BMM10g-ApnY0r7ZOX88TTJwqz9mPCNTwKU84Etf6mtMh4Or0y5gb3oFYm_tkV-ha7RLJmUmdEg7Sv0vk_kdMp4/s1600/GoldCamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquQAMEQktZ7v9u_p52hcJJfZJAMcGuvT9JBrax5f3wvJeIi7mkAaU4BMM10g-ApnY0r7ZOX88TTJwqz9mPCNTwKU84Etf6mtMh4Or0y5gb3oFYm_tkV-ha7RLJmUmdEg7Sv0vk_kdMp4/s1600/GoldCamp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">The camp. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We passed a gold mining camp about halfway up, which reminded me of stories about the old days, except for the colorful plastic buckets, and the lack of mules with straw hats. Other than that, it's primitive mining. It's also rain dependent, so it moves from place to place, as does the rain.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiL5Kpxk5Sy_r5YBXM1Axz_N8z-mXryPRxUt_Z8-zBlip-XZRmlgET09AyPiSDemK2EZbCGTWp71J6HNZM-t5F331mO2XqRfBnXcw4JVMcPZkqoCpgxkxlrUqlSsohC23LnySWEgCxfQ/s1600/KidsWatchingBirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiL5Kpxk5Sy_r5YBXM1Axz_N8z-mXryPRxUt_Z8-zBlip-XZRmlgET09AyPiSDemK2EZbCGTWp71J6HNZM-t5F331mO2XqRfBnXcw4JVMcPZkqoCpgxkxlrUqlSsohC23LnySWEgCxfQ/s1600/KidsWatchingBirds.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Sitting very quietly while I watch the birds.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We arrived at Kilama, where the wood was, and spent about a hour waiting for Philipo to conclude all the details, and for Abdullah to round up some rope. There's not much rope up there, as I found out, so we will return it the next time someone from Kilama comes to Berega for medical treatment. I spent my time meandering about and taking pictures of the kids who spent their time staring at me, pointing, giggling, murmuring mzungu mzungu.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2geZKp6vjqI25SoS-kN0R1BGCMmHEEfCsc8qEd1HaW_9OM3NNYalisgzG_3MJ58T0ZDjNgzxhGe4f_KXjwIdMqHOOeQE4GGyYFnDQHlfCUPHECZ7zLpGdzcibc1ZVdAlXTr5-SDrDhg/s1600/PhoneBooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2geZKp6vjqI25SoS-kN0R1BGCMmHEEfCsc8qEd1HaW_9OM3NNYalisgzG_3MJ58T0ZDjNgzxhGe4f_KXjwIdMqHOOeQE4GGyYFnDQHlfCUPHECZ7zLpGdzcibc1ZVdAlXTr5-SDrDhg/s1600/PhoneBooth.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Phone booth</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I tried to call my other students to tell them not to come to class. Three of them live in Msalama, which is a 45 minute walk each way. But up in Kilama, there's not much network, you get a bar sometimes, mostly you get that No Network sign. But Abdallah walked around and talked to some guys who showed us where the locals use the phone.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_qkBbJjpp0Jh4Xa5MTQZ7NN_pD2L5NwDIU3sq17RAmDa-PCcoZKCKCJnsPYwNxZMlcNeYPYpgbb5CLZlC0aQ4CdEw4PUt7X484djEJvYYK3ZaN4v31Hlqbs7iPSnNt-qLop00DcOaPU/s1600/BedroomLiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_qkBbJjpp0Jh4Xa5MTQZ7NN_pD2L5NwDIU3sq17RAmDa-PCcoZKCKCJnsPYwNxZMlcNeYPYpgbb5CLZlC0aQ4CdEw4PUt7X484djEJvYYK3ZaN4v31Hlqbs7iPSnNt-qLop00DcOaPU/s1600/BedroomLiz.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We finally got through to Amon, who promised to tell every one else, so I felt better. We walked around the village, which didn't take long, and I found the school. I can sniff out a school blindfolded with a plastic bucket on my head. There's a preschool, and a Standard 1 thru 7. Which was a surprise as there didn't seem to be but three or four rooms. There's also only 3 teachers, because it's not easy finding teachers to work in the bush, and this is deep in the bush. But the preschool class is in good shape, and there's only 23 kids in the class. I'd like to paint it. With that small a class, it would be great. Saw the other classes, not paintable. Or even habitable for that matter.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mMa9PdCp6G43l2Lk_OdJ0EVa6ByZfFSZMX2osZShbgmr66AXp4QC72zMMB5UO96MLqpOct8XSbLdQEVvwOkdUHOG59pqYoRzT8yxvITjXrSbgCl3q8PJ4IgySq0-6YNVsPQjLy5xz54/s1600/SchoolBadWalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mMa9PdCp6G43l2Lk_OdJ0EVa6ByZfFSZMX2osZShbgmr66AXp4QC72zMMB5UO96MLqpOct8XSbLdQEVvwOkdUHOG59pqYoRzT8yxvITjXrSbgCl3q8PJ4IgySq0-6YNVsPQjLy5xz54/s1600/SchoolBadWalls.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Classroom that I will not be painting.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So a good time was had by all and we came down the mountain. As P was thanking me (sincerely and profusely) for the transport I was thinking that a man would have to be either nuts or desperate to bring wood home on a bike from that far away. And I know he's not nuts. Sometimes it stuns me how hard people work for so little. A pikipiki costs 10,000 tsh each way, so mostly he uses a bike, and as you can't put too much wood on a bike, a big job necessitates multiple trips. Ouch.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The next day I was talking to my adult class about my trip, and Pastor, who comes to class almost every day, told me that he was born in Kilama 64 years ago. There was no school then, so he got some schooling at the church. There also was no bikes, pikipikis, or phones. I asked what happened when someone got sick and he said they would transport the patient in his bed, with friends and family shouldering each corner like pallbearers. It took us almost 2 hours by car, each way. He said sometimes they'd walk all night.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">That village life is supremely inconvenient is something they take as normal, I can't imagine hauling a sick person on a bed down a bad road with nothing but maybe a flashlight. I asked him what happened when the patient died in transit, he said they just turned around and went back to plan the funeral. See comment about pallbearers.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf6VOxEcysGvpued7L9TSJxcIyijWWUnHodlFwFE3ON_XY7FFxYJ9NWM6_7jKV1hftuLdMlBE80_dUsMDDcX_1sgPDLGwQcT88P5CsE2iHf2r3dT8_vMs3vfChwSHE9OP542RPBwxHWM/s1600/SchoolBadWalls2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf6VOxEcysGvpued7L9TSJxcIyijWWUnHodlFwFE3ON_XY7FFxYJ9NWM6_7jKV1hftuLdMlBE80_dUsMDDcX_1sgPDLGwQcT88P5CsE2iHf2r3dT8_vMs3vfChwSHE9OP542RPBwxHWM/s1600/SchoolBadWalls2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Inside that classroom</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG0h5RPhDpQx7_nH-BRJC5I3a5R4He7oLooKhZ1TzRrrHl-g1F3aT3vAfXtltW-_ssiUIzkCBSR9fAvypv9mknBUIm_An7QFoQ9dvaGdgtOpq_3c1Bo_X-lC-IMyZLYHxP8nBOeNyGXg/s1600/BirthdayPartyLiz2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG0h5RPhDpQx7_nH-BRJC5I3a5R4He7oLooKhZ1TzRrrHl-g1F3aT3vAfXtltW-_ssiUIzkCBSR9fAvypv9mknBUIm_An7QFoQ9dvaGdgtOpq_3c1Bo_X-lC-IMyZLYHxP8nBOeNyGXg/s1600/BirthdayPartyLiz2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">St. Mary's English Medium Preschool </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">and Standard One, minus</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">two kids sick with malaria.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">School. We have started the lunch program, and the kids love it. Our cook, Mama Dani, makes lots of food, and they eat every morsel. Attendance is near perfect, and I'm no idiot, it's because of the food, but I don't care. I'm a results girl so why they come is irrelevant, that they come is important.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisZy35mmThNlcr4ZD2fxaUfqQlow0IkKwaMf2UJvWgWOBhIjAm4mcxtfBxCkGCi2OMRa1FKabjbqyoF-M9kxrMcdf5Qx09_jHbv4DLgu9u7xvn74B4QKr3g7bec4L5ejKRoOfzJf4Z9o/s1600/KindergartenBreakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisZy35mmThNlcr4ZD2fxaUfqQlow0IkKwaMf2UJvWgWOBhIjAm4mcxtfBxCkGCi2OMRa1FKabjbqyoF-M9kxrMcdf5Qx09_jHbv4DLgu9u7xvn74B4QKr3g7bec4L5ejKRoOfzJf4Z9o/s1600/KindergartenBreakfast.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Morning ugi. Philipo is working on the new</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> tables so in a few</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">weeks there will be more room</div></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">It's astounding how much kids can not know, but equally astounding is how fast they can learn. The orphans are having a great time, lots of food, and people pay attention to them. Jackie can count from 1 to 10 already. Vicent can, but not every time. They're very pleased with themselves. I think Aidani is from another planet, but he's got his numbers from 1 to 10, and a letter or two. He's a bewildered looking kid, I don't think his father has told him why he's here.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGCbhC5hIB8V_bUDvkGNE7HgS9rOp35aZb5Q3-mBL-UHlE-PzQQi9bhw2xDVkfYlvQQ20Qnr11zmQib-cyU2m79jkgBgXa5SEsIogk1alomiXy1El3iR2Jr323KvBs0J06qOZ2opGhaQ/s1600/WritingAs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGCbhC5hIB8V_bUDvkGNE7HgS9rOp35aZb5Q3-mBL-UHlE-PzQQi9bhw2xDVkfYlvQQ20Qnr11zmQib-cyU2m79jkgBgXa5SEsIogk1alomiXy1El3iR2Jr323KvBs0J06qOZ2opGhaQ/s1600/WritingAs.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Vicent and Jackie and their As.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We have class till 4pm now, which is ok for the first graders but too much for the little guys, so for the last 2 hours we mostly play, and I bring my computer in to watch animal movies or cartoons. Happy Feet was a hit, Horton Hears a Who was a little puzzling, but these kids are happy to watch anything. They like previews. But so far the favorite is Old Yeller, a 50 year old Disney classic. They watched it two days in a row.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1Fvzm1e_gDX0RR1TwTV7YOma1OHg_fyNnWdoc-NF3K1kq_ZMPrNGmcxhQC7EpyKjOg6FxTqfowVXqhsz1KZf7X73xJU-Nmf5LhG9mB5BZjbZ6xrql6GjPl_gIKYnpJCVrcI69x7gzIM/s1600/HandmadePoleTruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1Fvzm1e_gDX0RR1TwTV7YOma1OHg_fyNnWdoc-NF3K1kq_ZMPrNGmcxhQC7EpyKjOg6FxTqfowVXqhsz1KZf7X73xJU-Nmf5LhG9mB5BZjbZ6xrql6GjPl_gIKYnpJCVrcI69x7gzIM/s1600/HandmadePoleTruck.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwTjFnHpyW8wlURIKEpRnkF78iGttEZBj1c2fSmlPa0tO1vFD48J7oJ7Vu_Vlja3KLRWZ7MZXEeahcJbnevlIpcC82N1FETDzVvGQhwMJmwbbcwMP6Bl3q4sLARXw_1IFnzutZenDO_c/s1600/ToyElectricPoles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwTjFnHpyW8wlURIKEpRnkF78iGttEZBj1c2fSmlPa0tO1vFD48J7oJ7Vu_Vlja3KLRWZ7MZXEeahcJbnevlIpcC82N1FETDzVvGQhwMJmwbbcwMP6Bl3q4sLARXw_1IFnzutZenDO_c/s1600/ToyElectricPoles.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hope you can see how they've strung the twine to look like </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">wires. They did this from the road to the house. </div><div><br />
</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>These kids have made this truck, and the sticks are electricity </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">poles. They spent all afternoon digging the holes, putting them</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">in the ground, and stringing them.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Monday I plan to de-worm the kids. The two boy orphans, Jackie and Vicent, look pretty wormy to me, actually they look flat out neglected. But then so do lots of kids here. Mostly it's a matter of culture, we are different in out attitudes towards kids, animals, lots of stuff. Two or three year old kids meander about unattended, and five year olds watch babies. But it would be hard for it to be different, there's just not enough parents to go around. Which is one reason they want their kids in school till 4pm. I will say that parents who can do better, definitely do.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">It's a full day, lots of kids, lots of noise, but it's a village so it's not like there's loads to do. I have time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Nakupenda</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nxtwpLN0DOqUP5xb-GydfB81mPY5dMTTT1mYoVQzwe_ivWIeq_gbNBoZsO2Wz4uhltKylNLF0-Z4rGCu6akFREFmMy0MQz5egAlHopcnBfBsvXZmSWRXNkO1DQ0KN7hFNjT5LnqWKRk/s1600/ElectricPoles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nxtwpLN0DOqUP5xb-GydfB81mPY5dMTTT1mYoVQzwe_ivWIeq_gbNBoZsO2Wz4uhltKylNLF0-Z4rGCu6akFREFmMy0MQz5egAlHopcnBfBsvXZmSWRXNkO1DQ0KN7hFNjT5LnqWKRk/s1600/ElectricPoles.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">There's more and more of these poles. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">THEY HAVE BEGUN</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">DIGGING THE HOLES FOR THE POLES.</div></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MDIKSrdliilR9J-3M_y5OPrqf1MmiBtBQsCcm10Bq9ROcdTEd3NoKPC7f9TiwO_sgc5n3NRsg4ThdZcSOV5BnD01kxtUnUUx-QvlSmVVtlbx9jaU78S7D76hyphenhyphenKSNBLYvdcw7S2dJcDw/s1600/RainwaterRecovery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MDIKSrdliilR9J-3M_y5OPrqf1MmiBtBQsCcm10Bq9ROcdTEd3NoKPC7f9TiwO_sgc5n3NRsg4ThdZcSOV5BnD01kxtUnUUx-QvlSmVVtlbx9jaU78S7D76hyphenhyphenKSNBLYvdcw7S2dJcDw/s1600/RainwaterRecovery.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The roads may be bad, but folks have lots of clean water now.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">All you have to do is put all your buckets under your roof.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZdcZTsedI8wiIr6bPLtaA7p7fLfRy3gIROvI8d7Y4n2XTpmDc1AzZ9Cd6dvKP05skGOhuT3KSUGke_7iul-_r0kUrrLkDNQiYkxIZl0Uk3-m3JlNQ2p4YVPq5THyhq73VP5Li7uIsQA/s1600/House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZdcZTsedI8wiIr6bPLtaA7p7fLfRy3gIROvI8d7Y4n2XTpmDc1AzZ9Cd6dvKP05skGOhuT3KSUGke_7iul-_r0kUrrLkDNQiYkxIZl0Uk3-m3JlNQ2p4YVPq5THyhq73VP5Li7uIsQA/s1600/House.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Solid workmanship.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69sYPJtGQg7Yap4hT3X3sT9gcvHfvlolBvozaxi4ms2e2BRcBtpO6e_tyUV8l_uDyigO-BnsLBFaKl2C0H8ReE1Timu2G_Fp8nNt1ML0463lobT3GxChtelugtNNPEsFIdXq5SXLwgpY/s1600/KidsCarryingWater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69sYPJtGQg7Yap4hT3X3sT9gcvHfvlolBvozaxi4ms2e2BRcBtpO6e_tyUV8l_uDyigO-BnsLBFaKl2C0H8ReE1Timu2G_Fp8nNt1ML0463lobT3GxChtelugtNNPEsFIdXq5SXLwgpY/s1600/KidsCarryingWater.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">See how the buckets get bigger as the kids get bigger.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MKFDFldOOHJ8n7-NcZ0fm83LbBC_rRuCJz4pfbKp0XHVRn_u1R98RQUf9OTOnfb15KX7Wp5hibpWa0kMFbgk99trt-4cYCY2kPThk4ZOMROvH2sxNjXnZN51waeOFNvgaaRX_xAzDoY/s1600/WaterStorage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MKFDFldOOHJ8n7-NcZ0fm83LbBC_rRuCJz4pfbKp0XHVRn_u1R98RQUf9OTOnfb15KX7Wp5hibpWa0kMFbgk99trt-4cYCY2kPThk4ZOMROvH2sxNjXnZN51waeOFNvgaaRX_xAzDoY/s1600/WaterStorage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A water storage tank up by the new primary school. Hopefully </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">this maji is only used for cleaning and washing clothes but you</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">never know and sometimes I'm afraid to ask.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBzIDO4Z2YYpHOPqaZlSBQ0nhyphenhyphencChLewjYcT8MU_Jn7s-r93PjqT5gReH1OcohqDUy4njqCY4DGRlykXBCoj5fRc-6RFDbx-Rev28VWfnh7i5E2pu5CZNYWdxb_wi4IZjnze9Q9rcn4o/s1600/RightHand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBzIDO4Z2YYpHOPqaZlSBQ0nhyphenhyphencChLewjYcT8MU_Jn7s-r93PjqT5gReH1OcohqDUy4njqCY4DGRlykXBCoj5fRc-6RFDbx-Rev28VWfnh7i5E2pu5CZNYWdxb_wi4IZjnze9Q9rcn4o/s1600/RightHand.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Jackie trying out his right hand.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RBWIiTwNWM4OhQwXDCH7RsRm-zHVR_lhDsENaCSAZqvrzwWutKJOsGWQcoDd46FzrHnbrKphA-PKbsOAUskxxI_cYLeizxs_v8ZjpLJ9tmQydl4X2gBz6FQAScZP8bd-zfh9SX491sY/s1600/LeftHand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RBWIiTwNWM4OhQwXDCH7RsRm-zHVR_lhDsENaCSAZqvrzwWutKJOsGWQcoDd46FzrHnbrKphA-PKbsOAUskxxI_cYLeizxs_v8ZjpLJ9tmQydl4X2gBz6FQAScZP8bd-zfh9SX491sY/s1600/LeftHand.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Jackie trying out his left hand.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjssrq5SEEfqN6E6OBID3LCTB7kCRkLJ7sQFlvQu73_Nfqz_W2C2hmJ3KUu36uf4VDVOF765vk6tCLAo64NTH6ptkyr8UfhyKJ5sqTsu6O3w94cPzX62SvRn_tiNcQtz6sM1CvqriV6_I/s1600/BirthdayPartyLiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjssrq5SEEfqN6E6OBID3LCTB7kCRkLJ7sQFlvQu73_Nfqz_W2C2hmJ3KUu36uf4VDVOF765vk6tCLAo64NTH6ptkyr8UfhyKJ5sqTsu6O3w94cPzX62SvRn_tiNcQtz6sM1CvqriV6_I/s1600/BirthdayPartyLiz.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">My birthday party.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSrwX7n1WP8u7H6YCtIv9Xy7fkexOSOQwGUnA_h0JQfKr-eJjtHA2WrGJ3Z360lYNXA3V-hzhD1YsKWfVR-Xr_NUpwwPYaBdbHcd_SHnDEir6dJsOSC_bCLUWLUcxweoxZLHFej5Qi1Q/s1600/WeavingRugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSrwX7n1WP8u7H6YCtIv9Xy7fkexOSOQwGUnA_h0JQfKr-eJjtHA2WrGJ3Z360lYNXA3V-hzhD1YsKWfVR-Xr_NUpwwPYaBdbHcd_SHnDEir6dJsOSC_bCLUWLUcxweoxZLHFej5Qi1Q/s1600/WeavingRugs.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The ladies weave these for rugs. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I have three in my house,</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">made by local women.</div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWfCd8QmTxf18kZrmlalLHppAL9WAY2KkzHmNY5mV5dnedYcEt8TApccJ79YgH5kD571OWZLkb7rPOBCf1EPMsmMeUO0xUoNXHkQc4RV2TatyufCXYsXOScGkUlExBvQJVxeFd7lvDbA/s1600/KitchenLiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWfCd8QmTxf18kZrmlalLHppAL9WAY2KkzHmNY5mV5dnedYcEt8TApccJ79YgH5kD571OWZLkb7rPOBCf1EPMsmMeUO0xUoNXHkQc4RV2TatyufCXYsXOScGkUlExBvQJVxeFd7lvDbA/s1600/KitchenLiz.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">My kitchen</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7N6kBincuIO9Vs8iYgDqv9J6P97oleeApfsvDVxcbLgb1tiYiTrnuPU1_IW0E-UNt8F93pAsGDhlwgjxCyt_YugQGkh13ZNHsCk92jS_hbG-GP7xj9TeIK1aUmHrtm7aEzHEvJozLaM/s1600/LivingRoomLiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7N6kBincuIO9Vs8iYgDqv9J6P97oleeApfsvDVxcbLgb1tiYiTrnuPU1_IW0E-UNt8F93pAsGDhlwgjxCyt_YugQGkh13ZNHsCk92jS_hbG-GP7xj9TeIK1aUmHrtm7aEzHEvJozLaM/s1600/LivingRoomLiz.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Living room. I live very well here in the village. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hands4Africa </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">sees to that. Thanks Blad.</div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjY2EqrQyjbJS7C6_B05Xiinto_89u5p9KzvzhNqlzv4CH60waC_-wSF7U2K-9mVtEKrT5exhrUnCzMC5CcvTDGO-7DTy6Ay3uWK_z3OIkt7Uf_WbO4kwWRxOkO_H07eDRrSAIIMyo3k/s1600/RiverAlmostDry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjY2EqrQyjbJS7C6_B05Xiinto_89u5p9KzvzhNqlzv4CH60waC_-wSF7U2K-9mVtEKrT5exhrUnCzMC5CcvTDGO-7DTy6Ay3uWK_z3OIkt7Uf_WbO4kwWRxOkO_H07eDRrSAIIMyo3k/s1600/RiverAlmostDry.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The rains have stopped, so now the river </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">is just another path </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">up the village.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222004065650409174.post-31992076459203288152012-04-03T16:47:00.000-07:002012-04-03T16:47:11.782-07:00Where Cough Drops Cost More Than Valium<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBez9BGIDaxzVyRGbiflg-eRffVuhIPBr7ytKq8tTg9OysBktyyFxwMZ8-tkhu2nOqFAyxRGvTgzdQGblUua3RFXGrOD9873uEGslK1xdiv8pCwEQ10RjzO7k5sU8DIEUejxJDkvcBaU/s1600/LumuliMgego.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBez9BGIDaxzVyRGbiflg-eRffVuhIPBr7ytKq8tTg9OysBktyyFxwMZ8-tkhu2nOqFAyxRGvTgzdQGblUua3RFXGrOD9873uEGslK1xdiv8pCwEQ10RjzO7k5sU8DIEUejxJDkvcBaU/s1600/LumuliMgego.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Lumuli Mgego, my youngest English student</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"> and apparently </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">the only person in Berega with a brain. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Also she fits into the tub. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">She can say no and there. </div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Went to Morogoro today, to pick up some food and have my birthday lunch. Sadly, there's nothing even approaching birthday fare in Berega. I could have fashioned a cake shaped mound of ugali and sprinkled it with sugar, but in the end, that's just how it would have tasted. Went to Ricky's, but it was so hot, how hot was it, that I almost couldn't eat. If I hadn't traveled 2 hours to get there I would have just forgotten about it. So instead of samosas, chicken fried rice and chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream as I had planned, I had a chicken sandwich and ice cream. O and an iced coffee. Not a banquet, but a satisfactory beginning to my sikisty second year.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've had a cough for a couple of weeks, no doubt brought on by excessive talking. I teach about 5 hours/day, it's dusty here, and I have to repeat myself nine thousand times, so I have irritated my throat. I went into the pharmacy to buy some Valium, for my occasional bouts of age induced insomnia, and saw they had throat lozenges. They were kind of brown and hairy looking so I asked what was in them, the pharm guy said ginger, and other stuff. I figured they were organic, hence the fuzziness. I bought 2 strips and popped one in my mouth. I could taste the ginger, and camphor, but it took a while to figure out the undertaste. Bacon. And in a largely Muslim town! Anyway, I paid 1000/tsh (about 60 cents) per strip, which was more than I paid for the Valium. So I steeled myself to suck the life out of the bacon drops. I got about 50 yards and had to spit them over the bridge into the river. Who does that? I tried to convince myself it was something other than camphorated bacon, but the longer it was in my mouth the worse it got. Again, who does that?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIDS8SzCdQIg9RNDrHFSKK31vc4mcYLWUtawtdI348nosNcVdMrXmbktGIochb-vwN7khxOoIKwYWId2-fjDRecu_mwepYPG2xjF3KqGWxomKUF8ivb9l0BfRcJzBiwOJPTvh_NHblKk/s1600/SchoolBusBerega.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIDS8SzCdQIg9RNDrHFSKK31vc4mcYLWUtawtdI348nosNcVdMrXmbktGIochb-vwN7khxOoIKwYWId2-fjDRecu_mwepYPG2xjF3KqGWxomKUF8ivb9l0BfRcJzBiwOJPTvh_NHblKk/s1600/SchoolBusBerega.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Berega Secondary School occasional school bus.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">We have a coaster in the village now, a bus about twice the size of a daladala. It breaks down on average once per trip, so it's not in much demand. But I've been seeing the bus fundis (guys with tools but not necessarily training) under the chassis for a while now, and figured possibly they had the bugs worked out. Besides, they leave Morogoro two hours later than the daladala so I don't have to run around like a mad mzungu and I have time for a leisurely lunch, and the odd bacon lozenge should I feel the urge.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Got a good seat, and am happy to say that the trip went smoothly, although I'm not sure but I think the gear shift should not move independently of the driver. It was twirling around for most of the trip, but the driver was able to wrestle it into position as needed. Between me and the driver was the engine compartment, and it was tres hot. How hot was it? I, for one, was happy to steer clear. But it got crowded after a bit, so some guy actually sat on it. He must have been very tired. He sat there squirming, till finally I put my 12 newly purchased ABC books under his matako. In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, What a maroon!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The scholarship fundraiser went well, thanks to all who helped. We were able to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">1. give three partial scholarships for some of the single moms</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">2. give two full scholarships</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">3. buy some books and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">4. have some desks and chairs made for the new kids.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR1XwU04i2aBE7BThJkK2VUfdy4MI2Qag0PR6qQLawpkO-QqxaK4_CBCI-hkskJRDusTuWmaHNsH9nFWMrU7ZwdOwaxyJM9CtHoGKZ68PUhXK-fTWrkeoFbF5ItPby8JOSiBDD9zDHCw/s1600/WalkingtoFarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR1XwU04i2aBE7BThJkK2VUfdy4MI2Qag0PR6qQLawpkO-QqxaK4_CBCI-hkskJRDusTuWmaHNsH9nFWMrU7ZwdOwaxyJM9CtHoGKZ68PUhXK-fTWrkeoFbF5ItPby8JOSiBDD9zDHCw/s1600/WalkingtoFarm.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Old guy walking to his shamba (farm.)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Also Ute, who runs the orphanage, was able to get funding for three more kids. We now have enough monthly income for a breakfast and lunch program. Breakfast is ugi, a porridge made of maize, peanuts, wheat and milk. The kids eat it everyday. Lunch will be ugali and beans, with greens, every other day. We will alternate it with kande, a bean and maize stew. This would never fly in America, the kids would throw the food across the room before they'd eat the same thing everyday, but kids here are mostly just happy to be eating. If we get two more students we can give rice and meat once a week. So all is going well.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Martha has taken over the Standard 1 group, who I taught last year when they were in preschool. She is a qualified teacher so it's her class now. How I miss them, my bright little English speaking math whizzes. I've got the little ones and had to laugh because when I held up a number card, and asked What number is this, someone said Fish. This is exactly what happened last year.So there's hope.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Three of our new kids are orphans from down the road, and you can tell the difference. Twice in Africa I've lived in orphanages and have noticed a few things. Watoto yatima (orphans) are very self sufficient, they have trouble relating, and need a little more time to get with the program. Plus their buttons never get replaced. But that makes sense, given there's nobody consistent to help them along.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Jackie and Vicent are somehow brothers, in some African fashion. They are five months apart in age, and the first few days I was thinking they'd been raised by wolves. But they seem to be settling down, hopefully Jackie will figure out whether he's right or left handed, or both. Usually kids know this by now, I'm watching for clues, but so far it's nebulous.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">If a school kid here does something wrong, he hears about it right away, African justice being swift and brutal. But what a kid does well is generally ignored. So when I commented on their very lovely As, which took about an hour to write, they were pretty jazzed to be noticed. They're actually kind of cute, in a scruffy aw shucks redneck kind of way.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Jenny is eight, a little old for our class, but she's another orphan who's education has been spotty, plus she's a bit of a bully. I guess nobody has ever told her that you can't just grunt and shove somebody aside if you want to sit down. She's learning lots of new stuff.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, under the heading of be careful what you ask for, it rained today, first time since December. I was in class with my adults when it started, and it was a downpour. We couldn't hear each other talk, or see the board. Most of my students are farmers, so they were looking out he window, smiling in anticipation of their thirsty maize finally getting a good, long drink. They stopped smiling when the hail started. Now the maize is lying flat. It may or may not come back up but some of the crop is ruined.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">But for the first time in weeks I'm not sweating, I have an appetite, I can sleep, and my chupi aren't stuck to my matako. So we take the good with the less good and move on.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Update on the crops, the stalks that weren't too high are starting to rise, the more mature stalks are down, and will probably stay that way. The wakulima (farmers) are replanting a quick crop and hoping for a better result.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Blad (african pronunciation of Brad) has a thing in the house that measures the temp, and records it. In the beginning I refused to look at it, because it made me hotter, but now it's developed into a sick little game I play throughout the day. I can tell you within two degrees just how hot it is at any given moment in my house. 86-91 seem to be the prevailing temps. I need a damn hobby.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">nakupenda</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</span>Liz Clibournehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02387307357204753250noreply@blogger.com3