The Kids, The School, The Rains

This is a new thing for me, to spend a couple of years, and it's good. 


I'm usually a little more mobile, but I've decorated with all the stuff I've collected over the years and it's nice to have a home. Plus, this time I get a chance to see the effect the walls can have over time.

Already I'm amazed, but it's not just the walls. Martha, our head teacher, is great. She's Tanzanian, 24, likes kids, and likes teaching. We also have stuff, some books, things donated, and things I brought with me. So combined with the walls we rock.

We are standing on stones. Nouns and verbs. We go outside

everyday, lots of nouns and verbs outside.

We try as much as possible to speak English, but sometimes we need to use Kiswahili. These aren't like American kids. Most of these kids have had NO exposure to oh, anything academic, so you can only try to explain something in English for so long till you just have to slip into something they understand. One little girl doesn't even speak Kiswahili. Aside from Kiswahili, which is the official language of Tz, every village has a tribal language, sometimes multiple tribal languages. So, she speaks Kaguru.




This happens frequently in small, rural villages and when these kids start first grade, which is taught in Kiswahili, they're behind from day one and will probably stay there. But they are an amazing group. The other day during peanut time, Freddy turned to me and said "Hello, my name is Freddy Adani, I come from Berega. I am a boy. I am 6 years old. May I have peanuts?"  Nilishangaa!  Martha and I just looked at each other and smiled. These are all things we've said to them many times in many forms, but he put it all together. They're all starting to speak in full sentences, small ones, but still very cool.

They're a wild bunch. When I asked a retired teacher about caning she told me that unless kids are caned, and caned regularly, they act up and won't learn . So that's crap. They're a little nuts, but they're learning. Anyway, I like it a little crazy. I was one of those kids in school who sat in the back and made smart assed remarks all day but got good grades so they couldn't do much to me.This is my playground and I'm loving it.

Shapes and colors

These are some happy preschoolers, which is not the rule here. The Kiswahili preschool next to us (we're English medium) canes the kids, so theres always lots of crying and hollering across the courtyard. Before you wonder why I haven't stormed over here to stop it, please remember I tried that in Idweli about 6 years ago and they just beat the kids harder after I left the room. So instead of helping I made it worse. Ive been talking to the pastor about it, his church runs that preschool. He doesnt seem overly concerned about it, kids get caned here, it's always been that way. A moral dilemma for sure, but I have no idea what to do about it except NOT cane our kids and hope the Kiswahili teachers notice.

We are smelling, we are smelling. Learning verbs.

School here can be pretty boring as well. In the old colonial style, the teacher stands in front of the class (with a stick) and repeats the same old stuff over and over. The kids learn early on that this is school, and it's no fun.

Not so our school, it's interactive and loud and very busy. And the kids like school.They come by in the afternoons and weekends while I paint to look at books and draw. Eventually we will have electricity in the classroom and then we can have evening classes and a library. A place to go.

The rains are finally here, asante Mungu. Everyone here grows maize, and after harvesting it's dried, then ground into powder to make ugali. They sell the excess to buy other things. So if the maize dies they have to use what little money they have to buy ugali, which leaves almost nothing for school fees, doctors... So it's good to see the rain.

Taken from inside the preschool on rain day. It just poured down the hill.

It rained all night last night, came down in buckets. And speaking of buckets, anyone with a brain puts theirs out to catch rain water. The ground water here is a little salty, and we bathe and wash our clothes in it, so you can imagine what a good cloud soak means.I had my buckets out, and even treated myself to a rainwater bath. Very nice. Most of the upper echelon hospital staff, and us wazungu, have a rainwater collection tank which drains from the roof. So we can have cleanish water most of the time, weather permitting. We filter it and it's safe and tasty. Very few villagers have this, and have to fetch every day.

It takes about a minute to fill a bucket this way, beats the hell out of a 30 minute walk to fetch salty water from a hole in the ground.

This has been a real moral issue for me (yet another one). Before the rains came, people would come and ask me for water, rain or ground. I have spigots in the house for both kinds of water but the locals fetch from over the hill. Anyway, I said yes and they told everyone that the mzungu was giving up water and then it got out of hand, so I have now refused to give water to a fellow human being. This doesn't sit well with me, why should I have steady access and they don't. Anyway, I'm probably just as happy as they are about the rains, and I don't even eat ugali.

Left right left right. It's a process.

I figured none of the kids would come to school today because of the storm, so I thought I'd pack my computer and other junk in a bucket and try to get to school without sliding down the hill with all the leaves, twigs, and small children. Figured I'd spend the day painting the walls and listening to music. Mwalimu Martha (teacher), showed up, as well as a few kids, so we had a rain day. I showed them pictures on my computer, played music, and tried to teach them to say LONG LIVE ROCK AND ROLL. Given how Africans mix R and L,(one day I'll tell you about Zambia's big erection) the results were less than stellar. But I've got time. Anyway, they played games, danced, and generally had a good time. I like preschool.

Christina came with me on Saturday and while I painted, she drew. 

She's the girl with the bad leg infection, all better now

I want to tell you about the kids, so will start with Freddy. He's a sweet kid, his mom is a nurses aide at the hospital. It's steady work but doesn't pay much, so the money she spends to send him to us is hard earned. Freddy was the last kid to get his uniform, (all the schools here wear uniforms). Which I think is bull. Primary school is supposedly free, but you can't attend without a uniform and shoes, so lots of kids don't go to school for this reason. So how is that free?

Freddy

Freddy stopped coming to school for a few days because he lost his shoes, but I talked to his mom and told her he could come without shoes. He could come in his underwear for all I care, but then he doesn't have any of those either. I know this because he's been walking around holding up his pants for a couple of weeks while his mom saved the money for a belt. But now he has a uniform, a belt, and shoes. No underwear though, but then that's why we have belts, isnt it?Anyway he's a keeper. He's got a sweet spirit and he's a natural born gentleman.


Samweli, on the other hand, is what we call in Hawaiian, kolohi, a real rascal. Not bad, but just into stuff. He reminds me of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. Kinda looks like him too. His father is a tailor, so while he's verbally not as sharp as Freddy, he does know the English words for dress, pants and shirt.

Samweli

I have a good group of adult learners. Waziri is faithful, although he's not here tonight. He has four tests tomorrow, or as he told me, "I have four testes". I decided to leave that one alone,he'll figure it out on his own one day. He has four testes tomorrow because the rains made the river impossible to cross yesterday, so some of the kids missed two tests and will have to double up tomorrow. The teachers were planning to cane them for missing the tests, but they managed to convince that bunch of dopes they weren't actually responsible for the rain. Sheesh. I'm investigating private schools in Morogoro, he's got too much going for him to stay in a village school.

Freddy's mom, Mama Freddy, comes to me for lessons, as well as Zakayo, who prepped the preschool room before we started painting. I adore Mama Freddy, she's just a good, hardworking lady and we spend lots of time just getting to know one another, in English with some Kiswahili mixed in. 


Then there's Abdallah (which means servant of God), who drives the daladala everyday to Morogoro and back. He'll also pick up odds and ends for people who can't make it to town. He brought me eggs yesterday and felt so bad when one cracked, but I didn't care. Eggs in a plastic bag don't travel well on a bumpy dirt road, and I usually sacrifice one or two to the god of the barabara (road). Hamna shida. He's also got unbelievable bone structure and smells divine. Another keeper.

Taking a small likizo (vacation) in two weeks. Going up to Mbeya for a couple of weeks to check up on some kids in school, visit some old friends, and eat chinese food. There's a restaurant there that we frequented last trip and I never got sick once. They have an interesting menu, and every time I go I ask for the squirrel like fish or deep fried cubes. They always said they didn't have the squirrel like fish, and when I asked "Deep fried cubes of what?" they said they didn't have any of those either. But they do have a hot sauce that can burn all the hair out of your nose.

I'm not bringing my computer with me, so will be off the grid for a while. If you're inclined to worry about me when you don't hear from me, don't. Will have lots to report when I return.


Wish me safari njema. Nakupenda. L

Bugs in love.

local checkerboard. They use water bottle tops here. In Kyela they used beer bottle tops,

but then they drank a lot more in Kyela.

One small portion of about a million termites near the hospital. 

Maybe the rain flooded them out.I think these ate the ones the kids eat.

It's not easy to get a shot of a fly. But then, I guess most people don't

even want to.

The Best Job There Ever Was

I had a minor computer tragedy last week, plugged in my laptop and heard one of those creepy, ominous sounds, and I got this creepy, ominous feeling. Kind of like hearing your plastic surgeon go Whoops during a breast augmentation. Anyway, there was  some snapping, a few crackles, and a pop or two and that was it. My power cord blew up. So I was musicless for a week, which is a sad, sad place for me.

Then, Brad sent a computer to Ruth, the wife of the hospital director, and since she just had a baby (cute baby), she's not using her computer much so I borrowed her power cord and now I'm back in business.  I knew I should have brought a walkman.

Last week I was talking to James and Elly, the lab guys at the hospital, and they were telling me about the HIV outreach for the outlying villages. They  go to different villages and draw blood to check CD4 counts on identified patients and offer HIV rapid tests. Anyone who turns up positive then goes to the hospital to start treatment.  I expressed an interest and got my usual reply, "You can go, lets go".

The next Wednesday we got on the pikipikis (motorbikes) and headed out on the road from hell to a village called Makubike. It was more of an oversized dirt path, but I had complete faith in the driver that I had just met (I mean why not, I'm already on the bike). In the end it was a fun ride over beautiful country with the wind in my hair and all that.

This was actually a pretty good stretch of road, pretty

 smooth and no oncoming traffic. Couldn't focus on the bad parts.

Magubike is a medium sized village, which probably means nothing to most of you, but it has some shops, a few food huts, a couple of bike repair shops, and all the rest. We got to our destination and were greeted by Kellen, a local lady, and apparent leader of The Group.

We went into Kellens house and there were about 9 people there. We spent some time in greetings (a major part of any African conversation), then they started telling me about The Group. I was a little confused, as I thought I was here for the HIV outreach.

Kellen, leader of The Group

So after about 45 minutes of general chit chat about life, The Group, and the usual village problems, a man stood up and walked over to James and rolled up his shirt. Unbeknownst to me, I was sitting in the middle of the HIV group. So  Nilishangaa (I was shocked). These folks were very healthy and fit looking. So while all the members of The Group are part of the HIV outreach, all the people in the HIV outreach are not members of The Group. 


The 9 members of The Group are all shop owners, teachers, farmers...and they each put 200/= into the pot each week (about 20 cents). When someone has an emergency, they use the money. Cool. But I was still waiting for the outreach to start, and for the HIV patients to come.

Inside Kellens house during blood draws

What I have found out over the years is that  when I'm not sure whats going on, its because I didn't ask the right questions. It turns out that this group was started by these mostly HIV positive friends to assist each other and their families in medical emergencies. And it's apparently working well.

Magubike Clinic Lab

I asked if everyone in the group is positive and Kellen said not all, I asked if she is pos and she said 'not yet.' So anyway, everyone got their blood drawn, as well as the random Magubikians  (Magubikites??) who straggled in over the next hour, including a few kids.
One ancient bibi (grandmother) came in with her granddaughter, about 7. Her mom had died a few years ago, of HIV, and her father was gone. She asked me if I could help her because she was in dire straits, which I could already see. I try to avoid giving money outright, it's never enough and it just doesn't fix anything.  So I approached the group and asked if I could join. I am now an official (and the only mzungu), member of Kiikundi Cha Chenaigwa (The Group). I have an official paper signed by Kellen, the group leader.  


I decided to pay 15 USD/mo and the group will use it to assist some of the bibis and orphans with extra food and such.

Lab

What  like about this group is that it's homegrown, and self sustaining. They've been at it for a while, without any outside support from the govt, or NGOs, and are not seeking outside support.They didn't solicit me. Other villagers are seeing how well this is working and are starting to ask to enroll. So its a locally developed health insurance plan and its very, very wonderful. I'm generally not much of a joiner, but I'm pretty excited about this.









After all the lab draws and some soda, we got the grand tour, Its a pretty little village, they do a lot of brickmaking for the area. We had a small meeting with the village executives, as well as a local man who was clearly deranged. He appeared to have a myriad of physical and psychological issues, and kept coming into our meeting and sitting down to talk to me. Even with my limited Kiswahihi, I knew he didn't make any sense. I only bring this up because I was so entranced by the attitude of the village execs and wanted to tell you about it.

He would walk in and take a seat, chat with me for a bit about who knows what, and after a few minutes one of the execs would gently lead him out, and then he would return. This went on throughout the visit, they treated him softly, and never lost patience with him. Nice village. There's not many places in America where blatantly insane people can just walk into a meeting and take a seat.

Dental chair at Magubike clinic

We finished the tour with a walkthrough of Magubike Clinic. Its a good place in spite of being so understaffed.Theres a labor area, dental office (extractions only), lab, and a men's and women's ward. I spent some time in the dentist office, and took pictures of the dental tools. Which leads me to my first shameless plea for funds (for this trip). You can see by the picture I have provided that the dentist needs some new forceps. We wouldn't use them in America, we wouldn't even give them to the third world. So anyone interested in sending money please contact me and I will tell you how to get it to us here.

Dental tools. Note rust and salt deposits on the instruments. 

The water is chumvy chumvy here (salty) and leaves a film.

There is no autoclave so they boil.

Labor suite, Makubike Clinic

Preschool painting is moving along, slowly. I have adult students who come when they can (all the women work and I have no adult men students), so they show up at the classroom and we work there while I paint. It's really kind of cool, we've been using the walls to teach shapes and colors...Sometimes I'm just painting and listening to music and watching the village go by and I think that this is the best job ever.

Waziri comes Mon thru Fri evenings. He's a wonderful kid, I plan to spend some time telling you about him in a later email. But he's a star, that's for sure.

Christina, the girl with the infected leg, is doing fine. I've been doing the dressing changes myself, it's cheaper for me and less time consuming for her. Folks here can wait hours to see a doctor or nurse. The boy I told you about last time, with the ileus, is fine. The doc said that if you just put down an NG tube and insert a rectal tube then you just have to wait till the toxins leave the system and viola! good as new.

Martha, and I have switched groups for a few weeks. So now I have more advanced group, and we're moving right along. Martha, on the other hand, has my old group and I can look over at her while she tries so hard to teach them. There they are all bright and shiny and smiling, saying their ABCs. Only it comes out A,B,4,shoes...I offered to switch back this week but she's determined to teach them something. And she will, I did, but it took me a while.

Her group is mostly girls, and although I know that girls are just as bright, if not brighter than boys at this age, the fact is in the village more time and effort is put into the boys. The girls know from early on just what their role is and will be. So they to hang back and let the boys take over. We're working hard trying to get them to stand up straight and speak up. Slowly, slowly.

Bought a 10 dollar chicken the other day, when I went to Morogoro. I can buy meat right up the road, but village meat is tough and chewy, and there's usually a black cloud of flies buzzing on and around it. I hear if you go real early you can get more or less clean meat. But I guess I've got a phobia about flies on my food. I think that's how I got typhoid in Ghana, and I just can't seem to get past it. So it's been a couple of months since I'd last ingested flesh of any type and I really wanted some. The store in Morogoro has a frozen food bin, and the meat is halal (arabic for kosher), so I figured I might be safe. And there may have been a thousand flies at the halal butchery, but if I dont see it, I can pretend it didnt happen.

So I bought this 9000/- bird and it was wonderful. Halal is the way to go, It was tender and meaty. And I can't believe I've just devoted 2 paragraphs to a frozen chicken, tasty though it was.

Hope you enjoy the pictures, it was fun taking them.Take care, I wish you all afya bora (good health), maisha mzuri (good life), and tender chickens. Nakupenda.


Liz

Magubike brickmaking industry

One of my student's teeth. Yikes!

A hairy and apparently extremely
dangerous caterpillar we found on our walk

Teacher Martha and most of our class

Wheelchair at Berega Hospital

The Butterfly Tree

I was walking to the hospital the other day, ever mindful of bikes both pedaled and motorized (in Africa the pedestrian is not king, and the customer isn't always right either) when I heard my name and there, sitting under a tree drinking a 7 UP, was Dr. Makanza (GP and general surgeon). We got to talking and he said he was on his way to repair a ruptured uterus. I asked if, in the future, I could watch an operation and he said, "Even now, you can come".

So, I went into the dressing room and put on a surgery dress and a pair of rubber sandals. I could have opted for rubber boots, but they looked hot and I figured I wouldn't need them, although those at ground zero did.

Out in the hall was a 31 year old woman, who was in her seventh pregnancy and has one living child. Apparently she's from one of the outlying villages, where she labored for 2 days. During that time, one of the local ladies/village midwife, who knows, gave her some "local medicine".This particular local medicine is made from the bark of a certain tree, and when distilled, is put into chai and given to the mother to drink. It acts much the same as Oxytocin (for the very few non nurses on my email list, a drug that promotes and/or strengthens contractions). A sad side effect of non judicious use of this local medicine is a ruptured uterus, which is what happened here. She already knew her baby had died.

So, they started her up on some IV fluids, (which are made here at the hospital), and inserted an NG tube (which drained into a rubber glove). While she waited, the doc, a nurse anesthetist and 2 nurses scrubbed and gowned and prepped the room. There was no monitor, but there was an older style respirator, and a suction canister for when the patient arrived in the theater.

First you cut up a large plastic bottle and hang it from the pole. Then you place the IV bottle into it and insert the spike through the hole in the bottom.

They wheeled her in, and put her on the gurney. Then they took a 3 foot 1x4, put it under her back, and secured her right arm to it, ditto with her left. She looked like she was being crucified. Me, I was just observing and tried to stay out of the way.

They disinfected her, draped her, made an incision into her rock like uterus, and delivered the baby. After which they pulled out some fist sized clots and repaired the tear in her bladder and uterus. The floor was pretty bloody by now, I was rethinking my choice of footwear.
It was much like any surgery anywhere, everyone doing their jobs, talking, laughing occasionally. But without all the equipment found in the First World. And with the screened in windows open for a breeze, and the occasional fly. Per Dr. Kaneno, sterility is impossible, so rural African hospitals combat infection with antibiotics rather than prevention through aseptic technique.

Very hot in the room,even with the windows open, and like anywhere else, the circulating nurse was in charge of sweaty forehead wiping. But after she wiped the docs forehead, she tucked the gauze in the back of his surgical gown, up near the neck, and used it throughout the procedure. Waste not...

Sometimes I miss medicine; the patients, the toys, the wounds...so I occasionally hang out at the hospital looking for interesting stuff, and the docs are happy to show me around. Dr Makanza took me to see a young boy, about 13 or 14, with an ileus. Apparently he had malaria and was given another "local medicine". I have no idea what it's called, but what it did was to paralyze his gut. The poor kid had an NG tube, and a huge abdomen. Dr Makanza thumped it and it sounded like one of those kettle drums they make in Bermuda.
Folks go to local healers because 1. they're near, 2 they're cheap and 3. they've always gone to them. I imagine that some of the treatments work, or maybe the pt would have recovered anyway.

When the local meds don't work, people eventually come to the hospital, and frequently it's too late. The mom with the ruptured uterus is fine, but the baby wasn't. There's no ambulance, except for some men on motorbikes who transport for a goodly sum. It's an option, but not every sick person can stand the transport up the windy, rocky,hill, or pay for it.

The hospital is ridiculously understaffed. Sometimes at night there's only one nurse for the whole 140 bed facility. All patients require a caregiver to cook, wash bedding, and assist with care. This is usually a relative. As well, people here don't have a 5 page med list, the  only meds they receive are the ones that they need while in hospital. So this frees up the nurses for other things.

I was in the village last week and I saw Christina, one of the local kids. She was limping and looked feverish, and when I looked at her leg it was swollen and hot and clearly infected. I talked to her sister and told her I would take her to the hospital. The doc incised it and you wouldn't believe the amount of pus that poured out of her leg. Anyway, graphics aside, the doc visit, the I&D and meds came to $21.90. This isn't much for me, but her mother could never have paid, and she would have only gotten worse. Infection counts for a huge percentage of deaths, especially in kids. She's fine now.

James and Eli in lab draw area

I visited the lab, which didn't take long because after I saw the 2 microscopes and the reagents, that was about it. There's 3 people working there, and lots of labs to draw. They draw and run all tests on site, so it's busy. I sat and talked to James and Elly and found out that malaria and typhoid are very common. I knew about the malaria, but the high incidence of typhoid is kind of scary. I had typhoid in Ghana, and really don't want it again. I don't think I've ever been so sick.

STDs are rampant well, but not among the Massai. Lots of anemia, borderline or otherwise, mostly from bad diet and repeated malarial infections.

Part of the lab, you can see the reagents on the shelf

Specimen cups. Aim true.

I was in the lab talking to James and Elly and next to me was a big box of plastic film canisters. So I asked what they were used for and James told me that they are are specimen cups, donated by kindly photographers. ME: What kind of specimens? JAMES: Urine and feces, of course. What do you use in America? ME: Specimen cups. JAMES: Aah. We don't have them here. ME: I can see that.

When I talk about the hospital, please don't think I'm complaining or putting them down. But I always try to tell the truth as I see it. And this is how it is. And in spite of everything they do a pretty good job. They do the best they can with what they have, or or don't have.

I've been playing with my new camera, and it's too much fun. It's a little cumbersome, so mostly I sit on my lanai and take pictures from there. Fortunately for me, there's a lot going on off my lanai. Mostly flowers and butterflies, and the occasional cow or herd of goats.
I was walking around the house, trolling for interesting stuff, and I saw a tree in my front yard that was covered with butterflies. Maybe not covered, but there were about 50 of them, so this must be an especially sweet tree. I tried zeroing in on specific butterflies, but if you've ever tried to follow a butterfly with a camera... Eventually I just trained the camera on a likely looking flower and waited. And they came. Life is good.

Playing with my new camera

I've said it before, I live in a NatGeo special. All day and night I hear birds, and in my mind they're lovely and exotic. Im trying to hunt them down with my camera but they always seem to be in the next tree. However I'm as determined as they are elusive so its only a matter of time.
I love it here.There's always something new and different. I went to the duka (small local store selling lots of little things) the other day, and the owner was leaning over the counter, gossiping and sharing a udongo with a friend. Udongo is a small piece of compressed dirt that looks like a piece of chalk. Ive tried one, chalk tastes better. The local ladies like them, though, and probably get lots of minerals they dont get in the relatively nutrient free village diet.

Chekechea is fine, always fun. The kids are learning lots of words, numbers and letters, they just can't affix them to a specific object yet.  I showed them a 5 and asked what number is this and I  got sixie, three, fish...just throw something out, you never know when you might get one right.Peanutwise, were up to 26, which looks like about all the average five year old can hold in his/her right hand. Its all fun, and we've got 2 years. I think they'll be in fine shape by then.
So for the next 2 years, Mungu akipenda (if God wishes), all I have to do is teach English, work on my Kiswahili, take pictures and hang out here in the tropics. 


Life is too good.


Nakupenda. Mama Liz

There are 2 of these wooden bikes in Berega, and they work.

 I'm finally over my obsession with chickens, replacing it with butterflies

rainy season has arrived so the crops are watered and the kids have mud to make phones 

From the veranda

Where I hang out. Life is good

Making lumpies

It's not some kind of local delicacy , it's the Berega version of a smoothie. 


I bought some pineapples and mangoes and they were starting to rot in the heat so I cut them up and dumped them in a container. A previous volunteer had left a whisk so I smashed them and it's delicious. That's a lumpy. I may open a stand. And maybe the heat has gotten to me.

The view from by back porch. I'm a lucky mzungu






















My house

Our checkechea (preschool) is growing, we have 3 more kids this week, which brings us to 9. But remember, this school costs 200,000 tsh/year. That's about 200 USD. Which puts it out of range for more than 90% of Beregonians. They're kind of a wild group, our checkechea, but then no one has ever really asked them to do anything but cut grass, and run around the village.




Also behind my house
























We begin our morning with greetings, and then the days of the week. They do know most of the day names, but not in any particular sequence, so everyday Bea hollers out "TODAY IS SUNDAY." Every day. If we tell him today is Wednesday and then ask about tomorrow he says, " TOMORROW IS SUNDAY". We  call him Pastor now.The same with numbers and letters, they just holler out anything. It's a process.

We have snack time at about 9:30. Most people here only eat once a day until harvest time, so it's a hungry group. I buy peanuts and they bring water. The have to ask for the peanuts, as well as the desired amount, in English.

By the second day Mbuli had it all figured out and asked " Teacher, may I have 10 peanuts?" Today he asked for 19 peanuts. I don't think we're planning to teach them much past 30.

Africans don't drink much water, as a rule. Isaac said they've grown used to not drinking, water being frequently scarce and/or dirty, so hamna shida. But we asked the parents to send the kids with a bottle of water for break time. I guess no one has told the kids that they're accustomed to not drinking, because they seem thirsty enough and chug it right down. Angel and Christina have peed on the floor already, and Jennifer just made it to the choo (toilet) today.

We're considering a feeding program for the morning. It shouldn't cost too much. I hate watching the little kids fade after an hour or so. I may be making a shameless plea for funds soon. (remember those?)

I have 6 afternoon students now, all at different levels. It would probably help if I was an actual teacher but oh well. When you have to start with hello, I figure I can't do much harm. Besides, it's free.

So we learn to speak by speaking, identifying body parts, naming household items, asking questions. That's how I found out that there's only one meal a day. I asked Waziri (my star pupil) to describe his day in English and I was prompting him. I asked what he had for breakfast and he said nothing and I asked him why and he said because there was nothing. Another loaded question is how many brothers and sisters do you have, because then I find out that Neema's brother has died. There's no safe subjects here.

You may recall from past trips my fascination with chickens. Nothing has changed

I went up to the village yesterday to take pictures of the new school that's being built but got distracted by some women going to fetch water. I asked them how far and they said "not far." Just over there. For those of you who haven't spent time here, never ask an African how far something is unless you're in a car.

So I decided to go with them, and they asked me Unaweza? Which is Kiswahili for can you do it? Ignoring the so generously given clue I said Ndiyo, ndiyo, nataka mazoezi. I need the exercise. It was a good half hour in the heat, over hill and dale, gullies and rocks . I don't know the temperature, I never like to ask. I try to convince myself that it's cooler than it is, which, by the way, doesn't work. The pictures will tell you much more than I can say. I had some water with me, but in light of what they were pulling up out of the sand I couldn't bring myself to haul out my brand new bottle of clean, store bought maji.

African women think wazungu women are generally rich, weak and spoiled, and I'm always trying to convince them that we're strong and able. We can wash our clothes, dishes, all that crap. They're surprised that as yet I haven't hired "a girl" to cook and generally pick up after me, but I watched a woman put 3 buckets on her head and I had to concede.


What can I say??

 Note the mtoto on her back.



















I know I spend a good bit of time talking about water, but it's a big topic here, except among the men, who don't fetch water. I won't go into how I feel about that as I've already made myself VERY CLEAR ON THAT POINT MANY TIMES ALREADY. I did mention to one of the men that if they had to fetch water there'd be a faucet right in the middle of the village. He was less than amused.




Where the water comes from. 

What the water looks like. A few minutes after I took this picture, the kid drank this water.

























Got a marriage proposal the other day. I was walking to work on Monday and this older Massai man ( loads of Massai in this area), was talking to me and asked where my husband was. When I told him I didn't have one he smiled and offered himself to me so I wouldn't be alone anymore. Massai traditionally circumcise their girls so they can be proper wives, but if you marry a Massai and are not Massai, you are not required to surrender your genitalia. I told him bado (not yet). Besides, at my age I wouldn't fetch much of a bride price. Then there's the fetching water on my head thing. All in all, it'd probably be best if he married someone else.

The Massai live around here, so you can see them in various places. From childhood, I remember looking at the NatGeo and seeing Massai herding cows, jumping in the air... But progress comes to us all, sooner than later. I've seen Massai on motorbikes, at bus stations, and of course, herding cows. They're an interesting group, and I've been invited to visit a village one of these days.






Like I said, progress will arrive, note the phone.

 Massai guy, not the one who wants to marry me.


























I observed a surgery today, a ruptured uterus. That's an entire email unto itself, so bado.

I hope everyone is well and happy, I'm fine. Life is good. It's cooled down enough to be hungry, so I'm going home. 


Went to Morogoro yesterday, the big city, and bought cheese and butter. Got home just before they were irreparably melted, so there is a cheese sandwich in my future. That and a lumpy and I'm good to go.

Nakupenda. ML

You know when you've arrived when they have your picture on gum. I've seen his picture on T shirts, kids clothes. Somebody email him, please, I'm sure he'd be gratified that no matter what his approval rating is in America, he rocks in Tanzania.