A Ten Dollar Cat

Let me say that an African's attitude toward animals is different from ours. They rarely, if ever, name an animal. They also rarely, if ever, feed them. Not that they don't eat, they do, a young boy will lead  the goats or cows out to a grassy area, or down to the river, but they do not bring food to the animals (or buy 50# bags of Purina from the pet food aisle).

Dogs and cats are on their own, they eat what they can find, which is why there's always a pack of salivating dogs circling the fire pit when I burn my garbage. An animal must have a purpose, to give milk, or meat, herd cows or catch mice. There are no pets here, and folks don't spend emotional energy on animals except to mourn the loss of milk or meat if it dies.

Where Socks lived for 2 days

That being said, when I arrived at school two days ago, one of the kids told me kuna paka chooni (there's a cat in the toilet). My first response was to tell the bozo to get him out, but then I realized he meant IN the toilet, as in DOWN the toilet. 


Toilets in most of Africa are pits (truly).  Our school choos are pretty nice, they have doors, and smooth cement floors. There's a hole in the cement, with footprint sized elevations on either side of the hole you can stand on as you squat. The pit is deep and wide, about 10-12 feet down, and the size of a small bathroom, but subterranean.




I could hear a cat, a scared sounding cat, but I couldn't actually see it, because it's dark in the pit and I don't like to spend too much time looking at three years worth of accumulated body waste.

Mosque near my hotel in Dar

Gods name is above, in red.

I figured that some kid had either chased it into the choo, or picked it up and dropped it in. Kids are kids, and sometimes they think dropping a cat down a latrine is fun. Besides, there's not many toys here. In America during the 1950's maybe I could have calIed the fire dept to come get Fluffy or Snowball out of the tree, but this isn't the 50's and we don't have a fire dept, and anyway, nobody cared but me.


I went next door to the pastor's house to ask if I could root through their woodpile for a big branch, thinking I could put it down the hole and the cat could climb up. It wasn't long enough, so I went back to the pastors to borrow some rope. I attached the limb to the rope and sent it down.

Two headed goddess

Wonderful three headed goddess.

So there I was, straddling the hole, waving a branch around the bottom of the choo, trying to lure the cat with a Kiswahili version of Here Kitty Kitty. It occurred to me at this time that of all the dumb stuff Africans have seen me do, this was by far the dumbest. Of course every kid in the neighborhood was watching, speculating, laughing...




Anyway, after about 15 minutes I figured I'd just tie the rope to the door handle and let the limb sway in the pit, maybe the cat would climb up on it's own. I went in to paint and wait for my adult students to arrive. As I was painting and trying to ignore the plaintive cries coming from the choo, I began to wonder why, in a continent with the highest infant mortality rates in the world, I was worried about a cat. I decided that while we all owe a death, even a cat, there's death with dignity and there's death by starvation at the bottom of a latrine while the entire student body pees on your head.




So, having exhausted myself and all my other ideas, I looked in desperation at my newly arrived adult students and told them that I'd give 10,000 tsh to the person who could get the cat out of the pit. Jeska smiled, jumped up, and ran out like she was being chased by a bull. She returned 3 minutes later with Samweli, who assured me he could get the cat.

Went to an Indian Temple in Dar, so lovely.

We needed a flashlight, which Teacher Martha had, but no batteries, so she went to the duka to get a couple and then we discovered that either the batteries didn't work, or her flashlight was broken. In the end, her torch was the problem, so we borrowed the storekeeper's. During all this time, the cat screamed and cried, which only made sense, given his situation.

Also at the temple. Don't know what it means, 

and was reluctant to interrupt praying

people to ask. 

At this point I was curious enough to grab the flashlight and actually look down the choo, something I hope never to repeat. It was really a kitten, a little black kitten with white feet (In America we'd probably call him Socks), sitting in what can only be described as fecal soup, screaming at me.

Local pay toilet/bathing house. The toiler is 200 tsh and to bathe is 300 tsh. 

About 15 and 18 cents, respectively.

These are all over the temple, it's an old Indian symbol

which got corrupted by Adolpf Hitler

Samweli cut down some thin branches, tied them end to end with bark to make a long pole, fashioned a noose out of that same bark, and sent it down the pit.  On the first try, he had him, but the knot slipped. On the second try he pulled him up and out, to the applause of the crowd. This is what happens when there's no library or television.






You should have seen this cat, Samweli had him roped around the neck, he was hissing and spitting, trying to claw whatever was handy. He was twisting and scratching so hard Samweli couldn't get near him to loosen the noose. I was afraid he'd be strangled before he'd be  rescued, so Martha stepped on the limb near his head which flattened him out long enough to free him, and he shot out of the schoolyard like his butt was  on fire. A happy ending. And I don't even like cats, I think they're snide.

I went back in to my adult students and noticed 'The Look,' a particular look Africans give wazungu when they think we're nuts but are too polite to say so. I asked, they reassured me that it was a mitzvah, I'm not a dope, but I could tell they were lying.

It's not always easy explaining wazungu behavior to Africans. But, tribes they understand, as all tribes have their own idiocyncracies, so paying a relative stranger what amounts to half a villagers monthly salary to rescue nobodies cat from a toilet is just one of my tribes peculiarities.

So far I haven't found out who put Socks in the choo, but I put a 500 tsh bounty on his head (about 50 cents). I may have to up it to 1,000 tsh, which is a lot of money for a kid here, so I anticipate some traitorous mtoto (kid) whispering a name in my ear any day now. Ann thinks it's possible there may be a rash of choo cats and noose wielding entrepreneurs in my future, which is possibly very true. I may have to put up some 'Out of Cat Rescuing Business' signs.

And sorry there's no pictures of old Socks emerging from his fecal prison. I didn't have my camera, although I wish I had, and I guess I'm just not ruthless enough to ask anyone, human or otherwise, to sit in a latrine for 20 minutes while I fetch my camera and take advantage of a great photo op.

Update. The little girl with the perforated bowel is doing well, and will probably go home this week. A lot of people worked very hard to keep her alive, it could have very easily gone the other way. Africa is a rough place, but good things happen. Just ask Socks. 


Asante Mungu.

Going to Dar this weekend, to take care of some business and eat as much Chinese food as I can in two days.

Nakupenda

T is for Typhoid

A friend emailed me the other day and mentioned that I've been quiet lately, not something which I hear often (or to which I aspire). The reason for my lack noise is I've had typhoid, and it stops me cold for a bit. It's almost over, Yesterday I walked down the hall without bouncing off the walls, always a plus. So I am better, and silent no longer.

I had typhoid in 2003, in Ghana, and yes, I took the shot before leaving the US. Then before the next trip, I took oral prophylaxis, as I heard it was more effective. So now I'm here to tell you, neither one did me any good. I've been told that prophylaxis ensures a milder, less mortal experience and I'm willing to concede the point, but in the end...

I woke up the other morning with a sore throat, a red flag because the last sore throat I had was in Ghana (see above). But as I work with kids, and they've been exceptionally drippy lately, I just figured I'd picked up one of the platoon of germs that live so happily on a 6 year old. Take your pick.

During math I started getting chills, and while still optimistic about the kid germs, something in the back of my mind was screaming Salmonella typhi. After school I went to see the doc, because, by happy coincidence, I live across the dirt road from Berega Hospital. In Ghana I was treated for malaria for 5 days before we discovered it was typhoid (they present similarly and most fevers are malarial so that's how we treat). Good to live near a hospital.

I went to the lab and had a blood test. Not to quibble but the best time to swab is before a draw and not after, but who's counting. I was sitting on the balcony waiting for my results, looking at the mountains on the right and a group of Massai on the left and decided this is a fine place to be sick.

Went on a long walk last Sunday, alone, 

looking for some quiet time, reflection, all that.

Decided to walk down the river, since there's no water in it,

 and just check out the water situation.

I hope I never get used to living around Massai. Growing up, Massai WERE the National Geographic for me, and now I see them everywhere, herding cows on the road, on pikipikis, at the store.

Being sick is probably the only time I miss TV. Nothing like turning on a Law and Order marathon when you're too weak to leave the house. You can watch or doze, hamna shida. Absent the TV, I spent a lot of time on the porch, another fine place to be sick.

I'm a great sick person, don't bother anyone, don't whine or moan. But I do prefer to be left alone, which brings me to hodi. Hodi (emphasis on ho) is Kiswahili for "I'm outside and want to come in".  It's the required preamble to any visit. The traditional, and apparently only response is Karibu (welcome). I did ask my friend Isaac if it's permissible to NOT say karibu and he said: 'Ahh, no.'

I looked back and realized there would be

 no quiet time, no reflection.

I was hodied off and on for the duration of my confinement because in village life everyone knows everyone's business, and folks stop by to say 'pole.' It's only polite, and Africans are, as a rule, unfailingly polite. After karibu is karibu chai (hows about some tea?). You can't not say it and apparently you can't refuse it either.

These roots are from a mango tree, and last

 year the water was up to the grass. 

This year, no such luck. 

My hiking buddies found this guava tree

They bagged about 30 of these

and washed them in this water before they ate them.

one of the drier parts of the river

Isaac and the Bishop stopped by to say pole, and pray over me.These are the sweetest people in the world, and they take good care of me, sick or no.
I have British housemates, a couple. Ann is the UK answer to June Cleaver and every time someone arrived she offered to put the kettle on.

Local butchery. Just go tell him how many kilos

 you want and he'll hack it off for you

and weigh it on a little scale. 

Flies included in the weight but they don't weigh that much. 

All in all it was some good typhoid, as typhoid goes. Plus, I am now forever banned from commercial food service work. Always a silver lining.
It's my way to make light of things, it's how I cope. But typhoid is a terrible disease, and endemic to this area. There's a little girl in the hospital right now who's been sick for 6 weeks, in hospital for 4. She got sick out in the village, ended up with a perforated bowel, and had to have surgery. She's been doing well, but the hospital has since run out of the IV antibiotic she needs, and it must be sent from Dar. David thinks she'll be alright on oral meds. People die from this, especially kids and old people, and I respect that. 


Truthfully, it's only funny in retrospect.
In America we have our yearly flu, hypertension, diabetes... lots of ways to get sick. In Africa it's typhoid, malaria, infections and stomach bugs. Simple as that. You take medicine, we take medicine. At least we do if we 1) can get it and 2) can afford it. I can so I'm fine.



It's not easy to stay healthy here, there's so many bugs, and intestinal stuff is rampant. I drink filtered water and generally do my best but short of coating my intestines with plastic or having my body hermetically sealed for the next two years, I can count on some snags.
John is gone. He finished last week and is in Dar es Salaam now. He did a beautiful job, the mural is his best so far, and we've been using it to teach verbs, pronouns and prepositions. He fixed some of the stuff I flubbed, and all is lovely now. I have some touch ups to do, covering splatters, repainting the blackboards...
I mentioned a while ago that the Anglican Bishop of Southern Sudan has invited me up to do some walls and teach the teachers. Sudan is splitting into North and South in July, which is when I had planned to go. It would be great to be there for it, but on the other hand sometimes things like this can turn ugly. Recall the elections a few years ago in Kenya. So I'm mulling it over and hopefully the Bishop will give me some useful input. As much as I want to go, being chased down the street by a panga wielding member of the opposition doesn't sound like such a vacation. We'll see.Tanzania is a very peaceful place, but it's surrounded by places that occasionally go up in flames.

A baby cane rat, so the kids tell me. You can't eat them.

The ringworm is going away, asante Mungu. The kids are all doing fine, learning to read a few words, doing some adding, improving their English. There are a lot of Brits here, I'm definitely in the minority. I speak English like an American, and this is how I teach it. Some British words sneak in, though, and while I try to be fair to all, when a 6 year old needs an eraser, he should ask for an eraser. It's an eerie thing to have a cute little kid walk up to you and say, "Teacher, may I have a rubber?" I'm seldom speechless (or quiet for that matter) but all I could do was sputter and blink. It's now on the top of my TO TEACH list, above sikisteen and Long Live Rock and Roll. Priorities.
Update, the little girl with the perforated bowel is doing well. Asante Mungu. On oral antibiotics, and eating.
Another update. Got an email from the Bishop who said he's hoping for a peaceful split. While I appreciate his optimism, I think I'll go to Arusha instead. I heard they have some good restaurants and I want to eat something besides what I've been eating. Just about anything will do, but hoping for a Chinese restaurant. There are no Mexican food places here, but there's some great Indian places so between that and the Chinese places I'll be fine. So far that's most of my holiday plan, I've learned over the years to plan loosely here, anything else is a waste of time. So I will eat and read and have fun for 4 weeks, and fill in the gaps as I go along.
Nakupenda
L

Got tired on the way home so hitched a ride on this tractor, 

sat on the wheel cover and bounced all the way home. 

Life is good.

Sad irony is this woman crosses the mostly dry
riverbed on her way to find water.

Bits and Pieces

I went to the duka (store) the other day, and Dr. Makanza was there. Actually, he's there a lot lately, as he owns the store and his regular employee is gone. So the surgeon runs the store. He's probably the most overqualified shopkeeper in the world, but he says that Africans must do many jobs to survive. 

Dr. Makanza, surgeon and shopkeeper

Docs here aren't paid much, not by our standards anyway. They make about 900,000 tsh/month. Roughly 600 USD. Great by village standards surely, the average villager makes maybe 20 USD/month. Still, only one doctor has a car.  I digress.

I went to the duka to get some cookies, they have about 3 varieties, none of which are OREOs. When I got there Dr M was closing up early, because he had 2 C Sections to do. He said twende (let's go), and off we went. He invites me to most of his surgeries and is happy for me to tell you all about them. I've described a surgery in an earlier letter, but I am revisiting the topic because this is the third C Section I've observed and while all the moms are fine, only one  baby has survived.

The baby born a few weeks ago was stillborn, and had been dead for a while, so there was no attempt to resuscitate. The first baby born last Saturday was a nice size, perfectly formed, but not breathing. The cord had no pulse, and was compressed in the middle. So Habili, (nurse anesthetist) began helping the maternity nurse with compressions and bagging. 


Unfortunately, the maternity nurse was unfamiliar with infant resuscitation technique, and he had to teach her on the spot.They worked on the baby for about 10 minutes, but then the Dr. M needed him, so I gloved and helped with the babe. We got him breathing, but it was a weak effort, and he went off to the maternity floor.

I asked what else could be done for him, and they said nothing, either he would live or he wouldn't. The doc gave him a 50/50 chance. He died the next day, which was no surprise considering there was no respiratory support available after we got him breathing. Dr. M said that generally, in situations like these, they focus on saving the mom. She needs to live because there's usually too many people already depending on her, and everything falls apart if she doesn't survive.

The second baby born that evening wasn't breathing either, and one of the skinniest newborns I've seen in a while. Habili was still busy, so I helped the other nurse. We got him breathing, he even cried a little. He went to the floor, and is doing well. When I saw Habili the next day he updated me on the two babies. 


Habili's a good guy, he's also the man who drove me around on the pikipiki a few weeks ago. Like the doc said, you need more than one job here. We were talking and he said that the babies would not have died had they been born in a hospital with 1. adequate staffing 2. adequately trained staff 3. machines to support the babes and 4. better access to prenatal care. I had to agree.

It bothers me that I have so easily accepted these deaths. I worked at Kaiser in Oregon for many years, and every now and then there would be a stillbirth, or a SIDS baby would be brought in from home, and it seemed everyone in this big hospital heard about it and was affected. You could feel it in the air. People were sad.

In America it's just not as common to lose a babe or a mom, but it's different here. I don't like to think that I've become hardened, maybe I've just gotten used to it. Maybe I just focus on other things.

Please don't take what I say as criticism of the hospital and staff, I'm just repeating what was told to me by the doc and the nurse anesthetist. I think, given the circumstances here, and the lack of almost everything, they do a good job. The hospital has come a long way, and things have improved over the last few years. There's a nursing school now, and they just opened a high risk maternity waiting house. The high risk center should by a huge help, as many moms arrive too late or have taken local medicine which can do more harm than good. Also, some volunteers have arrived with new equipment. Statistics are looking better.

Another huge problem is transport to the hospital. There is no actual ambulance. There are pikipikis here to bring people in, but that costs money, and if you're coming from a far away village, even more. So people try the local medicine and/or wait till the patient is almost dead to hire transport. It's not uncommon for laboring mothers to have to stop the pikipiki and deliver by the roadside. Hemorrhaging moms, ruptured uteruses, all sorts of emergencies arrive on the back of a motorcycle, over a very rough road.

It would be wonderful to get used equipment from other countries. Certainly drug companies send all their unpopular drugs here, hence my ready supply of rohypnol (date rape drug) for sleep. First World hospitals update equipment regularly, (there must be warehouses full of useful crap somewhere). One problem is that even if equipment is sent, it might get held up at customs. Custom agents can and will demand huge bribes to release the crates, and most people can't or won't pay. Or would pay but don't have the money. Then the agent assesses a fine for storage. You can't win.

For a while when I worked at Kaiser, I was allowed to collect unusable supplies. When a patient dies or is discharged from the hospital, all the unused supplies (sterile, unopened dressings, unused IV bags) can't be taken from one patient's room and used for another patient, so are discarded. For a few years I was able to collect these supplies and bring them here. Then one year I was told the supplies would now be sold to these same countries. Unfortunately, what is sold frequently doesn't get to it's intended destination. See above.

I won't belabor the point, maybe I already have, but in essence, they aren't asking for your new stuff, just the stuff you throw out. Dr. Makanza is hoping that someone who reads this might be in a position to help out. He's a very good guy, and he lets me run a tab at his duka.
I can't think of a clever segue from infant mortality to my safari so I won't try.

I went on a small safari the other day with my friend Ruth, the wife of the hospital director. She was taking her son back to boarding school, and she invited me along. The drive involved passing through Mikumi National Park, where all the animals live. Ruth's brother-in-law has a car, and said he'd be happy to stop for animal pictures. And stop he did, again and again.

These guys are all along the road

We piled into his van at about 6 am and had such a good time. I've been through Mikumi about 10 times on a bus, and it's impossible to get good pictures, but on this day we drove slowly and looked for animals.  As it's been raining, and it's cooler, the animals are out. I prefer to get out of the car, you get better pictures. Sometimes I walk the road for a bit, a fact which was not lost on Samweli, who told me to stay away from the elephants. But I knew that.
Anyway, it was wonderful. 

Twiga

We had tea at the Kilimanjaro Inn, a very pretty place with the worst service in the free world.  Don't ever go there.We were speculating as to why the waitress was so sour. We figured maybe she a) had malaria, or b) her husband left her. She was too young for c) menopause. Whatever it was, she was a migraine of a woman and so mean it was funny. 

Pundamilia

We ate lunch at another place and it was very nice. I had the ugali and goat. I've been promising myself that I'd try ugali again, and now I don't have to do it anymore. It's the local lump of starch and that's what it tastes like. The goat was great. I like the ribs best.

Tembo

On the road to Mikumi  vendors will festoon the trees with 

baskets and mats. Too lovely

John has arrived. He got here yesterday and is busy painting. Asante Mungu because I've about reached the limits of my expertise, such as it is. It's good to be working with him again. He's truly wonderful, just stands there and paints, you can sit there and watch everything emerge. It takes me about 2 days to paint an animal, and John has totally finished the background in one. Folks stop by to watch. It's a relief to have him.

saw this chameleon on the way to school the other day

We have ringworm, by "we" I mean half the kids at the chekechea. I noticed it on Susie the other day, and in anticipation of its rapid and inevitable spread throughout the ranks, I got some ointment for my first aid kit at school. Not much in the kit, bandaids, antibiotic cream and some nail clippers for mani-pedi day. We have classes on Friday till break then Martha plays games with the kids while I trim their incredibly dirty nails. 


As promised in the First Aid books, the ringworm is spreading about as quickly as it can, so I went to the lab and got some of the camera film containers they use for urine and stool samples and put ointment inside and gave them to the kid's moms. All will be well. Not to worry, I used clean film canisters.

One day Im going to write a book on all the stuff Africans put on a bicycle.

Once I saw flats of eggs stacked like this, 4 feet high. Amazing

Still hammering away at the R and L issue, as well as thirty, forty, sixteen ( or sikisteen), thirteen and fourteen. Samweli has no top or bottom front teeth so when I demonstrate where to put his tongue he spits all over me. Good kid that he is, he turns his head, so now I can't see where he's putting his tongue.  Asante Mungu this is usually the worst problem I have. 


Life is good. Nakupenda

What I Did On My Likizo

Likizo is a vacation, and I have just returned. It was sort of a working likizo, but that's ok, I don't vacation very well anyway. Besides, I'd be hard pressed to figure out what I would be vacationing from.


I needed to update my visa, so I did like I always do and went to Malawi for an overnight at the Beach Chamber. This is a little place not far from the border, right on Lake Malawi. The rooms are nice, there's a TV with three stations, and the beer is cold. Usually I get there before dark so I can watch the evening over the lake, I have a beer or two, eat some fried chamba fish and cross back into Tz. the next morning.

Evening on Lake Malawi

Traditionally there's more than a little angst surrounding my visa runs, because there's more than a little angst between me and Immigration. This has been going on since my first trip to Africa in 2003, I guess I'm just on their radar. Most times they try to get me to pay extra, sometimes I say the wrong thing, but there's always something. I'm not sure Carlee will even cross a border with me again, and I don't blame her a bit. Anyway, I was determined to make this run a smooth one.

Local fisherman going to set nets.

The trip to Malawi was uneventful, and while we waited in Tukuyu for passengers both human and fowl, I smelled nyama choma. Roast meat. There's men here who make a living selling meat sticks, and they cook them on site with little portable barbecues.They cost 200 tsh, about 25 cents. They smelled divoon, and despite my promise never again in life to eat street meat, I had a few. Very tasty, not sure if it was beef or pork, but it was fingerlickin' good and then the bus took off.

Portable Barbecue. Nyama choma tamu sana.

I arrived right on time, the lake was lovely and the fishing boats were out. It's really beautiful. I had a cold Carlsbad, and took a mess of pictures. I ordered my fish and rice and went back to my room. The fish came about an hour later, but it was very good, and I ate everything but the bones and eyes.

More fishermen

Whether it was the meat or the fish, I'll never know, but I spent a good part of the night washing sheets and running to the choo. Most third world travelers have their diarrhea and amoebic dysentery stories, and unless you have your own, it's not too much fun listening to others. So I won't go into details. Besides, this wasn't a particularly interesting tale, my Losing Control Of My Bowels in Ghana story was much better. Siku nyingine (another day).

Rice season in Malawi

Anyway, after a rocky night most of my angst during the return into Tz centered around whether or not I'd get across without humiliating myself at the visa stamping office. But zote was nzuri. As well as unwavering sphincter control, the border guard recognized me from 2 previous crossings in 2008 and grudgingly stamped my visa without once asking me for cash. I have been more joyfully remembered by other people, but oh well, an updated visa is an updated visa.

With my passport in hand and a song in my heart I  continued on to Mbeya. I've got kids in school there, and other places, so it was time to check up on them, and pay school fees.

Updates.

1. Batizo is doing very well at Mbalizi Nursing School and will graduate high in her class this July. She'll be a trained midwife and will have no trouble finding a job. Asante Mungu.
2. The doc from Idweli is doing well in Iffakara. He's a Clinical Officer but taking advanced training for 2 years so he can be a District Medical Officer  and work in a hospital and perform surgeries.
3. Christina and Martha finished St. Aggrey School and are now enrolled in Shukrani International College in the Soweto district of Mbeya. They will study Business Administration and Office Management. I'm very familiar with this school, my friends Chris and David started it, and it has a good reputation. Their graduates get good jobs.
4. Violet, Ahadi and Rosie finished secondary school but didn't do well on the exams, no surprise.  I've talked enough about the schools here. But they hopefully will go to VETA, a govt. run vocational school, and will finish in 2 years, with a certificate, and be able to get work.
5. Ramadan did well on his exams and we will try to get him into a school in Mbeya where he will get a law certificate. This is the frst step toward being a lawyer. He's a smart kid, so why not.

Amalie and kids.
The two small ones are hers.

While I was in Mbeya, I stayed with my friends John and Kay, who are missionaries, but the down to earth kind. They've got a little Massai daughter they adopted from a very bad situation, as well as electricity, a real shower with hot water and a microwave. Kay also has a preschool in her house, so when she asked if I could find John Chota (the artist Carlee and I worked with in 2008-2009) I made a few calls and we started painting her chekechea. 


I'm back in Berega now, but John will finish her school then come to Berega to finish ours.
When no one else is around I function as an artist, but when John is painting I usually do most of the prep work. It's a waste of his talent, and he hates it. I don't mind it too much, plus I get to watch and learn.

This is why I do the prep work.
My boats are recognizable as boats.
His look seaworthy.

I visited Idweli, the little village where I lived in 2005. Amalie, one of the girls from the children's center now has 2 kids, no husband and no job. So I made her a micro loan and she will make chapati and maandazi (fried dough balls eaten with chai). 


Mama Jackie (the doc's wife) will advise her, and hopefully it will work out and maybe she can have a little restaurant or tearoom later on. It's got to be better than what she's got now.

So after about 10 days I got homesick and returned to Berega. I rode up to Mbeya on Abood, a bus company I'd heard drove at a moderate rate, which was a lie. So I investigated a little and went with Sumry on the way home. They drove just as fast, if not faster, but the seats were nicer and they had a Bollywood movie (which you couldn't hear over the roar of the bus engine but you can't have it all).

Where all the buses stop.
There's food and toilets and you can buy all
your veggies on the way home.
But you only get 10 minutes
until the bus leaves.

Mbeya is in the southern highlands, so while the ride up was often uphill, the ride home was downhill through the mountains. I tried to concentrate on the scenery, hoping it would distract me from the grinding of the brakes as we screamed around the curves (and the smell of burning rubber, don't forget that). The view was outstanding. Most people don't realize how the climate and environment varies in Africa.

We passed through Mikumi National Park going up and back, and as it's rainy season, there's lots of grass and lots of animals eating it. I saw herds of zebra, giraffes and elephants.Tried to get good pictures, but at our rate of speed it's not easy to get and/or stay focused. I never asked the driver to slow down, I figured he wasn't too concerned whether we lived or died on the road so why should he care about the quality of my pictures.

Large bag of dagaa.
It went with us in the taxi to the border,
and stayed in my nose hairs for 3 days after.

So now I'm back, resting up from my vacation, doing a little painting. I have to say, all the stuff I've been drawing looked better before I sat around and watched John. He should be here next week or so, and I'm hoping he doesn't walk in and tell me, "I can fix it."

All the packages that you've sent have arrived, so we've got some fun stuff to play with on Monday when school starts. I've tried to teach the kids to say R and L, eventually gave up and started saying ara and elu, just to be understood. BUT when I was in Mbeya, I noticed that ALL the kids at Kay's school can say both R and L properly so come Monday these kids are in for a surprise. It won't be easy, these are village kids, not city kids, and many of Kay's students come from Zambia, where they speak English. But in the end, I will prevail. 


Maybe.

It was good to come home, Africa is a very welcoming place, everyone was smiling and asking if I had a good likizo and Pesaka (Easter). Mama Freddy, one of my adult learners and mother of one of my preschool kids (Freddy) came to my house with a zawadi za Pesaka. An Easter gift. She brought me a chicken, a nice fat live one. She is keeping it for me at her house, as I am ill equipped to house fowl. But his housing won't be an issue after tomorrow, because we're going to eat him with rice.

My Friend Mama Freddie
with my chicken, who was truly delicious

You need to understand how special it is to be given a chicken. Folks are poor here, and chickens are expensive, so I was very touched. This is my second chicken, I was given one in Kyela a few years ago. That we will eat it together is even better.  Isaac said there's an old Swahili saying, Mgeni njoo, mwenyegi apone. Roughly translated it means the guest comes, the host benefits. As we will share the chicken, it's a win-win.

When I was a kid I wondered if I would even live to be this age and if so, what I would be doing. So at 60 I'm traveling and learning a new language and culture. Life is too good. 

Nakupenda.