A Little Bit Far

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.

Road to Kilama. 

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?


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.

Further on down the road

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.

This one was a tight squeeze.

Gold mining in Tanzania

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.

If you look real hard you can see a speck of gold on his palm.

Rasta washing mud and sifting for the above pictured gold.

The camp. 

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.

Sitting very quietly while I watch the birds.

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.

Phone booth

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.


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.

Classroom that I will not be painting.

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.
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.
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.

Inside that classroom

St. Mary's English Medium Preschool 

and Standard One, minus

two kids sick with malaria.

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.

Morning ugi. Philipo is working on the new

 tables so in a few

weeks there will be more room

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.

Vicent and Jackie and their As.

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.

Hope you can see how they've strung the twine to look like 

wires. They did this from the road to the house. 

These kids have made this truck, and the sticks are electricity 

poles. They spent all afternoon digging the holes, putting them

in the ground, and stringing them.

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.
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.

Nakupenda

There's more and more of these poles. 

THEY HAVE BEGUN

DIGGING THE HOLES FOR THE POLES.

The roads may be bad, but folks have lots of clean water now.

All you have to do is put all your buckets under your roof.

Solid workmanship.

See how the buckets get bigger as the kids get bigger.

A water storage tank up by the new primary school. Hopefully 

this maji is only used for cleaning and washing clothes but you

never know and sometimes I'm afraid to ask.

Jackie trying out his right hand.

Jackie trying out his left hand.

My birthday party.

The ladies weave these for rugs. 

I have three in my house,

made by local women.

My kitchen

Living room. I live very well here in the village. 

Hands4Africa 

sees to that. Thanks Blad.

The rains have stopped, so now the river 

is just another path 

up the village.

Where Cough Drops Cost More Than Valium

Lumuli Mgego, my youngest English student

 and apparently 

the only person in Berega with a brain. 

Also she fits into the tub. 

She can say no and there. 

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.


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?

Berega Secondary School occasional school bus.

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.



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!
The scholarship fundraiser went well, thanks to all who helped. We were able to
1. give three partial scholarships for some of the single moms
2. give two full scholarships
3. buy some books and
4.  have some desks and chairs made for the new kids.

Old guy walking to his shamba (farm.)

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
nakupenda

Go Ahead, Take A Whack At My Kid

It's warm again, really warm, and the butterflies are back, as well as nesting birds and chameleons. I had to escort one from my office the other day. Poor bugger had gotten in there somehow, and wanted out. We offered him a stick and he climbed aboard and out he went. Cheaper than that cat in the choo episode last year.

There's more and more of these poles. THEY HAVE BEGUN

DIGGING THE HOLES FOR THE POLES.

I was in the office the other day talking with Ruth when I heard a minor commotion outside. By now you understand that not much happens here, so any diversion is gold. I ran out and there was a small crowd gathered around two angry, fighting chameleons. I have no idea what there were fighting over, there were only two, and I think they were both boys, but then, what do I know?


Anyway, one was chasing the other up the big tree in the hospital courtyard. Chameleons have these weird hands, more like soft lobster claws, and can climb up anything they can grasp. The tree, however, is huge, and they couldn't find purchase so one by one they'd fall about five, six feet to the ground, get up, and try again.

Living room. I live very well here in the village. Hands4Africa 

sees to that. Thanks Blad.

I ran home to get my camera, and by the time I returned they were still fighting, but had switched to ground combat. Probably a better idea. They chased each other around for about twenty minutes, first one grabbing the other by a tail or leg, then the other returning the favor. So they dragged each other around for a while, to the delight of myself and a good portion of the hospital staff.

My kitchen

I like lizards, chameleons, critters in general. American city life doesn't offer many viewing opportunities, but I'm in wadudu heaven here. Wadudu is insects, plural, one insect is dudu, pronounced just the way it needs to be  to get American kids giggling behind their hands. Here's another one, the Kiswahili word for brother is kaka.

The ladies weave these for rugs. I have three in my house,

made by local women.

This is a true story, it happened to a friend of mine, and it's so good I wish it had happened to me. My friend Ingrid is a pastor's wife, and they had come to Tz to live. She had been taking lessons in Kiswahili, and was, by her own admission, proud of her progress and happy to show off her skills. Remember about pride going over the falls, or whatever.

My bedroom

So she went to the duka (store) to buy some mafuta (oil). Now here in Tz, like many countries, you can buy many things cheaper if you buy them loose. Soap powder is cheaper if you buy it out of a big sack, and oil is sold out of a large greasy container, according to how much you want to pay. So you need to bring your own chupa (bottle). Ingrid had, alas, forgotten her chupa, but thought she might be able to borrow one from the storekeeper, if he had a spare. In her excitement to display her linguistic talents she forgot that chupa is bottle and chupi is not. What she said was this..


Hello, how are you? I want to buy some oil but I have forgotten my underpants. I would like to use yours. I will return your underpants tomorrow, after washing.

Sitting very quietly while I watch the birds.

Poor Ingrid couldn't figure out what she had said to cause everyone in the store to hoot and guffaw lake a bunch of hyenas, until someone finally pulled her coat. I can't remember if she said she was mortified or laughing, probably both, but she got her oil and the locals got a dumb mzungu story they probably tell to this day. I know I tell it every chance I get.

St. Mary's English Medium Preschool and Standard One, minus

two kids sick with malaria.

The fundraiser is going well, we've gotten some donations, and so far have given out three partial scholarships. In a few weeks we should be able to give two full scholarships, maybe more. Some of the money will be used to buy desks and benches, as the kids are having to squeeze in right now, which necessitates lots of poking and all the rest of the stuff little kids do when they sit close together. What I don't hear is "Teacher, Mzee is looking at me." Staring at someone isn't considered bad manners here, I've gotten used to it, but then, if I was a kid here I'd stare at me too. Not too many almost six foot mzungu around. Besides, as I'm frequently on the ground taking pictures of wadudu, I guess I deserve it.

Note change of color. These things fascinate me.

I just got back from a walk, had to wait till 4pm, when it cooled a bit. I was trying for exercise, but it's slow going here when you stop and visit with everyone. Apparently my Kiswahili is greatly improved. Jeska is one of my adult students, and I pass by her house when I walk. She was sitting in the shade, with her Mama, Mama Mkubwa and Mama Mdogo. That's her mom, her big mother, and her small mother. They were weaving, and as we talked, they tried to teach me. 
This was tried in Idweli in 2005, with similar results. It looks easy when I watch, but when they put it in my hands, nothing happens, nothing good, that is.



There's many beautiful birds here, and I'm perfectly happy on my walks to sit quietly in the shade and wait. If you sit long enough, they come. The problem was that three kids were following me, which is about six less than usual. I tried to get them to go home, but my Kiswahili, while improving, doesn't allow for dire threats. I did manage to get them to sit relatively still, so I could take some pictures.

One chameleon biting another.

So now two parents have told me I need to start beating their kids. You know, school shouldn't be a place where kids need to fear for their lives. It's actually illegal here to beat a kid in school without following procedure. There are four steps to be taken before a child is caned, and the caning should be done only by the Headmaster. First a child is talked to, then a note is sent home, I forgot the third, but the fourth step is the actual caning.

The rains have stopped, so now the river is just another path 

up the village.

I have been caned, although voluntarily.I asked my friend Peter once to cane me, just to see what it was like. He held my hand palm up and gave it a whack with a thin stick. Tears just sprung to my eyes, so I know what it's like. Unfortunately the teachers here ignore the first three steps, and go right to the stick. They also rarely limit themselves to one whack, or one kid, for that matter. I've seen teachers let fly on anyone who just happens to get in the way.

So,while I have refused to cane the kids, I have told the two moms that I will be happy to send their misbehaving offspring home with a note and they can flail away at will. I have no problem with a parent disciplining their kids, but it's just too much power to give to a teacher, or anyone else not a parent. I realize that many of you in America feel parents shouldn't be able to hit a kid at any time, but I'm old school. Sometimes a good swat on the behind is ok.

My birthday party.

Today is my birthday, I'm 61. Pronounced sikisty one by the kids, despite all my efforts. We had a party today at school, we played math and English games, answered questions, and the kids got a point for each correct answer. I had a table set up with different prizes, cards, books, blocks, pencils and pencil sharpeners. Except for two girls who chose a jump rope, everyone went for the pencils. Go figure.




Am going to Morogoro on Saturday for some supplies, but mostly to go to Ricky's Cafe, where I will have cake and ice cream for my sikisty first birthday. Happy Birthday to Me.

Nakupenda

Home Sweet Home

Good rain means more toys for the kids.

I'm nomadic by nature, I think that's obvious, but I've had enough for a while. In five weeks I've visited three states, crossed three continents (twice), I don't know how many time zones (twice), and the International Dateline (again, twice). Eventually I was waking up disoriented, and had to remind myself who and where I was. I'd make a lousy rock star. Got back to Berega, rested one day and then went to Mbeya.

Dad driving kid home on pikipiki. He stopped for the picture, 

no helmet, no nothing. The kid just hangs on, if he knows what's 

good for him. 

The large bus system here has been at times adequate, at times less than adequate, and often damn scary. But I've been on enough of them to know which to avoid. Sumry was, at one time, very nice but had become one of the more depressing rides, rude drivers, dirty, sticky seats, passing on a curve/hill at 150 km/hr... But Green Star and Mbeya Express are very nice.
So I went to Mbeya on Green Star. New, clean seats, two by two seating (you really want to avoid a three seat row), movies, and they turn off the movies passing through Mikumi National Park, so we can watch the animals. They even gave us water, soda and biscuits (cookies of a sort, they taste like pesticide but who's counting).

Early Saturday morning in the village. We eat a lot of goat here.

If I was them I'd probably not hang around just waiting.

Mbeya was good, I paid off the school fees for Martha and Christina, they're doing well. Also arranged for Ahadi, Violet and Rosie to attend VETA, a govt sponsored vocational school. These are kids I've known for years, in fact, I lived with them at the orphanage in Idweli. Visited friends, ate Indian food, stocked up on fruit I can't get in Berega, which is almost any fruit.
I purchased my return ticket on Mbeya Express the day after I got to Mbeya, because I wanted a window seat. On Saturday morning I arrived at the bus station at 0600, looking forward to a very comfortable ten hour ride home. Wrong, the bus was broken but the ticket agent said hanma shida, Mommy,I have booked you a nice window seat on SUMRY, the bus of death. Went through all the stages of grief, denial, bargaining, acceptance, but when I got on the bus it was lovely. All the goodies of Green Star and Mbeya Express. The guys even wore uniforms. Looks like competition for passengers has finally forced the buses to clean up their acts, seats and aisles.

Dogs here don't move. This is the third dog who looked right 

at while we drove around him.

So ten relatively pleasant hours later I arrived in Morogoro, to catch the coaster (medium sized bus) to the junction where I would be met and taken to Berega. THERE ARE NO DIRECT ROUTES IN AFRICA.
Found a coaster with seats still available, which is good and bad. The good is you don't have to stand while these guys careen along the highway. The bad news is now we sit in 90 degree heat till the bus fills. This generally takes about three hours.

Umeme poles. Electricity is coming, maybe next month, maybe

next year, but the poles are up. Isaac has promised me the

school will have light. 

It was Saturday, so when we passed the bimonthly Massai Market, we acquired six very tall Massai, complete with walking sticks, eighteen inch knives, and wooden knobs, which look like a humerus and I think are used to hit cattle on the head. Needless to say they took up all the remaining room on the bus, and were, as always, fascinating to watch.
I always wonder what would happen if one of these guys were to get on a bus in America, because they don't go anywhere without the stick, knife and knob. Can't imagine an American bus driver trying to disarm them. I'd like to bring one or two across the ocean just to watch. Massai have a presence. There's just something about them, aside from the fact that they take up twice as much room as other people, but seem to spread out in comfort, unlike the rest of us. They just exist on a different plane.

sunrise on Lake Malawi

Was met at the junction by my friend Isaac, the hospital director, who has just recently learned to drive. Our regular driver has a broken arm, so Isaac collected me. It was about the third time he's driven, and his first night drive, He drives like an old lady, but given the state of the road, the dark, the lack of electricity, the cows in the road, he did just fine. I did have to tell him that it's road courtesy to pull to the side so the bikes, cows, and pedestrians can pass.
School has resumed, and we have a bunch of new kids. We spent the first week reviewing, they didn't forget much. Before likizo, I amassed a couple hundred blocks, just ends from the carpenters, different sizes and shapes. I painted them, then decorated them with numbers, letters, sentences, shapes, math problems. The kids love them, but they mostly don't have anything, so they're not hard to please.
Brought some movies and animal videos back with me, for Friday. Friday is our play day, we work for an hour or so, then I put a DVD in my computer. We invited the kids from the Kiswahili school and watched Milo and Otis, a personal favorite. The kids were transfixed, but then so was I. Seems I find Dudley Moore irritating as a human, but I like him just fine as a dog.
There's so much of everything in the First World that there's not many surprises left for most of us. But here, wow, you show kids a video of animals or fish and they're just stunned. Remember, all they see is what's in the village, or another village, or maybe Mororgoro. The exposure level here is minimal. So if anyone wants to send me your kids old DVDs, feel free, just contact me athiloliz@gmail.com and I'll give you the info. Adult movies as well, my afternoon students like them, and it's good practice listening to English. By adult movies I refer to movies for grown people, not Debbie Does Dallas or Naughty Nuns.

Massai with cows. 

 Check out the horns.

Most Massai have maintained the old culture, very few have 

adopted western dress or occupation. Some have gone into 

tourism, but cows are still the measure of wealth.

So it's time for my next shameless plea for funds, only two in a year, not bad. If you got this on my gangmail, just skip over it. Thanks. We need more chekechea students, we can't just teach kids who come from affluent parents. Strictly speaking, nobody is affluent here, but in the village it means you can afford to pay 200,000 tsh/ year for tuition. That's about 130 USD, or about 11 USD/month. For Isaac,and the doctors, this is hamna shida. But for Aissa, Mary, or some other parents, it's a stretch. Most of the kids in our class have parents who work at the hospital so even if they don't get paid much, they get paid regularly. Christina's mom is the cook for the nursing school, she makes 65,000 the/mo, about 44 USD.


It's been on my mind to get some scholarships started, and now is a good time. Normally I would just add them to the list of school kids I pay for, but frankly, I can't afford any more kids. SO, anyone wanting to help out, karibu. My friend Sharon already gave enough for one kid, thanks cutie. I'd like four or five more, if possible.

This is a private school, and it was started in an effort to keep the hospital staff from leaving to go where there are good schools. We are understaffed, and can't afford to have staff bailing on us for lack of decent schools. But even a private school is part of the community and we should be taking in kids pro bono, just because.

You can go to the www.Hands4Africa.org site and either donate by Paypal, or send a check. Either way, mark the funds for me, and it will get to me. The laminating project was a huge success, we are festooned with math time tests and alphabet cards. Please don't think you need to donate the entire tuition fee. It all adds up, so thanks in advance.

It rained a lot while I was gone, everything is green and lovely again. My yard is a wild mess of grass, trees and what have you, much to the horror of my neighbor who likes his grass cut military short. But I'm from the tropics, I like it a little wild. The butterflies are back, and the goats and cows come by regularly because I have lots of grass. Spent most of this Sunday reading on the porch, watching the rain. All the locals are happily planting, anticipating a good harvest. Lots of ugali for everyone. Maisha ni mzuri.

nakupenda