Give a Chicken an Inch

Folks like to be around nature, albeit in varying degrees. City dwellers content themselves with potted plants (or pot plants as the Brits call them), or parks where they can walk or jog or take their leashed, groomed and sweatered dogs for a run. And if you leave any evidence that your dog has been in the park/street, you pay a fine roughly equal to one months salary here in old Berega. There's tree lined boulevards in the tonier areas and neighborhood gardens for folks who want to get their fingers in the dirt but not actually bring it home.

Country folks have more actual contact, lots of trees, farms, cows and such. Lakes for fishing, mountains to climb, wildlife to see. However, there's an element of control here, you can participate or observe depending on just how much nature you can handle at any given moment. You go to it, and leave it when you've had your fill. 

Beach cows in Malawi.

Not so here in Berega. We live in relative harmony with nature, but it's by no means controlled. Take for example, the monkeys, which according to some of my evening students steal maize with regularity and impunity. There's absolutely nothing that can be done about them. But then, they don't do anything about the humans who steal their maize either. A few weeks ago I was sitting on my porch and a three foot green monitor lizard skittered by me, last month there was a turtle on the playground. Two tourists recently got eaten by a lion while changing a flat at Mikumi Park. 

Street cow in Malawi

I spent Easter week in Kyela, where the hippos and crocodiles are raising hell on the rice farms. Adamson told me that hippos are a true bother during rice growing season, as they like the rice, as well as the cool, muddy water it grows in. So at various times some brave soul will grab a big stick and beat the water, causing vibrations which hopefully frighten off the hippo. You can't get too close to a hippo because not only will it kill you, but it will toy with you for a bit first. Sometimes they kill with their gigantic teeth, other times they stomp you to death. Either way, it's decidedly unpleasant and you should try to avoid it.

Crocs are sneaky, lying in wait for dogs, monkeys or the odd unfortunate villager cooling off in the river or washing clothes. Personally I would transport the water to higher ground. For some reason they don't eat the head. My friend from Kyela told me this, and as she had no idea why, I promised to google it. Some conversations you will only have in Africa.

Taking a break from whatever it is dogs do, secure in the
knowledge that he can sleep there all day if he wants to.

Village dogs and cows will lie down for a rest wherever they please, and although the cows will move if you hit them with a stick, the dogs sleep unmolested by cars and passersby. One day as we were driving around a skinny, mangy specimen lying in the middle of the road I asked Abdallah why the dogs never move. He just looked at me and said "Mama Liz, that dog was born here." I had no response to such simple logic, and we drove on. There were a few other home grown canines scattered here and there on our way to the big road, and we drove around every one of them. You have to love this place.

The chickens, however, have forced me into an offensive mode. We feed the kids breakfast and lunch, sitting in the courtyard between the two classrooms. Kids being kids, there's usually bits of ugali and beans on the ground after meals. In the past a chicken or two would come to school and peck at the leftovers on the plates and in the dirt. Well now we have 63 kids, which has made the pickins more lavish. The chickens have told all their friends and now we have an entire army of free range fowl running around the school. The first time a chicken came into our Math class I just laughed and let the kids chase it around for a bit till Mbuli caught it and escorted it to the yard.

Recon chicken checking it out for the troops

It's gotten out of hand and now they're sneaking in through the drainpipes and sashaying through the gate. Some manage to fly over the wall. They've made themselves quite at home in the classrooms. The kids love chasing them around, but there's feathers all over the place and today Freddy slipped on some chicken mavi and almost hit his head. The final straw was today when they showed up BEFORE Mama Dani, who brings the food. They were WAITING FOR HER, like old friends at a favorite restaurant. We've found an abandoned building near the school and will be cleaning it up so the kids can eat there. It won't stop the chickens, but it will get them out of class.

We were discussing local transport one day and my student asked if the buses in America are like the buses in Tz. I said that in the US we don't have five people in a seat made for two, and there's no chickens and goats allowed inside the bus. They were shocked and wanted to know how we transport our chickens and goats. Yet another conversation you won't have in the US.

And as always, the road wanyama. If there's only one or two, you can muscle
them out of the way, but a herd takes their time. Safety in numbers and all that.

The First World tries to control and legislate wildlife, so no one is hurt or inconvenienced. There's laws about where you can have chickens and how many you can have. You can't have a cow if you live in New York City. If a dog bites or mauls someone, it's put down. Here the animals are just part of life, they stroll down the road, come into your house, and occasionally eat someone. It's just one of the perks if you are, as Abdallah puts it, "born here".

L

Bette Davis Was Right

It's a bumpy ride.

The other day at school the kids were eating their kande (stew made of beans and maize and not much else) when out of the sky came a cloud of smoke which settled directly over our tiny diners. This has happened before so I dropped, rolled, felt the door for excessive heat, and beat it across the road to the Pastor's house. Literally across the road, his house is maybe 30 feet from the school. 

He was burning leaves and branches, and there was a veritable mushroom cloud over his house. Near the burn sight was a tree, and tied to that tree were two of his cows. Pastor has beautiful cows, he takes excellent care of his livestock. 

Stew made of spare parts of a cow. I would rather eat spare parts of a car.

As I crossed the road I saw him frantically untying said cows from the tree and bringing them to an area far away from the swirling, choking smoke. I walked over and greeted him, because every conversation here begins with a greeting. A maniac with a machete would wish you a hearty good morning before cleaving your head in two. Africans are genetically polite.

Anyway, after saying hi I asked him why he was moving his ng'ombe. He said smoke is bad for cows, of course. So I pointed across the road to the school, barely visible inside the nuclear cloud enveloping our kids, the church, and everything within a fifty yard radius, and asked him to extend the same courtesy to the kids as to his bovine friends. 

I was ever so polite about it too, you'd be proud. He was shocked, and quickly doused the fire. Pastor is a sweet guy, and always means well, but this is just an example of how it is here. Burn at will, wherever and whenever you please, with nary a thought for udderless bystanders.

Kids never know when they cross the line, but parents do.

I was giving the kids a math test a few weeks before this, just staring out the window while they sighed and erased and borrowed erasers. I've finally gotten past them asking the kids at the next table to borrow their rubbers. Anyway, (it's very hot, obviously I'm having a hard time staying on track) there was a woman on the road with her small boy, he couldn't have been more than two, if that. She was whipping him on the butt and legs with a small stick, while he sat on the ground screaming and for the most part, dodging the blows.

I guess she wanted him to get up, and if at first you don't succeed, keep whipping. I actually counted about 30 whacks (most of which fell short), during which time he decided to make a run for it and headed off down the road with mom and her stick in hot pursuit.

By now I'm sure you're asking yourself (or you should be), why I didn't intervene. Kids are beaten here, every last one of them, at school, at home, wherever they happen to be when they cross the line. Remember the parents have all given us permission to cane their kids. They know we don't beat the kids at school, although they just can't figure out why not. Maybe they think that since kids are doing well, they'd do twice as well if we caned randomly every week or so to keep the little buggers on their toes. 

We're in a time warp here, and except for mobile phones, motorcycles, and the colorful plastic buckets women carry on their heads, village life looks like a scene from the Old Testament. No kidding. Things in America have been changing at light speed due to technology, but the computer age hasn't hit the village. Change is unbelievably slow here, and folks do as they've done since Jesus was a kid. Although I'm hard pressed to imagine Mary chasing the son of God down the road with a stick. 

Like I've said many times, life is hard for a village woman.
This ancient woman should be resting under a tree, but she's not. 

I asked Vicent the other day how old he was and he said one. Another kid said sijui (I don't know). School kids at home know how old they are, but time stands still here, and nobody has birthday parties anyway, so I guess it's no big deal. No Christmas presents, Easter baskets, no chocolate bunnies...Life isn't much more exciting for women either, but the men seem to have it pretty good.

I'm sure all you politically correct folks out there are having heart attacks over what I've just written, so come on over here and see for yourself. Life is very different here.

For example... In Dar es Salaam they occasionally necklace a thief. Necklacing is dousing a tire with gasoline and tossing it over the head of the miscreant. Then of course the tire is lit and everyone stands around watching the show. Fun for the whole family. Our new teacher Pasiana was in Dar one day and came upon the remains of a recently necklaced ne'er-do-well. Almost worse than the necklacing is the lack of an actual trial before sentencing, just street justice, so possibly the criminal is, in actuality, not.

Before you cancel your plane reservations I want to say that necklacing is not too common. More often the thief is beaten to death, which is probably no real consolation to the thief, but smoke free and therefore environmentally sound.

Went to Mikumi Park the other weekend and were wondering why there were so few animals.
When we saw these guys we understood why all the other wanyama had bagged. Spent about 
an hour taking pictures of them. They look like big soft kittens, who can tear your throat out.
 

I have a friend who was trying to interest people in health insurance, at ridiculously low rates, and having a hard time convincing folks to sign up. As one man said in refusal, "But I'm not sick"' My point being that health insurance is a western luxury. 

Africa is not preventative, Africa is reactive. It's that same mindset that sends a kid to a govt school when the parent can afford private school fees. The kid hasn't failed yet, so why bother. But he will fail, and so it goes. 

These are Vicent, Vale and Ima, three red blooded African boys.
Ima is wearing a Hanna Montana sweatshirt, Vicent is arrayed in a 
Dora the Explorer vest and Vale sports the tiara. I  love this place. 

I try to spend most of my time in Std.1 and 2, because chekechea makes me want to poke my eyes out. The crying, the blank stares, the uncontrolled urinating. We've been working on simple addition, as well as sitting properly and not eating boogers. 

They need to answer a math problem before they leave for the day. I was working my way through the kids and stopped to tell Daudi to sit properly, to which he responded "7". My one consolation is that by next year he will probably be reading, no thanks to me. 

I like village life, but it can wear a hole right through your brain. It's a tough place to live. Everything here is normal, if you're from here. If you're not, it's another thing altogether. 

Sometimes on Sunday they have revivals up in the heart of the
village. Lots of music and dancing, hell fire and brimstone. 

The other day a young man came to my door and told me his bibi is sick and can't work so can I pay his school fees. My first response was "Who are you?" I did tell him that there are lots of jobs up at the Hands4Africa site and I would arrange work for him. All he had to do was go to the site and ask for Ruth. He never showed. I guess his bibi had a miraculous recovery. 

We've been reviewing our Math and English for the big test, and I wrote letter combinations on the board so the kids could write words underneath. Under cr, my Jenny wrote crap. I asked her if by any chance she meant crop. This cute little kid with four missing front teeth said, "No Teacher, crap". I guess she's been listening, and I am grateful that's all I've said.

L

Up To My Knees In It

Someday I'd like to go to China. Not to see the Great Wall, or the temples, or wherever it is Chairman Mao has been interred. What I want, instead, is to stand in the middle of the street surrounded by bicycles and vent my frustration about the crap they send to Africa. How can it be that the nation that invented gunpowder, built the Great Wall, and first used toilet paper (that may have been the Egyptians), not be able to manufacture a decent battery or a pencil that doesn't lose its tip every five minutes, or toilet tank innards that don't leak all over my freaking floor? I could have planted rice.

This is when you know you're in the country.

There are two toilets in my house, and generally at least one is functional, so I guess I shouldn't bitch. But I'm down to one now, and it needs to be bucket flushed. About two weeks ago a wire inside the tank rusted out. Berega water is chumvi chumvi (salty), so this happens upon occasion. Usually I don't call the fundi right away, because I still have another choo and they know it, so won't come anyway. They may say kesho (manana), but it's low on their list. And given that they use a pit in the ground I try not to get too verklempt about my second flushing toilet.

Their moms tried to convince me these
kids are 5 years old. But they are 3,
and along with 6 others, make up our
PRE pre-school. They cry a lot, are
only barely toilet trained, but look so
damn cute in the uniforms.

Unfortunately, the other day my tank sprung a leak, not a significant leak, but a leak nonetheless. Sometime the following day it became significant enough that I had to use every towel in the house to mop it up. Remember now, this is Africa, and construction being what it is, all the maji rushed downhill to my bedroom, the spare bedroom, and the living room, as well as the other bathroom with the toilet that doesn't flush.

With 64 kids, at any given moment
someone is losing a tooth.

I went up to Isaac's house to ask him to call the fundi then rushed back to my house to wait for the fundi that never came. About two hours later I called Isaac, just before he went to bed, and asked where the hell the fundi got to. He was shangaa sana as he thought the matter was solved. We do live in hope here.

He came down with Barton to attempt a quick fix, but neither of these sweet guys are fundis. They fiddled around for a while, pointed at lots of stuff, like guys do, during which time I got my giant squeegee thing and tried to push back the rising tide. It was about two inches deep in some places. I threw all my saturated towels outside and began on the blankets. It's hot out now so I won't be needing them for a couple of months.

Teacher Martha and the kids learning to play
checkers, or draughts, as they call it here.

Finally they called Bayona, not the originally contacted fundi, but a fundi nonetheless. He came and fiddled around a bit, pointed at a lot of stuff and ended up disconnecting the flexible pipe that goes to the tank, folded it back on itself, and tied it with a piece of rubber tubing.

Then he took out most of the insides of the tank and called Titus, who lives in Morogoro, who said he'd bring up the part in the morning.
Well that didn't happen (no surprise there) maybe tomorrow. He knows I've still got another toilet, what he doesn't know is it doesn't flush. And as it's not a pit in the ground I'm not planning to suck around for sympathy which would not be forthcoming anyway.

CMy grand-daughter Ayla let me have
her tiara for the kids. Evander is 12,
male, and in Standard 1. He was math
winner that day and proudly wore the
crown. You can only do this here.

Now if it was Brad with the plumbing issues, you could bet your socks there would be a fundi or three working up a sweat over this. But I'm a woman, and I'm not the boss, so it gets fixed when it gets fixed. Added to that, it will take at least two or three tries, most likely three. TIA. Not to mention,(oh why not), the sink in the toilet leaks, and it's been fixed four times. I don't even bother with it, there's three sinks in my house so there's no way in hell the fundis are getting worked up over this. I'm thinking of planting geraniums in it. The light is good on that side of the house. Maybe goldfish.

There's one fundi, the sweetest guy ever, who comes to fix things now and again. While he does show up and he does try, he always forgets that when you disconnect a pipe, maji itaondoka. Water will come out. Every time. He always acts so surprised about the whole thing, as I scramble to throw down all my towels. I suppose I'm just as dopey. I should have the towels right by the door to save time. But as I said, we live in hope.

I did ask if we could turn off the maji, like you'd do anywhere else in the world, but this isn't anywhere else in the world, it's here, and you can't turn off the water. In defense of my friends, the fundis, pit toilets being the norm, it makes sense that they'd have trouble fixing a western toilet. Or have I been here too long?

Like the loose teeth, someone's
usually crying. Mostly over nothing.

Skool Nooze:
1. Enrollment is up from the six original kids to 64.
2. Even the chekechea kids are reading English and Kiswahili. It's amazing.
3. Magubike, the village down the road, has enrolled 11 kids. They are transported by the Hands4Africa driver, Abdallah.
4. We started Standard 2 in January.
5. We just got new tables because the kids were sitting on top of each other, and will probably need more soon.
6. We have hired 2 new chekechea teachers. That brings us up to 5.
7. We hired a teachers aide, the mother of one of our students, and she's working off her fees helping out with the kids.
8. Teachers have sent us unsolicited employment applications. Word is spreading.

Free day before vacation. The kids could
choose to go home early or stay and
play. Most stayed.

General Hands4Africa News
1. The plantation is now employing 60 people, 60 happy people who now have steady work.
2. Parents who want to send their kids to our school can get the fees working for us.
3. The naysayers are now yeasayers.
4. We have jatropha seedlings doing well.
5. Mipango Pub is doing a thriving business, thanks in part to the a portion of the 60 people now gainfully employed by Hands4Africa. It trickles down.

My one attempt at killing my food.

I don't want you to think it's all butterflies and sunshine. We've got problems. We're bursting at the seams and need to start building the actual school, complete with boarding facilities. It's the only way we will succeed. Right now we're in the black. Of the hospital, the nursing school and us, the school is the only thing not running at a deficit.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of having a pit toilet dug in my backyard. No moving parts, relatively maintenance free, and it's a great place to throw trash.
L

I'm such a wimp.

Update: It took 4 visits, but both toilets work again. My towels and blankets are dry, But now the light in the toilet doesn't work. I have a flashlight so as long as my supply of American made batteries (thanks boss) lasts, I'm ok.

The Etiquette of Abuse

I teach adults in the evening, focusing on conversation rather than grammar. My students are farmers, a nurse's aide, a driver, the pastor, a tailor, and a group

Teacher Martha with Shafi Wyatt Abdallah, and some visitors.

of secondary school students. So we sit in the Standard 1 classroom on tiny chairs and talk to each other. Usually someone has a question about two similar words. Today David  asked me about beating vs striking, which led to a lively and illuminating discussion re the difference between being beaten (kupiga) and getting sticks (kuchapa ).

Apparently, being struck just once (even lightly) constitutes a beating, which explains the high drama when one kid accidentally bumps into another. You should see it, they throw up their arm to cover their eyes and wail like their nails are being pulled out, all the while screaming "He is beating me". Bunch of drama queens. I've gotten so tired of it I usually ask "Unakufa"? (Are you dying?) They say no and I say "Helafu, sijali" (Then I don't care). Then they stop. Just like that. Like turning off a faucet.

One mtu mzima cannot cane another mtu mzima (adult), but you can beat him with your fists. Kids get caned, and for maximum effect they are required procure their own stick. But you can't use a big stick, just a thin, bendy one. You don't want to break anything, just inflict stinging, enduring pain, which, according to all the adults in the village, helps the kids to learn.

You cannot say njoo (come) to an adult, it's considered rude and demanding. But you can njoo a kid all you want. So I learn the finer points of village life, which you miss on your average commercial safari.

Free time at the blackboard.

The carpenter guys next to the hospital have been teaching me local greetings. Poa means cool, like the old beatniks, the proper greeting for those who smoke, purchase and deal lots of ganja. I have been advised not to use it, lest I tarnish my reputation. Obviously, I haven't revealed to them the details of my exquisitely misspent youth. I should have guessed though, about mzuka, they chuckle every time I say it. Makes me wonder what else they've taught me.

Shwali is another new word from the carpenters, so I checked with the Pastor who said it's ok because it means calm and it's in the Bible. As in Jesus calmed the waters.

Tiny little pencil nubs from the bottom of my pencil can...
which I gave to the kids as zawadi (gifts)..

Pastor says as long as it's in the Bible I can say it. That's also where they get the ok to cane every kid in class if they don't pay attention. So I need to check whatever these carpenters teach me before I walk up to the Pastor and tell him I have six nipples and can he help me score some weed. It doesn't matter where you go, there's always someone willing to take advantage of the new kid.



I went up to Mbeya for a few days to visit friends, and check up on the kids in school. Martha and Chris are at Shukrani International Secretarial College and doing very well. They have one more year, and should be able to get good jobs. Ahadi, Rosie and Violet are at VETA, a vocational school. Ahadi is studying fitter mechanics, and Rosie and Violet are working toward a certificate in food preparation. They have two more years to go, and are passing.

Jenny is all excited because she has 12
pencils. She also has small hands.

I have learned to focus my efforts (and money) on projects I feel will succeed. I know that probably sounds stupid, why would a person do anything else? But the schools here, from primary to secondary, are bad. Unbelievably bad. Many villages have no passes in primary or secondary school. I've already talked about why this happens in other letters, will refrain from jumping on the old soapbox yet again. But please think about where your money goes. Giving funds to put kids in schools, kids who will not pass, doesn't accomplish much. Obviously they need to be in school, but wouldn't it be better to send money to people who are actively working toward improving existing schools? There aren't many of these people, but I do know some of them. We are some of them.

The government of Tanzania has decreed that all villages must have a preschool. It is now a law. Unfortunately that law does not provide a salary for said teacher. Parents must foot the bill. Teachers may charge 1,500 to 3,000 tsh/month, about a dollar or two, and they don't get it. And as there can be up to 150 kids in a class, it's impossible to teach anyway.

Dani and Mbuli making words with Scrabble tiles.

A passing grade in Tanzania is 40%, so maybe you can understand my horror when kids don't pass. By the way, this is the standard for secondary school as well. Our little school holds to the western standard, and our passing grade is 70%. I was on the website which gives the test results for the government school Form 4 kids, countrywide. I looked through over 150 pages of names and grades and found ONE kid who passed with decent grades. Everyone else had Ds and Fs. I'm not kidding, not exaggerating, not skewing information. This is what I saw.

The words Dani and Mbuli made.

Kids in private schools do better. Most have a decent  pass rate, but then, most people can't afford private school. In 2003, countrywide, the government run secondary schools had a 100% fail rate. Maybe it's time to force these NGOs to work toward school systems that will produce kids who can pass.

It's not the kids. They're as bright as any other kids, but the system is a failure. Anyone with any money sends his kids to boarding school, outside the country if possible. Just a small belabor, sorry,  can't seem to help myself.

Our sink. One day we will have a proper sink. Right now,
I just try not to touch it too much.

Last week my friend told me that I need to be careful about what I write, that I could get in trouble for criticizing the systems of the country in which I live as a guest. In the first place, I'm not widely read. In the second place, I stand by what I write, and the statistics will show I'm not lying. There was an article in the paper stating that of the six countries of East Africa, the schools in Tanzania are at the bottom. I can believe it, because, try as I might, I can't imagine anything worse than this outside of a refugee camp
or a country at war.

L

Namibia and Back - from July 2012

The animals actually come in groups, then when another group 

comes, the first group leaves. 

I'm on likizo, vacation. In Tz we get two 6 week school vacations, in July-August and December-January. I was invited back to Ghana to visit friends, so purchased a ticket for July 6. I went into Dar to get new pages for my passport and to fix my visa for Ghana. The border guys are starting to complain there's not enough room for stamps, and it pays to keep those guys happy.I know this from personal experience, having gone the other way on a few occasions.



I usually stay at the Safari Inn, it's a dump, but it's cheap, the staff is friendly, and it's near everything I need to be near to. I didn't book far enough in advance, and they were full so I called my alternate dump, Jambo Inn, conveniently located around the corner from Safari. Full also. Hamna shida, I got online and found the New Bondeni Inn, farther from town and about twice the price.

forgot the name

When I got there it was bigger and a little cleaner, but not 23,000 ths better (about 14 USD). I got to the room and was still unimpressed, although there was a TV. It was late afternoon and there wasn't much to do, so I decided to rest and catch up on some TV, perhaps a movie. The first channel was soccer. Usually in Dar you get from 5 to 10 channels, many of which are sports or Hindu soap operas. So I switched the channel and found out why this dump was so much more expensive. Free porn.

Cheetah

I'm old enough to have seen most things by now, and I'm rarely surprised, but I have to tell you, this was a surprise. Not the porn itself, but the body parts being used . I had no idea that the human foot was so versatile. Just for research I watched for a bit, and I just don't get it. After dinner I turned on the TV again, hoping for a movie, but it must have been some kind of foot fetish marathon. I will say this, she had beautiful feet, little stars tattoed on her big toes, a great pedicure. I looked down at my village feet and decided not to quit my day job.

Outdoor coffee house. German coffee is strong enough to

straighten your hair. You should have seen the looks I got 

as I doctored my coffee so I could drink it without my eyeballs

popping out.

Even less endearing than the free porn was the shower water, which I noticed smelled like sewer water. It was a short shower. The next morning as I left for the Embassy I told the receptionist about the water. I was trying to be delicate about it, she was such a sweet, polite little thing, so I just said the water smelled bad. So she looked up at me with her innocent face and asked me " It smells like sheet?"  Yes, exactly like sheet. She assured me they would either fix it before I got back or switch my room.

Amazing dunes on the walk. Pictures just don't do it justice.

I went to do battle with the Embassy and came back to find they had switched my room. The water no longer smelled like sheet but the Dr Scholls Porn A Thon was still going on. They seemed to have come to the end of their repertoire though. I guess, in the end, there's only so much you can do with a foot.

Sossouvlei is a big basin of dead trees, very beautiful, but

again, you had to be there.

Trying to get to Ghana proved more difficult than I had anticipated. First they want a letter of invitation, even for a two week visit. These guys are severe. Many countries will give you a 90 day stamp on arrival. Ghana has a whole laundry list of stupid crap they want you to do. So about two days before I was to depart I got fed up and decided to go to Namibia, which will give a stamp on entry.

We took a 6 km walk to a place called Sossouvlei, probably

my favorite part of the trip.

Namibia was wonderful. First, it's the cleanest place I've ever seen. Namibia was colonized by the Germans, and it looks like pictures I've seen of the Alps. No kidding. As I had come on the spur of the moment I had no idea what to do first, so I talked to folks and got some ideas. People are usually happy to tell you the best places to go. I spent the first night in the capital city, Windhoek, and travelled the next day to Swakopmund, which is on the beach. More surprising than the cleanliness was the cold. It's winter below the Equator, and I was so cold I had to go buy warm clothes. This was easy to do as Swakopmund is a tourist town and has malls and coffee shops and German bakeries...

These trees are hundreds of years old, but because of the

climate, are not decaying.

Found a nice hotel for 380 ND. The rate is 8 to 1 in my favor so I had a great room with a shower AND a tub, plus coffee in the room, and a TV. No porn though, just movies.
So I spent a few days relaxing, taking tours, eating pastry and meat, and taking baths. Then back to Windhoek for an actual safari. All this time in Africa and I finally went on a safari. It was great. I went with this company called Wild Dog Tours and we camped and went to see the animals, and the desert. Namibia is mostly desert.

Swakopmund beach

Some differences between Namibia and Tz

Swakopmund hotel.

1. Clean streets. It's as if little elves come out at night and sweep the entire town. There's also rubbish bins, which are lacking in Tz.
2. A bus with 14 seats takes only 14 passengers. This same bus in Tz would carry 35 people, plus luggage and assorted wildlife.
3. Delicious bread, cakes, anything bakeable. I did my best to work my way through all the carbs on offer. You'd be proud.
4. Pathological punctuality,  the polar opposite of Tz, which is pathologically late.
5. Drinkable water. I was told, but unable to actually drink it. I've been trained like a lab rat to steer clear of tap water and cant bring myself to use it.
6. Chewable meat, tender and juicy rather than hockey puck hard.
7. Price tags. Very little bargaining done here, and never in the stores.

Desert rock. These particular rocks have a high iron content 

and clang like pots when you bang them together. They also 

decay

The only problem I had was with my American bank. This is the second time the Bank of America has denied my card. The first time was when I got to Tz. I told them before I left America to expect transactions from Africa, as I would be living there, yet they denied me my own money. When I finally reached them, and it wasn't easy, they said there was suspicious activity from Africa. Where I live. I reminded them of this and they pressed a button and all was ok. So like an idiot I thought this would carry over to my vacation. Nope. Denied again, and after some tine, and about 300 ND, I got an actual person on the phone who said there was suspicious activity on my card from, you guessed it, Africa. That night at my hotel I overheard, then joined in on a conversation with other travelers about their own personal banking horror stories. From what I heard, Chase Manhattan is worse than BofA. Nothing better than my bank protecting me from myself. Time to change banks, but from what I heard in Namibia it won't be any better anywhere else. I'd be better stashing it under my mattress.

Love the name. These guys need to learn to let go. 

So I'm back in Berega again, where the water is salty, the meat is tough, the buses overcrowded and everyone is late. It's good to be home.

finally saw lions. They're actually reclusive so this was a good day.

Pelican catching a fish.

About 20,000 seals live here.

Swakopmund beach

Downtown Swakopmund. Namibia has been described as

Africa for beginners. I have to agree. Bit it's a nice place to

visit.

The wildebeasts leave, the zebras come. Amazing how 

orderly nature is.

L