Semi-Annual Report Card

Chicken drama at Ruth's house. Fighting over a girl chicken, 

of course.

I arrived in January with lots of plans, always lots of plans, rolling around in my head day and night, making it hard to sleep. Berega needs everything, so it doesn't take a mental giant to develop a list of projects, what's difficult is to focus on just one or two at a time. Then there's the time factor.

Chased him all the way across the yard and down the road.

As an American raised in Hawaii, my sense of time and urgency, or lack thereof, rests comfortably between wazungu and African. The pace here doesn't drive me crazy, but then, maybe I've just adapted. In America, time is money. In Africa, time is time, and hamna shida, there's plenty of it.

Just painting a classroom involves a multitude of delays. If I run out of blue paint I go into town and back, which takes all day, or I can ask Abdallah (handsome daladala driver and one of my adult students) to pick it up for me, again all day . Lots of things here take all day, or longer.  But I usually work multiple projects, so I can flit from one to another depending upon the availability of supplies.

The winner. Hard to imagine a 

chicken looking proud of 

himself, but this one does. 

Yes, this is what I do with my time.

But sooner or later (mostly later), things get done and ninafurahi kabisa to announce that the checkechea is finished. It's been likizo so I was able to proceed unimpeded by classes and kids. On Monday, Martha , Mary and I will prepare the room for school on Tuesday. The screens are about as dusty as they can get while still letting in light and air. The floors are a horror.

Berega Community Library. 

Told you it was small. I'm going to

Dar this weekend to beef up 

the English grammar, math, and

 the health and medicine section.

The kids have done very well, everyone knows their letters and numbers, in and out of order. Some can count up to 150. In varying degrees, they can write numbers from 1-150 as we call them out, read a few words, do simple addition, speak some English, lots of stuff. I'm really impressed, and the parents are more than happy.

Animals labeled in English and Kiswahili. 

Used the same as 

everything else on the walls. 

Nothing is just one thing. Everything 

a color, a sound...

AND the Berega Community Library is done as well. It's smaller than small, we just painted the walls white, borrowed some bricks from the pastor next door, and laid planks over them, old hippie style. As we get more books, we can add more bricks and planks, but it's operational. People are filtering in, getting books, and telling their friends.
We offer the usual library menu, adventure, mystery, and a few bodice rippers, lakini as it's located inside the Anglican Church school building I've avoided titles featuring words like heaving, throbbing or burgeoning. We also have a Kiswahili section for adults and kids, lots of English story books, and grammar books for all levels. There's a bilingual health and medicine section, and some of the hospital staff and nursing students are coming to get books to improve their English and prepare for exams.

Aissa and Jeska, two of my adult students, pluralizing. 

Kiswahili pluralizes from the front, and doesn't use a or an.

It's a process.

Last week I sent out a gangmail asking for money for a laminator, and accessories. Thanks to Evelyn, Patti, Chris, and whoever put money directly in my bank account, I have enough. There's some surplus which I will use to buy yet more books, if that's ok with the donors.
One of the things I plan to do is rip out the pages from all the workbooks I've collected, erase the answers, and laminate them so we can use them milele na milele. Schools here are generally resource free, so hopefully after I've plasticized everything in sight we can have a teachers resource section.

This is how we teach numbers, 

and fruit, and sentences. Also

a and an. I want an apple and a banana.

Last week I was talking with Sylvia and Isabelle, the owners of Ricky's Cafe (home of Black Forest Cake and ice cream). I mentioned needing books for the library, so they took me to a tiny hole in the wall shop way in the back of the market and I bought over 100 books, 20 plastic animals and about 30 little matchbox cars for 60,000 tsh, a good deal.This is why I talk to everyone. S and I are also boxing up some old books for me.
The kids are nuts over the cars and plastic animals, and spent about an hour lining them up till I showed them how to push the cars up and down every available surface. Now they're crawling all over the place. African kids are creative, and make their own toys out of sticks and mud and anything else lying around. I save my plastic bags and broken flip flops for them and they use them to make soccer balls, lorry tires, lots of stuff, but these are new and different and the word is out. I can hardly walk down the street without a troop of dusty little watoto trailing behind. Wait till I've finished the blocks.

Days of the week and below greetings using position of the sun.

There's a group of fundi wa mbao (carpenters) that work near my house, and they saved all the end pieces and made about 200 blocks, all different sizes and shapes. I'm painting them now, planning to draw numbers and letters and words on them as well, because Mungu forbid something should just be fun. The thing is, preschool is just games, so the kids are learning painlessly and playfully, and it's fun to watch.

Where the kids practice writing letters. Also note the letters 

out of order. Below is the transport section we use for sentences,

letter sounds...

Wall mural. Hard to see but we 

use this to teach nouns, verbs 

and pronouns. The boy is sitting on the rock. 

He is swimming in the river...

We do math with little blocks, and if I say to make 5 + 5 they make 2 groups of five, then count 'em up. The usual. One day after 5+5  I said "Now make 6 + 4" and two of the kids just moved a block from one pile to another. Ninashangaa sana. That's pretty sophisticated for a five year old who hasn't had a TV or computer or books. Smart kids.
The adult students are doing fine. They aren't as fast as the kids, but they work, farm, cook... Still they've made a lot of progress but I've decided that English is a dopey language. It's totally unexplainable, there's exceptions to every rule, and homonyms are just unfair.
Kiswahili has its wierdness as well, but on the plus side, there's fewer words to learn. Big is kubwa, very big is kubwa sana and really really big is kubwa kabisa and that's pretty much it for big. So I showed them the probably 200 English words for big in my laptop thesaurus. They looked appropriately intimidated.

At first we taught up to 20, then 40, 

and it was so easy we upped 

to 150 and they're learning it. 

So that's how the first six months have gone, and I'm satisfied. I hope all the Sisters at St. Theresa's and Sacred Hearts are happy to see that I'm finally "using my free time wisely." The plan now is to paint the Kiswahili chekechea across the courtyard. But I think I might take a few weeks off from painting to get the smell of paint thinner out of my skin and scrub off the remaining paint splatters on my person. It's a handy way to teach colors though, half the village knows all their primary colors from watching me walk home from work.
Brad Logan is coming next week, he's the doc who runs Hands4Africa, the org that sent me here. I gave him a yard long Santa list and he's got it all. Some exciting things coming, equipment, computer stuff, but most important, a box of Oreos. By and large the cookies hare are stale, or taste like pesticide, or both. I still eat them, it's what we have, but I'm looking forward to eating the middle out of my favorite store bought cookie.

Shapes and colors.

And THEN, Patti is sending me some home made chocolate chip walnut cookies in the mail. Yes, you can do that, if anyone else feels the urge. Not sure how well peanut butter cookies would travel but hamna shida, I would suck up the crumbs without complaint.
Just ate an eye, a little one, but an eye nonetheless. I've been avoiding eating eyes, picking around them while politely refusing the actual orb. In Ghana, one of the kids rolled a couple across my desk just to see what I'd do. I looked at the eyes, they looked at me, and I rolled them back to Alice, who ate them. Guess I've gotten over the trauma, because today I caved under the pressure and had a little fried fish, guppy sized, with the eyes still attached. From Moshi, where apparently the fish is good. Maybe by the next six month report I'll have eaten a big eyed fish, you never know.


Nakupenda.

Firsts

Just got back from 5 days in Arusha, aka wazungu paradise. I've never seen so many white people in an African city. Apparently Arusha is the seat of international relations and tourism in Tanzania. But the real draw is an actual coffee house with muffins and everything, which is what I ate, everything. Plus great Indian food. I did other things besides eat, but I will admit it was a major focus.

Soko Kuu picture taken at waist level, the best I could do.

My purpose was actually twofold, to explore the big city book market and to visit my friend James. Also wanted to see a man about some walls but the internet was so bad I couldn't  contact him. Hard to believe that the seat of international relations and tourism has such spotty electricity, we do better in Berega with our little solar panels. I'm told it's a political issue, but I'm willing to bet the president and all his cronies have a reliable connection.

A store in Arusha. Interesting sign, I almost 

went in to investigate but decided on a 

coffee instead, the American lubricant.

It's about 10 hours by bus from Berega to Arusha, big buses, no goats or chickens, but packed tightly enough with humans. The seats are almost big enough for the average sized African, which I am not, but I had a book so was fine. The hotel was mzuri sana. Very clean, self contained, and affordable, much classier than my usual lodgings when I'm  in Dar. I could have gotten into a backpackers hostel for about 1/3 the price but Been There Done That, and if I can't afford a room with a toilet at my age then something has gone horribly wrong.




Spent most of the days walking the streets looking for book shops. I was looking for books to help my adult students, plus novels for the library.The actual stores were great, lots of variety and reasonably priced, but the street vendors are the mother lode. Some have a small wooden booth, others a table on the sidewalk or down an alley, still others a big cart with all types of books thrown in. They're like potato chips, I can't pass by and I can't just visit one. In the stores the prices are set, and written on the cover, but on the street it's all about bargaining.

Walking home

At one cart I picked about fifteen books. The vendor was never far, gently offering me this and that, but when the bargaining began a dozen guys appeared, all wanting to weigh in. Just random guys on the street, other vendors, passing Massai, whoever. I offered a lump sum, but evidently the vendor wanted to extol the merits of EACH book and dicker till the goats came home.

Where the goats sleep

I don't mind bargaining, it's the culture, but there's a limit. Plus, every time I tried to talk him down I got mafuta mafuta (petrol).This is the usual crap I get when they want to jack up the price because I'm mzungu. My friend calls it the skin tax. Apparently the cost of transporting books into Arusha is factored into the price as though each book is brought into town in it's own car. I kept telling him siyo mtalii (not a tourist) and it finally sunk in and I got a decent price. As this entire transaction was conducted in Kiswahili, you'd think he'd have realized I wasn't new to the bargaining table, but they see my white skin and figure I've got a load of money on me, which by their standards I absolutely do. In the end, I paid partial skin tax and everyone was happy, including all the extra guys hanging about.

In between the bookstores I visited the coffee shop. Yes, I've been talking a lot about food, but in the village my choices are limited, and that's putting it kindly, so when presented with actual variety I'm like a prisoner on death row. They have black forest cake there too, even better than in Morogoro. And shakes, shakes of all varieties. I will return occasionally till I have eaten my way through the menu.




Had a great paneer tikka at a small Indian place in the middle of town, and spent most of the meal talking to the owner, Albert, who has a cousin in Morogoro working in education. So he will call her and she and I will meet. Also the sweet lassi was great.

Massai market, again at waist level.

I talk to everyone, it's just the way I am, you never know who you're going to meet. I was hanging around the soko kuu (big market), just looking around, surreptitiously taking pictures. I usually hold my camera at waist level and hope for the best, asante Mungu for the delete button. Markets are so alive, lots of vendors, noise, things to buy and sell. While I was there I was talking to a shop owner and he invited me home to lunch with his family. What's nice about being my age is invitations to lunch are usually just that. I met his family, and had a wonderful lunch. Her samosas were terminally delicious.




I was complimenting her on the food, and mentioned that I generally avoid cooking, which she thought was hysterically funny. Their family is originally from India, where women cook, and she spends a good part of every day doing just that. I really need to go to India siku moja (one day). I got karibu tenaed (welcomed again), and will hopefully see them next trip. I'm sure she'd delighted to show me how to make vegetable samosas, convert me into a proper cooking woman and all that.

James village, a nice place to live

Africans of any origin are probably the most welcoming people on the planet. They generally have little, but are more than happy to share. When they say karibu, they don't mean "let's have lunch sometime", but now, and stay awhile if you like. Bring some luggage.

Massai BBQ, note hanging meat in background.

My friend James worked in the lab at Berega Hospital, and now lives and works in Arusha. He's the same age as my kids, likes music as much as I do, and we got to be friends. He's very forthcoming about African culture, and very curious about mine. Plus he's fluent in English so we can and will discuss any topic.




I had heard that there was a theater in Arusha, and spent an inordinate amount of time locating it. Having done that, I asked James if he likes the movies and he said he'd never been. Imagine. So we went.

There were 2 options, a Bollywood film and Hangover 2. I'd never seen Hangover 1, would never have seen it if I was in America, but there's only one theater and it shows only two movies, so we chose Hangover. Had a burrito first, also a first for James. The movie was a hoot, and we had popcorn too. James was astounded by the whole experience, and vows to go again. He also had his first Indian meal. Another hit.

Burros are used widely in this area, for 

carrying everything, especially water

Ladies in this area carry loads in this fashion,
looks hard on the neck.

James is half Massai, and comes from a village "not far" from Arusha. I've mentioned before that wazungu and Africans differ in our concept of distance. "Not far" entailed a cab ride, 2 daladalas and a pikipiki, but it was well worth the trip. His village is in the hills, so it was nice and cool, and as it was Saturday, there was the weekly Massai market. We wandered around and then went to his house, further into the hills where they grow maize, and millet for beer.

James shucking mahindi for ugali.

This was just a day trip, but James' mom karibued me for a week next time, and I'd love to go. This village is beautiful, interesting and new. Massai have an entirely different culture, and I'd love to tramp around in it for a week. He knows every one in the village, so I can take a million pictures.

Not sure this is why God made nostrils, 

but if you have to cook a goat head...

Local Massai house made of dirt, cow manure and ash.

Many Massai have left the village to get educated and find better jobs, after which they support their relatives. I asked if it's difficult straddling two cultures, and he said it's ok, because the world has changed so he has also. He said he wants an educated, uncut wife, and will do his best to educate his kids and teach them English. He wears western clothes, but he's still just another moran when he's in the village.




Most Massai recognize the need for some to go out and do what James and others have done. But he said next time we go to his village he'll take me further back where they live in the truly old style.

Going home from the market

Moving into the first world is a balancing act, you get the good with the bad, and in the end, each culture will pick and choose what suits them. But it will be a sad day when I see fat, diabetic Massai eating take out pizza and watching Hawaii 5-0 reruns.

We visited with his mom and sisters, then headed back to the market to catch the daladala. It was the end of market day, getting dark, and there was a crowd. When the daladala came, there was the usual last helicopter from Hanoi pushing and shoving. They offered me a seat, cause I'm mzungu, but I really hate that, and it's never a good ride when you sit in the front while everyone else sits packed like a can of dagaa in the back.




So while we waited, James and I exchanged war stories about shoving our way into various African transports. Eventually you have to, or else you just stand there till you die. To my shame, I once elbowed a kid so I could get into the bus. In my defense, he was a medium sized kid, and he was looking to shove me too, I just beat him to it.

The last daladala arrived, and as people were exiting the bus, folks were entering. It's a mad rush. We were in the front of the entering group, and were more or less pushed into the front seat, which was just fine. We just got settled in when my door opened and a very tall Massai teenager with baggage jumped in and sat on my lap. No hello, no do you mind, just plop, there she was. I love this place.

It was a good trip, but after five days I had spent and eaten more than I had planned, and was starting to get headaches from the exhaust fumes and general city pollution so am now back home, where the sky is clear, the food is way too predictable, and I don't have to pay the skin tax. Life is good. Always good.

Nakupenda

You Say Tomato

I believe we are all exactly alike but at the same time totally different. We all want the same things; good food, warm houses, healthy kids, all that stuff, but we go about it differently. Part of life in a different country is experiencing an entirely new culture, seeing how my new neighbors go about their lives, all the while trying not to make too big a jackass out of myself.
Crooking your index finger to call a person to you is so vile in Tz it took me over a year to convince someone to tell me what it means. At the same time, everyone here points with their middle finger. I've been flipped off by everyone in Tz with sufficient manual dexterity to lift the middle while simultaneously bending the surrounding two .

My neighbors kids playing with fire.
It's the TZ version of an Easy Bake Oven.

My neighbor Ruth Mgego came over the other night. She's married to Isaac, the hospital director, and we have become good friends. They correct my Kiswahili, which is improving, and are happy to explain local culture to me. I've said before that all tribes are different, have different characteristics and traits, but some things are pretty standard.

It's likizo now, and folks are packing up to visit family and friends, like we do everywhere. The difference here is that an entire family can (and probably will) descend upon their relatives for the whole vacation. Usually a prosperous family member hosts, (in the Mgego family it's Isaac), and at this time 11 people have arrived to stay as long as they want, maybe even until school resumes.




There are 2 long breaks during the school year, so this can happen twice yearly, and perhaps more will come next time. According to Ruth, it's the wageni (guests) responsibility to get themselves to their destination. But that's where it ends. Some can bring rice or whatever, if they want, but it's the responsibility of the host to feed and house the wageni for as long as they wish to stay. In this case, maybe 4-5 weeks. Then, when it's time to leave, the host family pays the return ticket and gives parting gifts to the guests. As school is resuming in August, these gifts are likely to be clothes, shoes or money. These are not hard and fast rules, but it's what's happening next door.

Yams. These kids are good at making a fire. I'm still learning.

It's basically an extended family reunion, with lots of people to help with cooking and cleaning. I asked Ruth if this is burdensome, and she said they will be financially strapped for month or so afterward, but she's used to it, they're family, and anyway, you can't refuse. So hamna shida. Besides, she says the house is big enough. It's actually not much bigger than mine, and I can't begin to imagine eleven people in here. Ruth said as long as you can fit 2-3 people in a bed, hamna shida.

My friends big mother. All a woman's female 

siblings are her child's mother, 

a big mother or a small mother, depending

 on birth order. Same goes for men

If you are well raised, and gainfully employed, it is your duty is to build a house for your parents, even before you build yours. And as a well educated and prosperous person, the education of the entire clan falls to you. School fees are a huge burden, and sometimes only one or two children in a family can be educated, so those that are educated assume responsibility for the rest.This is all done without grudge or whining, again, it's just the way it is. It's also why, according to Isaac, educated people never get ahead like they do in other countries. You just pay, and pay and pay.

The beginning of ugali. It's harvest and you can

 find a mound of maize in front of most houses

The women take the kernels off the cob 

( which can then be used for fuel or yikes! toilet paper)

The kernels are dried (see behind the mound), then washed and milled. It's tasteless and almost devoid of nutrients, but its cheap.

I asked what would happen if someone would refuse and Ruth just looked a me and laughed. It's rarely done, it would be shida kubwa sana. There are people who do this, but they are not well looked on, and were probably poorly raised. If you live very far away, maybe you can get away with it, but you must live far, far away.

Village life is all about relationships, and following the rules, and to go outside these norms is not good for either the person or the village. Ruth asked about America, and I had to say that while we all follow the same general customs, Americans are a lot more independent, more mobile, and a lot less crowded. Also we aren't financially responsible for everyone in our entire gene pool.

Bikes have made it possible to carry over 100 lbs

 of water at one time.

It's also the only way a man will do it.

Isaac said that nowadays, with all the new ideas coming in, many changes are happening, which is both good and bad. Good because it gives people a chance at improved education, health, general well being. But these new things do supplant some of the old ways, and herein is the clash. Old customs are falling away, and he's sad about this. For example, years ago he'd send his son Mbuli to his bibi (grandmother) for a few months during the year, but now he can't because of school.

In the past, women would weave and 

use lovely baskets. Plastic bags were

introduced and now these used bags 

are everywhere. Sometimes change 

isn't for the better.

It took America and other developed countries hundreds of years to gradually get to where we are, for good or bad. So when we go to a developing country to show off all our good stuff and tell them they can have this too, we forget that they didn't get the same centuries worth of adjustment. It's a difficult jump to make, and we shouldn't be surprised when some things fall flat.

From small, little girls practice carrying objects on their heads, starting with small things like a pot or a small half filled container. The women will comment as they pass by, call advice or laugh. As time goes by the size and weight, as well as the fullness of the bucket increases, and it's a matter of pride to do this well. It's part of being a woman in Africa. Running water, while convenient, would change this, and although I think the ladies would be more than happy to adjust, it will be an ancient part of life that will be gone.




Some practices are just wrong, no matter how ancient. Female circumcision is gradually going by the wayside in some areas, but very gradually, and surprisingly, much of the resistance comes from the women. In some cultures a girl cannot become a proper woman, and marry a good man, unless she's been cut. So the older ladies are horrified that young women should want to do otherwise.

Brick making in Berega. Behind this is
a really big hole where they get the clay.

Most teachers and parents alike believe that a student will not learn unless they are occasionally beaten, it was done to them zamani na zamani into the ancestors. It's not a good thing to beat a kid, but at the same time, the kids here are pretty well behaved. Being well acquainted with our wazungu attitude toward corporal punishment, and how can I put this nicely, the way some wazungu kids act, I find myself occasionally confused about my feelings on this issue.




Not sure where I've been going with this, I guess I'm just trying to tell you about life here. Besides, there's been no cats in the toilet, no recent episodes of typhoid, nothing exciting this week. 

If you ever wonder what happened 

to all the phone booths in America, 

here they are.

I did have a strange dream the other night, in which I was preparing to wed Bayona, the hospital electrician and driver. He's in his 30s, married and has a son, strangely not an issue in my dream. We were looking at cakes, wonderful cakes, when he told me I was required to produce at least one son. At this point I told him that not only am I well past child bearing age, but I have no ovaries, as well as being uterusless. Hamna shida,  we told all the guests that the wedding was off, and there were no hard feelings.

This guy makes snake anti-venom he sells at the market.

Python was fed yesterday, so sleepy and more cuddly than usual.

Then followed a dream involving my old friend Sheila O'Malley who I haven't seen in 20 years. We were in a supermarket buying meat. Not just any meat, but slabs and slabs of good quality meat that only cost 47 cents/lb.We couldn't throw it into the cart fast enough. I imagine Freud would have a field day with this, but most likely I'm just protein deficient, and judging by the first dream, cake deprived.

I don't eat much meat on a good day, even less here, and I've spoken before about the free range fare offered in the village. Mostly I've likened it to meat flavored gum, you can chew it for hours till all the flavor is gone, then you stick it under your desk. If you boil it fir a good bit first you can actually digest it, but who has that much charcoal? 


I'm going to Morogoro in a few minutes, trolling for meat, possibly a 9000 tsh chicken or lunch at Ricky's Cafe where you can get real cake and ice cream. My standard meal when I go to town.

Update. The little girl with the perforated bowel came by for a follow up yesterday. She looks fabulous. Haven't seen Socks around, but occasionally hear a cat screaming and grit my teeth in anticipation of some grubby little urchin  with a long stick looking to negotiate a price. Also still haven't unearthed the perp. Sometimes I'm amazed at what occupies my mind and time. Was I like this in America?

OK, so I'm holding an 18 foot python but all I can think of is I 

look fat in this shirt.

It's evening, I've been to Morogoro, had chicken curry at Ricky's, followed by black forest cake and vanilla ice cream. It's the only place for many, many towns where you can get this, and tonight I sleep the sleep of the well fed.

Nakupenda

Traveling With Samaki

If you travel anywhere near the Malawi border you will undoubtedly travel with fish, either fresh or dried. And having been to Malawi and back on numerous occasions to renew my visa, I can say I prefer fresh.You can travel by daladala, taxi, bus or bike, it makes no difference. Even on foot there's bound to be a woman walking in front of you with a 40 #bucket of fish on her head.

There's a particular fish called dagaa, very small, very pungent when dried, usually eaten with ugali. I once rode a daladala from Kyela (near the border) to Tukuyu (not near the border), with 200 # of dagaa in the seat behind me. So yes, I do have a preference.

Fish drying racks, to ensure extra pungency.

This particular trip, I was in a shared taxi from Karonga to the border, and the fish were in large buckets directly behind me. A lovely woman in the front seat tried to convince me to switch seats with her, as a courtesy to the mzungu, but 1) it's an embarrassment to be treated differently because of my skin and 2) just about anywhere in a small car with 50 #of fish is ground zero, as far as I'm concerned.

There's 4 people in the front,(two in the drivers seat).

 Five in the middle, and three of us in the back. The fish were 

behind me in the back.

Anchors

Every three months I renew my visa, which requires that I cross a border, any border, and get a new 90 day stamp on my passport upon re-entry. Tanzania is bordered by Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique. Five of these countries I have not visited, and would love to, but Malawi has a no fee on entry policy with America, while Zambia charges 50 USD. So I go to Malawi. It's close, there's a nice place on Lake Malawi that I frequent, and all the border guys know me and don't hassle me anymore. This alone is enough to ensure my devotion.




I always like the Beach Chamber, it's located in the middle of a little fishing village in the town of Karonga, and I love to watch life around the lake. It's a huge part of life there, people washing clothes, kids, themselves, fishing in boats, or with poles, washing dishes, bikes, and selling their catch when they come to shore.

This is also the place where I got what my friend Anne calls machine gun diarrhea. But I didn't eat the street meat on the ride in, and I opted for chicken curry instead of the fish. Hamna shida, not even a cramp.

My boat guide

I love the birds, they come each evening to perch on a little island about 150 yards off shore, and fly off in the morning. Sunrise is right over the water, and I like to be up early to watch the fishermen go out to set nets or come in with their catch. Some go out at night and sleep on the islands, others go out in the am.

While I was taking pictures of the beached boats before sunrise, a couple of guys came to begin their day, we struck a deal, and I was in the boat. It was too fun, in spite of the fact that there's no stabilizers on these boats. It's all balance, which these guys have plenty of given they do it everyday.




They were eager for me to stand up, just for the experience, and hamna shidaed me about fifty times. I however, don't do this everyday, and was sitting in the canoe with a $500 camera. Years ago, I was in a canoe paddling club, so I'm no stranger to falling out of a boat, and will try it cameraless next time.

kids fishing

We spent about an hour on the water, and on a little island offshore. It was great, I got some beautiful pictures, and next time will arrange a sunset trip for the birds. I've never taken pictures from a canoe on open water, it had it's challenges, but the view was astounding. All in all a good crossing. Then on to Mbeya for graduation.




About 3 years ago I was approached by my friends Alice and David Simpokolwe, Zambians living in Mbeya. They are Batizo's guardians, a young woman from a far away village. She was living with David and Alice, but wanted to go to nursing school. They were looking for a sponsor, and as I love to help make a nurse, I said ok.




She applied for a spot at Mbalizi Nursing School, and out of 700 applicants, she was one of about 50 accepted. So last Saturday she graduated, a very happy day. She's now a trained midwife.

The director of the hospital here in Berega has offered her a job, and I did talk to her about it, but as education is all about having options, I asked her to think about it and choose wisely and dispassionately. I would hate for her to come to Berega because she felt an obligation toward me. She doesn't owe me a thing.

more kids fishing

I did tell her about Berega. It's a great place, I love it, but there's nothing to do.  If I was her, I'd go to Arusha or Iringa, or stay in Mbeya. These are big towns with theaters, libraries, restaurants, places to spend the money she's about to make. David and Alice are coming up to see her this week, and they will all talk. Her decision.

When I go to Mbeya, I usually stay with my friends John and Kay, very down to earth missionaries originally from Australia. I've mentioned them before, they're the ones who adopted Asha, a little Maasai girl. She's nine now, and has been home schooled by her mom. Asha is about the smartest little 9 year old I know, and has loads upon loads of books she's used over the years. Kay was more than happy to unload some of these on me, and I was more than happy to accept. So I returned to Berega with 2 travel bags loaded with books, to be added to the huge bag of books I got in Dar. So begins Berega Community Library.




We need a library, folks here like to read, there just aren't any books. SO, for those of you who have sent books, asante and send more. Haven't gotten them yet, but hamna shida, they will arrive. We use the Anglican Church PO Box so there's very little theft. If you send a box to Ghana, you ensure safe delivery by scrawling dire warnings on the box promising "a curse on he who steals from orphans". Apparently you dont need to do that here if you use a church PO Box.

Life on shore is busy.

Kay told me that if you want to send me boxes of books, write Educational Material on the green sticker that they attach at the post office. This doesn't make it any cheaper for you, but it does keep me out of the TRA office. TRA is the Tanzania Revenue Authority, known far and wide as the most corrupt agency in Tz, if not the entire continent. They get to make their own rules, there is little govt interference, and therefore can gouge you for as much as they want. BUT they are not allowed to interfere with Educational Material. It's their one rule. Anyone interested in sending more books, contact me for particulars.

Update. It's Sunday afternoon now, and I just got back from dropping Waziri off at St. Alpha's Secondary School. Father Ricardo let him start mid year, without an entrance exam, because I told him the kid was bright. Which he is. Father Ricardo is a priest from Italy and has lived and worked in Tz for twenty years. He runs the school, wears a brown robe and no shoes. He's a little eccentric, but I like hat.

Hauling in the nets

This school is bare bones, Waziri will live with seventy five other guys, do his own laundry, clean the dorm, and have all of ten dollars spending money monthly. But there's a soccer team and kids from this school go to university. He's happy, and he deserves this. But he's a village kid, for sure. I gave him some money when we got to town and told him to get some supplies and meet me in an hour. So he got lost and showed up two hours later.




Students need to provide their own mattresses and linens, among other things, and there's two kinds. One costs $28 USD and the other $56. I asked him what kind he used at home and he just looked at me and I realized he doesn't have one at home. Lots of kids sleep on the floor here, so he's happy with the cheap one. He will be happy to adjust.

fish market

Where I was

Too bad you cant see this bigger, or in person, it eas really nice.

So far, a good likizo. Hope to go to Arusha and Iringa in the coming weeks, see what kind of Chinese food they have.

Nakupenda

I'm not lying when I say R and L are interchangeable. I saw this on 

a commercially printed calendar in Malawi.