To those visitors who still come across this blog here and there...
I am leaving for Thailand and India tomorrow! Because this blog was specific to my Tanzanian adventures, I will be starting a new blog. This one will include all of my future travel experiences, and I hope to share them in a similar format to what I did with this one. Thank you for all those who visited and followed Asante Sana.... my new blog address is:
www.whereisgraeme.blogspot.com
I hope you visit!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Soap My Ears and I'll Follow You Anywhere
Only a couple days before I left, I had one of the best experiences of my time in Moshi. I left for Tanzania having already not had a proper haircut for sometime. After dealing with the scraggly look for six weeks, I finally decided I needed to take care of it. I was very sceptical as to how the haircut would turn out, as I assumed that not many Tanzanian barbers have dealt with ‘white people’ hair before.
The barber shop my local friends took me too looked like one straight out of a Spike Lee movie from the 80’s. I showed them a picture of what I wanted done (courtesy my Health Card), and he went to work. He cut all of my hair with clippers, just varying the number from the side, to the mid-side, to the top. Hakuna scissors. At the end, they spray your hair with olive oil instead of using some sort of product like gel or wax, weird by our standards but it doesn’t really make much of a difference. I was pretty pleased with the outcome, but they weren’t done there. I then got a straight-razor shave from my barber. After he was finished he passed me off to one of the girls there, and this is when I started to regret not going this every single week I’d ever been in Moshi. First, she washed my hair. Sounds simple enough, but when they wash your hair they get all up in the ears and go to town on your scalp. It was awesome. Next, she wiped my face and neck off with a hot, moist towel, like the ones you get on the airplane. After the airplane towel treatment came the best part – a head, face, neck, shoulders and chest massage complete with oils. I have never had a chest massage before, but I’m now convinced it’s the best kind. All this for the equivalent of $3.50. I’m thinking about missing my flight to Toronto and hoping on the next plane back to Moshi so I can marry this girl. Haha.
..One more reason to come back at a later date. :-)
The barber shop my local friends took me too looked like one straight out of a Spike Lee movie from the 80’s. I showed them a picture of what I wanted done (courtesy my Health Card), and he went to work. He cut all of my hair with clippers, just varying the number from the side, to the mid-side, to the top. Hakuna scissors. At the end, they spray your hair with olive oil instead of using some sort of product like gel or wax, weird by our standards but it doesn’t really make much of a difference. I was pretty pleased with the outcome, but they weren’t done there. I then got a straight-razor shave from my barber. After he was finished he passed me off to one of the girls there, and this is when I started to regret not going this every single week I’d ever been in Moshi. First, she washed my hair. Sounds simple enough, but when they wash your hair they get all up in the ears and go to town on your scalp. It was awesome. Next, she wiped my face and neck off with a hot, moist towel, like the ones you get on the airplane. After the airplane towel treatment came the best part – a head, face, neck, shoulders and chest massage complete with oils. I have never had a chest massage before, but I’m now convinced it’s the best kind. All this for the equivalent of $3.50. I’m thinking about missing my flight to Toronto and hoping on the next plane back to Moshi so I can marry this girl. Haha.
..One more reason to come back at a later date. :-)
Miss Kilimanjaro
While currently writing this, I am sitting on a bench in an Amsterdam train station. I am no longer in Tanzania, but I was unable to share some of my experiences during the last two weeks of my stay, so the next couple posts will be making up for that lost time, as they are still my tales of Africa.
Last weekend, we – a pronoun that now includes a number of old CCS volunteers, some other volunteers I have met during my time in Moshi, and of course our local friends – decided to attend the Miss Kilimanjaro Beauty Pageant that was hosted at a local club called La Liga. For obvious cultural differences between Tanzania and the West, we didn’t really know what to expect from this event, which of course was the draw for us.
Let me set the scene for you a little bit…
La Liga has the slogan of being “the number 1 club in East Africa”, although advertising claims like this often go undisputed in Tanzania. Usually, it is open Thursday through Sunday and functions much like clubs at home, but with way more lasers, smoke and foam pouring over you while you shakey shakey with what is usually a 50-50 mzungu-local ratio. Unlike what we’re used to back home, people don’t show up at the club until around 1:30, and it doesn’t close until about 8 in the morning. It is complete with light up palm trees at the tables, a stage on which we frequently dance that looms over the rest of the light-up dance floor, and paintings of scandalous women on the walls. It’s a great place, and the location which hosted the pageant.
The show took place on a stage outside the club in the stoned “patio” area. It started out in pretty regular fashion. A mix of famous bongo-flava artists and dance performers kicked off the night with performances of their own in front of the ~500 people in attendance. The contestants then came out and performed a dance together. The girls were all gorgeous, many of them quite comparable to what would be seen in a beauty contest back home, only they wore far more clothing and had a little bit more “junk in the trunk”. They introduced each contestant, at which time the girls gave a speech telling the audience and judges their level of education, future ambitions, favourite hobbies, and the designer of their dress. The names they listed for their designer were not that of big name designers, but often they simply said, “I designed and made my dress myself.” The dresses were crazy, some of them complete with ancient Egyptian-esque head wear.
Just when we thought we became comfortable with the idea that the night might not be that different from what we would see at home, we were shown the talent section of the show. Back home, we would expect them to sing, dance etc. However, at the Miss Kilimanjaro Pageant, the first contestant performed a skit, which I can assure you was possibly the worst acted performance I have ever seen. On top of that, the plot was as follows: a woman becomes a prostitute, she has unprotected sex, she contract AIDS, and then she dies. Hello Miss Kilimanjaro. The next ten contestants performed something of similar quality, either lip-syncing a song, acting in an equally painful skit or dancing in a way that is far beneath the regularly incredible Tanzanian ability. One girl, however, did a comedy act that was actually hilarious. She dressed as a man, stuffed a beer belly underneath her shirt, and did a perfect slap-stick style interpretation of a man working in the fields – this was completely out of place and would never happen at any form of pageant elsewhere, but it was easily the best act.
We left the night, bewildered, unsure whether to laugh of be angry that we paid for the tickets. To top it off, the taxi that took us home had engine problems and could not go faster that 20km/h.
T.I.A.
Last weekend, we – a pronoun that now includes a number of old CCS volunteers, some other volunteers I have met during my time in Moshi, and of course our local friends – decided to attend the Miss Kilimanjaro Beauty Pageant that was hosted at a local club called La Liga. For obvious cultural differences between Tanzania and the West, we didn’t really know what to expect from this event, which of course was the draw for us.
Let me set the scene for you a little bit…
La Liga has the slogan of being “the number 1 club in East Africa”, although advertising claims like this often go undisputed in Tanzania. Usually, it is open Thursday through Sunday and functions much like clubs at home, but with way more lasers, smoke and foam pouring over you while you shakey shakey with what is usually a 50-50 mzungu-local ratio. Unlike what we’re used to back home, people don’t show up at the club until around 1:30, and it doesn’t close until about 8 in the morning. It is complete with light up palm trees at the tables, a stage on which we frequently dance that looms over the rest of the light-up dance floor, and paintings of scandalous women on the walls. It’s a great place, and the location which hosted the pageant.
The show took place on a stage outside the club in the stoned “patio” area. It started out in pretty regular fashion. A mix of famous bongo-flava artists and dance performers kicked off the night with performances of their own in front of the ~500 people in attendance. The contestants then came out and performed a dance together. The girls were all gorgeous, many of them quite comparable to what would be seen in a beauty contest back home, only they wore far more clothing and had a little bit more “junk in the trunk”. They introduced each contestant, at which time the girls gave a speech telling the audience and judges their level of education, future ambitions, favourite hobbies, and the designer of their dress. The names they listed for their designer were not that of big name designers, but often they simply said, “I designed and made my dress myself.” The dresses were crazy, some of them complete with ancient Egyptian-esque head wear.
Just when we thought we became comfortable with the idea that the night might not be that different from what we would see at home, we were shown the talent section of the show. Back home, we would expect them to sing, dance etc. However, at the Miss Kilimanjaro Pageant, the first contestant performed a skit, which I can assure you was possibly the worst acted performance I have ever seen. On top of that, the plot was as follows: a woman becomes a prostitute, she has unprotected sex, she contract AIDS, and then she dies. Hello Miss Kilimanjaro. The next ten contestants performed something of similar quality, either lip-syncing a song, acting in an equally painful skit or dancing in a way that is far beneath the regularly incredible Tanzanian ability. One girl, however, did a comedy act that was actually hilarious. She dressed as a man, stuffed a beer belly underneath her shirt, and did a perfect slap-stick style interpretation of a man working in the fields – this was completely out of place and would never happen at any form of pageant elsewhere, but it was easily the best act.
We left the night, bewildered, unsure whether to laugh of be angry that we paid for the tickets. To top it off, the taxi that took us home had engine problems and could not go faster that 20km/h.
T.I.A.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Breathing into a Paper Bag
The major grant application has been completed and sent away with restored optimism; the apartment is clean; my sister has arrived and is enjoying herself; my cooking has reached new heights; and the funding for Tuleeni's new land looks to be in place. All is going well here, yet I find myself in a panic, and in contrast to what would be normal, it is because things are going so well. I have had the disturbing realization that I leave in two weeks. I have built a way of life here - one which I am able to laugh, to sing loudly, to dance without restraint, and most importantly, to make a difference far beyond expectations.
Last year, when I returned home, I found it very hard to live happily with my at-home lifestyle. I struggled to go out with friends and to see value in the day-to-day routines of my Canadian home. Now, I tell myself that I will not face the same problems as I did last year, that I have dealt with this before. I tell myself this, but now it is without confidence. Truthfully, I would have to say that I have no idea how I will be when I return. What I can find comfort in now is that I know I can return. Last year, I left not knowing whether I would ever be back. But now, I know this is a place I will be throughout my life.
My work for White Orange Youth, Tuleeni, Moshi and Tanzania will not stop when I board the plane. This, for me, is a long term commitment, and that thought in itself also provides some comfort.
Last year, when I returned home, I found it very hard to live happily with my at-home lifestyle. I struggled to go out with friends and to see value in the day-to-day routines of my Canadian home. Now, I tell myself that I will not face the same problems as I did last year, that I have dealt with this before. I tell myself this, but now it is without confidence. Truthfully, I would have to say that I have no idea how I will be when I return. What I can find comfort in now is that I know I can return. Last year, I left not knowing whether I would ever be back. But now, I know this is a place I will be throughout my life.
My work for White Orange Youth, Tuleeni, Moshi and Tanzania will not stop when I board the plane. This, for me, is a long term commitment, and that thought in itself also provides some comfort.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Scrubby-Dub-Dub
It will likely come as no surprise that there are no washing machines here. All laundry is done by hand. It is funny now that I look at how, back home, laundry is seen as a chore when really all that you need to do is pile it into a machine and push a button. Here, it is a labour intensive process that can take all day, depending on how much you've let your dirty clothes pile up. And, what we view as dirty at home does not compare to what is dirty here. Pants are turned brown from mud and shirts are sweated in so much they smell like they've been sitting at the bottom of my hockey bag for a week. You have to scrub, and scrub, and scrub until they smell and look clean. They, you ring out the soap and put them in clean water. Then you ring out all the water and hang them to dry. Luckily, muhaha, I do not do our laundry. That was the deal from the start - I cook, Aubrey does laundry. I definately got the better end of the deal. I usually help ring out the clothes because it is actually a very good forearm workout and quite tiring.
However, I am not writing this post to tell you about Aubrey's laundry woes. Yesterday, we were at Tuleeni in the afternoon, as per usual. I have spoken before about how amazingly grown up and independent the children are, and yesterday I saw yet another example of that. I walked outside the orphanage gate to find Pendo, Queeni and Seleena washing their own clothes. For those of you who saw my pictures from last time, Queeni was the smallest girl at the orphanage. She only weighs about 30 pounds. Although I am not sure of the others' ages, they cannot be older than 6. I walked over and helped them scrub their socks. I am still amazed as to why locals continue to buy an abundance of white clothing even though they have to handwash the mud out of it. I spent about 15 minutes scrubbing each sock, as each time I thought I had done a satisfactory job, one of the girls would point to a small brown spot that I had missed. After my first sock, which they seemed to be quite impressed with, all the kids fought over whose sock I was going to wash next. It was pretty funny.
What is amazing is that I didn't learn how to turn a washing machine on until I was at least 14, and yet these kids wash their own clothes all the time in a fashion that I find to be quite difficult with smiles on their faces. It's a happy place to be.
However, I am not writing this post to tell you about Aubrey's laundry woes. Yesterday, we were at Tuleeni in the afternoon, as per usual. I have spoken before about how amazingly grown up and independent the children are, and yesterday I saw yet another example of that. I walked outside the orphanage gate to find Pendo, Queeni and Seleena washing their own clothes. For those of you who saw my pictures from last time, Queeni was the smallest girl at the orphanage. She only weighs about 30 pounds. Although I am not sure of the others' ages, they cannot be older than 6. I walked over and helped them scrub their socks. I am still amazed as to why locals continue to buy an abundance of white clothing even though they have to handwash the mud out of it. I spent about 15 minutes scrubbing each sock, as each time I thought I had done a satisfactory job, one of the girls would point to a small brown spot that I had missed. After my first sock, which they seemed to be quite impressed with, all the kids fought over whose sock I was going to wash next. It was pretty funny.
What is amazing is that I didn't learn how to turn a washing machine on until I was at least 14, and yet these kids wash their own clothes all the time in a fashion that I find to be quite difficult with smiles on their faces. It's a happy place to be.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Fun Swahili Terms
When reading these words, remember, Swahili is extremely phonetic. Its not like English where we have sketchy silent letters to simply screw up the poor spellers. "I"s are pronounced like a hard "E" like in 'seek'. All "a"s are soft like in 'tall'. "E"s are like hard "a"s like it babe. All consonants are just like they are in English, although they may be in weird combinations. Just pronounce every letter.
Shita Sana: "a lot of problems." The irony with this term lies in the fact that many of the problem you may encounter when in Tanzania revolve around the at-home meeting of the first word, the followed by sana, in this context meaning a lot of, is very fitting.
Juzi Juzi (pronounced juicy juicy): "the day before the day before yesterday". The fun with this term more is in the contrast between how ridiculous it sounds in comparison to how bland its meaning is.
Poa Kachizi Kama Ndizi: "cool and crazy like a banana". The fact that anyone would even say this here, and they do quite frequently, makes you understand how much a staple bananas are in the Tanzanian culture. Plus, it rhymes.
Pole Sana: "I am very sorry". Everyone is sorry for everything. Please see my post from last year titled by this term if you have not already. It will give you a pretty accurate account of its usage.
Shikamoo: "I touch your feet." This is an acknowledgment of respect you offer as a greeting to anyone who is older than you. Although its meaning is quite nice, last year we turned it into something of a sexual innuendo, saying things like, maybe if you're lucky I'll shikamoo you later. Not only has this unfortunate trend continued, it has escalated. pole sana.
Nimeelewa: "I understand". The problem with this word lies in the fact that if you fail to pronounce both 'e's and simply say Nimelewa, the meaning changes to "I am drunk". Not really sure who came up with that one.
That is all for now. I figured it was time for a silly post.
Shita Sana: "a lot of problems." The irony with this term lies in the fact that many of the problem you may encounter when in Tanzania revolve around the at-home meeting of the first word, the followed by sana, in this context meaning a lot of, is very fitting.
Juzi Juzi (pronounced juicy juicy): "the day before the day before yesterday". The fun with this term more is in the contrast between how ridiculous it sounds in comparison to how bland its meaning is.
Poa Kachizi Kama Ndizi: "cool and crazy like a banana". The fact that anyone would even say this here, and they do quite frequently, makes you understand how much a staple bananas are in the Tanzanian culture. Plus, it rhymes.
Pole Sana: "I am very sorry". Everyone is sorry for everything. Please see my post from last year titled by this term if you have not already. It will give you a pretty accurate account of its usage.
Shikamoo: "I touch your feet." This is an acknowledgment of respect you offer as a greeting to anyone who is older than you. Although its meaning is quite nice, last year we turned it into something of a sexual innuendo, saying things like, maybe if you're lucky I'll shikamoo you later. Not only has this unfortunate trend continued, it has escalated. pole sana.
Nimeelewa: "I understand". The problem with this word lies in the fact that if you fail to pronounce both 'e's and simply say Nimelewa, the meaning changes to "I am drunk". Not really sure who came up with that one.
That is all for now. I figured it was time for a silly post.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Communication Frustration
I, now, have the chance to do a lot of good. For the past week, Aubrey and I have been working ten hour days on a grant proposal for White Orange Youth. Unlike previous proposals that I have submitted, which have been year long projects worth only several thousands of dollars, this is a three year project worth close to a million dollars. If granted the proposal, White Orange Youth will be able to reach over five thousand people in nine districts across Tanzania. The proposal is for an advocacy and empowerment project, fighting for a change in the rights and policies of vulnerable children in Tanzania. It focuses on: creating a platform for the children to voice their needs and gives them the means to do so by orchestrating a massive publicity project and regular meetings with high-ranking government officials. We have a very good contact at the organization that would provide the funds, and have been given great feedback on the outline.
This is our chance to do an incredible amount of good on a far larger scale than we have before, and yet, it has been communication problems that have led to worries about a grant that seemed so promising not so long ago. We are playing email tag with our contact, sending and resending the comprehensive budget that I designed and the project logform that Aubrey has developed. Each time, we get feedback and are expected to make changes to what we have done. If anyone has ever tried this, it can be incredibly frustrating when the feedback is broad. For example, at first I submitted the budget in the format I was given, which was a very streamlined budget. Upon this submission she asked for a comprehensive version so it would be more evident as to what we were doing. So, I created one. Upon this submission, she asked for the budget to be condensed. Urgh.
We have no way to call her and ask specific questions.
It's a struggle... communication breakdown, its always the same. (Zeppelin anyone?)
On a side note, I have near perfected the market shopping. We now have a lot of food, several different spices, and we are eating just as well as I do at home. It's a good life in our humble abode.
This is our chance to do an incredible amount of good on a far larger scale than we have before, and yet, it has been communication problems that have led to worries about a grant that seemed so promising not so long ago. We are playing email tag with our contact, sending and resending the comprehensive budget that I designed and the project logform that Aubrey has developed. Each time, we get feedback and are expected to make changes to what we have done. If anyone has ever tried this, it can be incredibly frustrating when the feedback is broad. For example, at first I submitted the budget in the format I was given, which was a very streamlined budget. Upon this submission she asked for a comprehensive version so it would be more evident as to what we were doing. So, I created one. Upon this submission, she asked for the budget to be condensed. Urgh.
We have no way to call her and ask specific questions.
It's a struggle... communication breakdown, its always the same. (Zeppelin anyone?)
On a side note, I have near perfected the market shopping. We now have a lot of food, several different spices, and we are eating just as well as I do at home. It's a good life in our humble abode.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Same Old, Same Old Difference
It's funny, the first time I was here, I would sit down at the internet cafe and feel overwhelmed with all the things I could write on my blog. I felt as though I had so much to say, but I could not say it all, so I would have to choose one particular issue to talk about. Now, however, I struggle to find things to say. I have thought this through and determined that because the first time I was here, everything was a shock; everything was new. Now, I feel as though I am just living my life, so what I say when people ask me "what's up", is a lot like what I would say if I were back in Canada - "...same old, same old." I find that I have to remind myself that the things I do here on a regular basis are things that most people reading this blog have never seen. So, I will take this opportunity to write about my average day in Tanzania, so that you can get a feel for what my "same old, same old" really is.
I usually wake up at 9 am local time here, far earlier than my normal sleep in time at home. At our apartment, I cook, Aubrey does laundry. That's the agreement. So when I wake up, if we have no pressing timeline, I make breakfast. With our most recent trip to the market, we stocked up on several essentials that we were missing before - like eggs. Now, to paint you a more vivid picture of life here, eggs do not come in a carton, as they would back home. Instead, you simply choose the number of eggs you want from the stand at the market, and they put them in a plastic bag. It was laughable how careful we were when we were carrying them back home - I made Aubrey do it, as I have no doubt they would have broken if left in my hands. So lately breakfast has consisted of onion, tomato, carrott and green pepper omlettes with toast that is made in the frying pan - like grilled cheese (hakuna cheese).
After breakfast, we head to either to town or to the White Orange Youth office to meet with one of the employees from the organization to talk about what we plan to do, or what we have done. This usually takes a while, because we have found that people do not really provide you with information here. You have to ask specific questions to get exactly what you are looking for. For example, the second day we were here, we asked if there was anything they wanted us to do. In a very calm, non-rushed sort of way we were informed that they wanted us to finish a grant application.
us - "Oh, great. We have something to do. When does it need to be finished by?"
them - "Tomorrow."
Things like this happen here all the time. What would have happened had we not arrived? The work they had put into the grant thus far probably would have gone to waste. So, in this case, we finished writing most of the grant, asking questions every five seconds because really, we knew nothing about the project. After most of the grant application was done, we found out that there was a hard copy of all the information they had about what they wanted to do with the project in the filing cabinet. We simply just had to laugh, read it over, change what we wrote before, and finish the rest of the grant. That is typically how the meetings at the WOY office go.
After that, we might head to town, to use the internet or run errands. After that, we return home for dinner - a task that has proven quite interesting so far. Cooking at home is so easy compared to here - you have so many more resources. Here, I am cooking on a camping stove. I have a small frying pan and a medium sized pot. There is no fancy sauces, I cannot buy spices because I have no idea what the names are in Swahili, there is no frozen food, and there are no instructions. The first time I really cooked, I made a stir fry with some fresh veggies, seasoned with salt, pepper, and lime, and put it on rice. It wasn't bad, however, there is only so many times you can make the same meal. Last night, was not as big of a success - we attempted spaghetti. They do not sell spaghetti sauce here, so I trusted Aubrey to make it from scratch. She used tomato paste, diluted with water, vegetables and garlic. Sounds right, doesn't it? But, needless to say, we were still pretty hungry by the time we decided we couldn't eat any more of it.
Following our dinner adventures, we have a couple activities to choose from: read, hang out, go out, or watch a movie. There is a pub close by called 'Kool Bar' that is a fun place to be. Many of our local friends go there to hang out and play pool - an activity that I have also engaged in. They are very serious about their pool here. The table and cue ball are slightly smaller and the rules are a bit different; the main one being that if you scratch, your opponent gets to shoot twice. There is a man, who is dressed as though he is a card dealer in Vegas, who racks the balls and monitors who goes next. He lookes horribly out of place in the rugged, casual setting that fills the rest of the bar.
After we come home, or the movie is over etc... it is bed time. I crawl under the new misquito net and hopefully lala salama (sleep peacefully).
That is a day in the life of Tanzanian Graeme
I usually wake up at 9 am local time here, far earlier than my normal sleep in time at home. At our apartment, I cook, Aubrey does laundry. That's the agreement. So when I wake up, if we have no pressing timeline, I make breakfast. With our most recent trip to the market, we stocked up on several essentials that we were missing before - like eggs. Now, to paint you a more vivid picture of life here, eggs do not come in a carton, as they would back home. Instead, you simply choose the number of eggs you want from the stand at the market, and they put them in a plastic bag. It was laughable how careful we were when we were carrying them back home - I made Aubrey do it, as I have no doubt they would have broken if left in my hands. So lately breakfast has consisted of onion, tomato, carrott and green pepper omlettes with toast that is made in the frying pan - like grilled cheese (hakuna cheese).
After breakfast, we head to either to town or to the White Orange Youth office to meet with one of the employees from the organization to talk about what we plan to do, or what we have done. This usually takes a while, because we have found that people do not really provide you with information here. You have to ask specific questions to get exactly what you are looking for. For example, the second day we were here, we asked if there was anything they wanted us to do. In a very calm, non-rushed sort of way we were informed that they wanted us to finish a grant application.
us - "Oh, great. We have something to do. When does it need to be finished by?"
them - "Tomorrow."
Things like this happen here all the time. What would have happened had we not arrived? The work they had put into the grant thus far probably would have gone to waste. So, in this case, we finished writing most of the grant, asking questions every five seconds because really, we knew nothing about the project. After most of the grant application was done, we found out that there was a hard copy of all the information they had about what they wanted to do with the project in the filing cabinet. We simply just had to laugh, read it over, change what we wrote before, and finish the rest of the grant. That is typically how the meetings at the WOY office go.
After that, we might head to town, to use the internet or run errands. After that, we return home for dinner - a task that has proven quite interesting so far. Cooking at home is so easy compared to here - you have so many more resources. Here, I am cooking on a camping stove. I have a small frying pan and a medium sized pot. There is no fancy sauces, I cannot buy spices because I have no idea what the names are in Swahili, there is no frozen food, and there are no instructions. The first time I really cooked, I made a stir fry with some fresh veggies, seasoned with salt, pepper, and lime, and put it on rice. It wasn't bad, however, there is only so many times you can make the same meal. Last night, was not as big of a success - we attempted spaghetti. They do not sell spaghetti sauce here, so I trusted Aubrey to make it from scratch. She used tomato paste, diluted with water, vegetables and garlic. Sounds right, doesn't it? But, needless to say, we were still pretty hungry by the time we decided we couldn't eat any more of it.
Following our dinner adventures, we have a couple activities to choose from: read, hang out, go out, or watch a movie. There is a pub close by called 'Kool Bar' that is a fun place to be. Many of our local friends go there to hang out and play pool - an activity that I have also engaged in. They are very serious about their pool here. The table and cue ball are slightly smaller and the rules are a bit different; the main one being that if you scratch, your opponent gets to shoot twice. There is a man, who is dressed as though he is a card dealer in Vegas, who racks the balls and monitors who goes next. He lookes horribly out of place in the rugged, casual setting that fills the rest of the bar.
After we come home, or the movie is over etc... it is bed time. I crawl under the new misquito net and hopefully lala salama (sleep peacefully).
That is a day in the life of Tanzanian Graeme
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
A Plea for New Found Land
Dear Friends and Family,
Today, I saw a symbol of devotion and perseverance.
Tramping through fields of sugar cane and rice, over the sodden clay roads, and through villages of laughing shoeless children, we curved with the callous path for the right to see a magnificent view. The clouds were heavy with rain, the plants green with nutrients and then she said laughing, “look there it is, our beacon point!” Looking at it, I thought Mama Faraji could not have picked a more symbolic landmark. In the middle of hundreds of acres of fields there stood a vast boboa tree, at least 60 feet in circumference. We continued a few hundred meters to what is to be Tuleeni’s new home; an eight-acre plot of land that is currently supporting the life of maize plants, which were planted by the orphanage earlier in the year.
Mama Faraji and her friend asked if we wanted to walk the property, we said of course and followed them obediently for a few minutes. Just as if they hit a brick wall, they stopped; I looked up from my feet, letting my eyes wander, searching for some sort of property line. Having been in Tanzania before, I should have realized what I was doing was obsolete, I knew there wouldn’t be signs or a fence to show the where their land ended and their neighbors began. They said to us, laughing at our curiosity, that of course they could tell, “look at the crop lines, they are at different angles than our neighbour's”.
We continued into the field and the plants slowly gained height over us. As we pushed through leaf by leaf, still apparently walking on the boarder line, we started noticing a dramatic difference between Tuleeni’s crops and their neighbours. That beautiful Tanzanian smile that I love showed us how proud they were of their work, and rightfully so. They planted all of the crops with their bare hands, the children from the orphanage even came out to help.
The land is picturesque, the air is fresh, and the plants are growing well. I could tell this is already home for them. I want nothing more, than to be able to help them purchase this land, so that after years of farming it and selling the products they will be able to turn it into an African oasis for the children at Tuleeni. With a school, church and hospital in very practical walking distance I could not have imagined a better destination to start a new home. In this location they are able to get their water directly from the ground and their building supplies from the same village, a rare commodity in Tanzania. The total cost of the land is $11,770.00 including the lawyer fees. Mama Faraji has miraculously saved $1,920.00 while paying rent for both the orphanage and the field, as well as feeding, housing, and caring for over forty children. Over the past year former volunteers has raised $7000.00 leaving us $2,850.00 short the total cost.
Many of you have heard our stories about the children at Tuleeni, how they melted our hearts and brought smiles to our faces. Please, hear us again. We are so close to completing a goal that will change the lives of so many and all we need is a small contribution from the people that support us. Let the boboa tree be a symbol of life for the children to grow up with. I have seen Tuleeni work too hard to be able to leave Africa without being able to help them purchase the land. With your support their dream will become a reality. No donation is too small... remember, five dollars can go a very long way in Tanzania.
For any donations you wish to make, the cheques can be made out to:
Global Exchange/Tuleeni
and mailed to:
Jackie Weiss
8639 Lord's Manor Way
Rohnert Park
USA, CA 94928
Asante sana rafikis.
(Thank you very much friends).
Love,
Aubrey and Graeme.
Today, I saw a symbol of devotion and perseverance.
Tramping through fields of sugar cane and rice, over the sodden clay roads, and through villages of laughing shoeless children, we curved with the callous path for the right to see a magnificent view. The clouds were heavy with rain, the plants green with nutrients and then she said laughing, “look there it is, our beacon point!” Looking at it, I thought Mama Faraji could not have picked a more symbolic landmark. In the middle of hundreds of acres of fields there stood a vast boboa tree, at least 60 feet in circumference. We continued a few hundred meters to what is to be Tuleeni’s new home; an eight-acre plot of land that is currently supporting the life of maize plants, which were planted by the orphanage earlier in the year.
Mama Faraji and her friend asked if we wanted to walk the property, we said of course and followed them obediently for a few minutes. Just as if they hit a brick wall, they stopped; I looked up from my feet, letting my eyes wander, searching for some sort of property line. Having been in Tanzania before, I should have realized what I was doing was obsolete, I knew there wouldn’t be signs or a fence to show the where their land ended and their neighbors began. They said to us, laughing at our curiosity, that of course they could tell, “look at the crop lines, they are at different angles than our neighbour's”.
We continued into the field and the plants slowly gained height over us. As we pushed through leaf by leaf, still apparently walking on the boarder line, we started noticing a dramatic difference between Tuleeni’s crops and their neighbours. That beautiful Tanzanian smile that I love showed us how proud they were of their work, and rightfully so. They planted all of the crops with their bare hands, the children from the orphanage even came out to help.
The land is picturesque, the air is fresh, and the plants are growing well. I could tell this is already home for them. I want nothing more, than to be able to help them purchase this land, so that after years of farming it and selling the products they will be able to turn it into an African oasis for the children at Tuleeni. With a school, church and hospital in very practical walking distance I could not have imagined a better destination to start a new home. In this location they are able to get their water directly from the ground and their building supplies from the same village, a rare commodity in Tanzania. The total cost of the land is $11,770.00 including the lawyer fees. Mama Faraji has miraculously saved $1,920.00 while paying rent for both the orphanage and the field, as well as feeding, housing, and caring for over forty children. Over the past year former volunteers has raised $7000.00 leaving us $2,850.00 short the total cost.
Many of you have heard our stories about the children at Tuleeni, how they melted our hearts and brought smiles to our faces. Please, hear us again. We are so close to completing a goal that will change the lives of so many and all we need is a small contribution from the people that support us. Let the boboa tree be a symbol of life for the children to grow up with. I have seen Tuleeni work too hard to be able to leave Africa without being able to help them purchase the land. With your support their dream will become a reality. No donation is too small... remember, five dollars can go a very long way in Tanzania.
For any donations you wish to make, the cheques can be made out to:
Global Exchange/Tuleeni
and mailed to:
Jackie Weiss
8639 Lord's Manor Way
Rohnert Park
USA, CA 94928
Asante sana rafikis.
(Thank you very much friends).
Love,
Aubrey and Graeme.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Perfect Recognition
I arrived in Moshi two nights ago, and I have to say that it felt like I was coming home. I knew I missed Tanzania, but I did not anticipate that I would have this kind of response. Even the things that annoyed me the first time I was here – the terrible roads, the smell of sweat, the dirt that your clothes collect – brought a smile to my face. I missed this.
I am staying with Aubrey, the girl from Washington D.C. that I worked with at White Orange Youth the last time I was here. We are renting an apartment-esque place, complete with a shower and a normal toilet – hard commodities to come by here. Unlike last time, where our chef, Primo, made us amazing meals at normal scheduled times, we will be fending for ourselves, traveling to the markets, buying and preparing our own food. So far, our diets have consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but following the conclusion of this blog post, we will be making our first trip to buy fresh fruits and vegetables so that we can make proper meals.
Yesterday, we spent the majority of our time walking around Moshi and visiting old friends. My memory has served me well so far, as my Swahili has held up , allowing to get through conversations far better than I thought I would. Last year, I was consistently told that all “mzungu’s” (white people) look the same to the locals here, as such, I did not expect many people to remember who I was. I was presently surprised to find that this was far from the truth. We first visited our favourite internet café – Dot Café – and I was greeted with a hug by the owner. Similar reactions followed from others we had met last year and every time I was amazed.
As the afternoon came, the thing I had been looking forward to the most came up on the agenda. Aubrey and I made a trip back to Tuleeni Orphanage. For those of you whom I have talked about my Tanzania experiences with, this place was likely the focal point of our conversation. The children of Tuleeni have constantly been on my mind since I left last May; rarely does a day go by when I do not thing about Irene, Everest, Felix and all the rest. As we made our way towards the orphanage, navigating our way around the pot holes on the dusty roads, my thoughts were filled with anticipation. I wondered whether they would remember who I was like all the others in Moshi had. Volunteers come and go from Tuleeni all the time, and as such, I doubted that the memories they had with me would be as vivid as the days I can recall spending with them. Irene, who has had a bigger impact on my life than anyone I have ever met, was only 5 the last time I was here, and as I walked towards Tuleeni, I came to the conclusion that it is likely that she would not know who I was.
When we turned the corner to see the gates of Tuleeni, I was met with the cries of those who were outside: “Graeme!” Shedrack, Jamesi and others came running towards me. They remembered. This reaction is one of those moments that you know will last a life time. After hugging the children who were outside, I went in to find the smiling faces of all the kids who changed my life. And contrary to what I anticipated would happen, Irene came running towards me yelling my name and gave me a big hug. For those of you whom I have shared my experiences with, you can probably understand what this was like for me, yet I don’t feel it is something I can begin to describe with words. The rest of our time at Tuleeni made it feel as though I had never left. We watched the boys do handstands and flips, we kicked around a soccer ball, we tossed Queeny in the air, and we filled our time with laughter.
The old saying goes, “the home is where the heart is.” Well, my heart is here. I am home.
I am staying with Aubrey, the girl from Washington D.C. that I worked with at White Orange Youth the last time I was here. We are renting an apartment-esque place, complete with a shower and a normal toilet – hard commodities to come by here. Unlike last time, where our chef, Primo, made us amazing meals at normal scheduled times, we will be fending for ourselves, traveling to the markets, buying and preparing our own food. So far, our diets have consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but following the conclusion of this blog post, we will be making our first trip to buy fresh fruits and vegetables so that we can make proper meals.
Yesterday, we spent the majority of our time walking around Moshi and visiting old friends. My memory has served me well so far, as my Swahili has held up , allowing to get through conversations far better than I thought I would. Last year, I was consistently told that all “mzungu’s” (white people) look the same to the locals here, as such, I did not expect many people to remember who I was. I was presently surprised to find that this was far from the truth. We first visited our favourite internet café – Dot Café – and I was greeted with a hug by the owner. Similar reactions followed from others we had met last year and every time I was amazed.
As the afternoon came, the thing I had been looking forward to the most came up on the agenda. Aubrey and I made a trip back to Tuleeni Orphanage. For those of you whom I have talked about my Tanzania experiences with, this place was likely the focal point of our conversation. The children of Tuleeni have constantly been on my mind since I left last May; rarely does a day go by when I do not thing about Irene, Everest, Felix and all the rest. As we made our way towards the orphanage, navigating our way around the pot holes on the dusty roads, my thoughts were filled with anticipation. I wondered whether they would remember who I was like all the others in Moshi had. Volunteers come and go from Tuleeni all the time, and as such, I doubted that the memories they had with me would be as vivid as the days I can recall spending with them. Irene, who has had a bigger impact on my life than anyone I have ever met, was only 5 the last time I was here, and as I walked towards Tuleeni, I came to the conclusion that it is likely that she would not know who I was.
When we turned the corner to see the gates of Tuleeni, I was met with the cries of those who were outside: “Graeme!” Shedrack, Jamesi and others came running towards me. They remembered. This reaction is one of those moments that you know will last a life time. After hugging the children who were outside, I went in to find the smiling faces of all the kids who changed my life. And contrary to what I anticipated would happen, Irene came running towards me yelling my name and gave me a big hug. For those of you whom I have shared my experiences with, you can probably understand what this was like for me, yet I don’t feel it is something I can begin to describe with words. The rest of our time at Tuleeni made it feel as though I had never left. We watched the boys do handstands and flips, we kicked around a soccer ball, we tossed Queeny in the air, and we filled our time with laughter.
The old saying goes, “the home is where the heart is.” Well, my heart is here. I am home.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Hindsight and Reflection
I've been home now for two and a half weeks. Its hard to be back. I don't really know how to describe my emotional state at this point - I've never been in this place before. Throughout my life, I have always been in touch with how I feel. Typically, when I'm upset or frustrated or simply in a bad mood, I am able to identify why I am feeling that way. Now, I'm lost. I departed thinking I would come back with even a greater sense of self, yet nothing can be further from the truth.
Tanzania is constantly on my mind. Irene, the child who I came to think of as something similar to my daughter, is always in my thoughts. I miss the other volunteers every day. In many ways, I have not even began to deal with the seperation from the things listed above. With the exception of one breakdown, I have not cried. What I continue to feel is numbness. I find it hard to be happy, yet feeling sad is also a struggle. As a former teacher said, I look "emotionally heavy". I become frustrated easily. I have bad days, where I am in a bad mood for no particular reason at all, other than that I am home.
Right now, I'm struggling to find a balance between two people: the person I was before I left (the one that my friends still expect me to be), and the person who feels like I do now. I believe the healthiest solution lies somewhere in the middle of those two, as I intend to take as much away from this experience as possible, yet I would like to return, at least in part, to the unconditional happiness I felt before.
Right now, I need people to understand. I need people to realize that I might need some time to get over what I left behind. I need people to know that going out and drinking my face off isn't incredibly appealing right now. I need people to understand that if I haven't spent the last two weeks dedicating my life to finding out when we can hang out, it's not because I dont want to be friends, or because I'm an asshole. It's because right now, I need some time. I need to sort out who I am and what I'm feeling before I can do the full blown social thing again.
People ask me what bothers me most about being here. It is not the commercialism, as I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong, the first time I saw a kid in a grocery store throwing a fit because his mother wouldn't by him a chocolate bar I felt I was going to be sick. But, I miss more than anything how selfless the people of Tanzania were, my housemates included. Everyone was there for you, even if they were a complete stranger. Here, everyone looks out for themselves. Socially, Tanzania is far more advanced than we are. People are nice there. They may be missing some things we would classify as living essentials, but they're happier. It's the happiest place I have ever been, and because I am no longer in that place, I have some soul searching to do. Bear with me.
Tanzania is constantly on my mind. Irene, the child who I came to think of as something similar to my daughter, is always in my thoughts. I miss the other volunteers every day. In many ways, I have not even began to deal with the seperation from the things listed above. With the exception of one breakdown, I have not cried. What I continue to feel is numbness. I find it hard to be happy, yet feeling sad is also a struggle. As a former teacher said, I look "emotionally heavy". I become frustrated easily. I have bad days, where I am in a bad mood for no particular reason at all, other than that I am home.
Right now, I'm struggling to find a balance between two people: the person I was before I left (the one that my friends still expect me to be), and the person who feels like I do now. I believe the healthiest solution lies somewhere in the middle of those two, as I intend to take as much away from this experience as possible, yet I would like to return, at least in part, to the unconditional happiness I felt before.
Right now, I need people to understand. I need people to realize that I might need some time to get over what I left behind. I need people to know that going out and drinking my face off isn't incredibly appealing right now. I need people to understand that if I haven't spent the last two weeks dedicating my life to finding out when we can hang out, it's not because I dont want to be friends, or because I'm an asshole. It's because right now, I need some time. I need to sort out who I am and what I'm feeling before I can do the full blown social thing again.
People ask me what bothers me most about being here. It is not the commercialism, as I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong, the first time I saw a kid in a grocery store throwing a fit because his mother wouldn't by him a chocolate bar I felt I was going to be sick. But, I miss more than anything how selfless the people of Tanzania were, my housemates included. Everyone was there for you, even if they were a complete stranger. Here, everyone looks out for themselves. Socially, Tanzania is far more advanced than we are. People are nice there. They may be missing some things we would classify as living essentials, but they're happier. It's the happiest place I have ever been, and because I am no longer in that place, I have some soul searching to do. Bear with me.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Leaving
I leave Moshi tomorrow.
I have received several emails and messages in the last little while saying things like, “you must be excited to come home!” Unfortunately, I am not. I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to leave Tanzania. There are certainly people I miss from home and will be excited to see, but seeing those people is what is exciting, not the going home part. Please, for those of you who I am going to see, keep this in mind. I may not be all smiles when I arrive back in Canada. Keep in mind that I made a life here as well. I have a home here; I have a family here, and here, I have made a difference.
There is a difference between the goodbyes I said at home when I came here and the goodbyes I will have to give tomorrow. Instead of “see you in three months,” these goodbyes are likely for good.
I am not reluctant to leave because of I feel I haven’t accomplished what I set out to do, because I have. I am fortunate enough to be able to leave here saying I accomplished everything I could have. I was able to do a lot for White Orange Youth while I was here. I wrote 5 comprehensive grant proposals; I organized and carried out a national AIDS memorial event; I taught safe practice to many people; I handed out thousands of condoms; I helped plan and carry out mobile testing events; I showed the accountant how to do accounting, and I learned more than I could have ever imagined. My volunteer term was a success. For that, I am lucky and thankful.
Yet, I have many things to do before I leave. So many pictures to take, so many goodbyes to say, so little time. I am not ready to go.
I have received several emails and messages in the last little while saying things like, “you must be excited to come home!” Unfortunately, I am not. I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to leave Tanzania. There are certainly people I miss from home and will be excited to see, but seeing those people is what is exciting, not the going home part. Please, for those of you who I am going to see, keep this in mind. I may not be all smiles when I arrive back in Canada. Keep in mind that I made a life here as well. I have a home here; I have a family here, and here, I have made a difference.
There is a difference between the goodbyes I said at home when I came here and the goodbyes I will have to give tomorrow. Instead of “see you in three months,” these goodbyes are likely for good.
I am not reluctant to leave because of I feel I haven’t accomplished what I set out to do, because I have. I am fortunate enough to be able to leave here saying I accomplished everything I could have. I was able to do a lot for White Orange Youth while I was here. I wrote 5 comprehensive grant proposals; I organized and carried out a national AIDS memorial event; I taught safe practice to many people; I handed out thousands of condoms; I helped plan and carry out mobile testing events; I showed the accountant how to do accounting, and I learned more than I could have ever imagined. My volunteer term was a success. For that, I am lucky and thankful.
Yet, I have many things to do before I leave. So many pictures to take, so many goodbyes to say, so little time. I am not ready to go.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Rip and Roll - Extended Version
My placement has occupied the majority of my time for the past two weeks. Lately, my typical day has consisted of working 9-7 in rural communities around Moshi. I have been helping organize and carry out various VCT testing events. VCT stands for voluntary council testing, a mobile HIV test that is very easy and efficient.
Basically, what we do is drive into rural communities throughout the Kilimanjaro region (usually 1-2 hours away), put on a show consisting of dramatic and musical performances in the market area, and encourage people to get tested.
The performers are from a group called Kiliwizard - a group of talented individuals who dedicate their talent to providing 'edutainment' (rapping, singing, druming and dancing all the while communicating the importance of HIV/AIDS prevention). They are really cool and really talented, and there is two guys within the group who have released a song that gets radio play in Tanzania. They act as the draw... initially come to see them, and then hopefully they will decide to get tested.
Set up in tents, we have several testing stations with qualified nurses. It is all very confidential; even White Orange Youth (my organization) staff are not allowed in the tents while testing is in progress. On a typical day, we test between 150 and 200 people. About 7 percent are found to be positive. In tbe event of a positive test, the patient is given a referal to a nearby source at which they can obtain free HIV medication and counselling.
The test itself is actually pretty cool. They prick your finger the same way one would to measure blood sugar if they were diabetic. You place the drop of blood on the end of this stick and dilute it with a chemical I cannot remember. Then, a liquid bar moves across a strip of paper, if the bar stops in one of two places, the test is postive. If the bar passes all the way to the end of the strip, you are negative. I tested one day because I wanted to see how it worked, and for the record, I was negative. Hahaha.
My main role for the VCT testing campaign is instructing. Using a penis model, I show people how to properly put on condoms and answer any questions I can. You would be incredibly shocked with how many people here do not know how to put on a condom. One of the major problems within the Kilimanjaro region is that sexual health education contradicts cultural norms, so it is ommitted from school curriculum. Things we take for granted are not-so-common-knowlege here. My instruction is a 15 step process... not just rip and roll. If sexual discussion makes you squirm, you may want to skip the next 2 paragraphs. The condom instruction process is as follows:
1. Check the expiry date on the outside of the box.
2. Open the box and remove the condoms.
3. Read the instructions printed on the inside of the box.
4. Check the expiry date printed on the condom package itself.
5. Verify that the condom package still has air surrounding the condom.
6. Rip off one of the condoms.
7. Open the condom from the jagged side of the packaging.
8. Remove the condom carefully.
9. Place the condom on the tip of your erect penis.
10. Pinch the end of the condom to ensure there is a place for semen to enter.
11. Roll the condom on until you reach the base of your penis.
12. Immediately after ejaculation, the female must remove the condom. This is because the fluids on the outside of the condom belong to the woman, therefor helping further prevent the spread of HIV.
13. Make sure the woman removes the condom in a way that it is not turned inside out, which may spill semen.
14. She must then tie the condom in a knot, preventing spillage.
15. Dispose of the condom in an appropriate trash receptical.
As you can see, it is very step by step. To be fair, I was not aware of step 12, although it makes sense for high-risk HIV/AIDS areas. I also have to instruct women here on how to use female condoms, using a vagina model. I had never seen a female condom before (not a diaphram, this is different) but they are, well.... interesting. It looks like one of those giant tubes you crawl through at a play house when your a child. Basically the women inserts the tube into her vagina, leaving the ring at the open end on the outside of her labia. They are nasty. Primarily, we encourage their use to commercial sex workers and women involved in transactional sex - that is our politically correct term for prostitute.
So here I am... Graeme Hoit, the sex-ed teacher. Who would have thought that I would have the maturity to carry out such instruction.
I also sometimes work crowd control, preventing those in line to get tested from peering in the testing area. And, believe it or not, I was one of the main forces in designing and painting the banners used for the events. I believe there are some pictures on facebook of these.
All in all the activities are awesome. We are accomplishing something: by updating people on their health status, we are helping to stop the spread of HIV/AIDS due to ignorance. Although I now often arrive late, or miss many meals because I'm out on location, I feel please with what were doing. Those of you hoping to see a skinny Graeme may get your wish upon my return after all.
Basically, what we do is drive into rural communities throughout the Kilimanjaro region (usually 1-2 hours away), put on a show consisting of dramatic and musical performances in the market area, and encourage people to get tested.
The performers are from a group called Kiliwizard - a group of talented individuals who dedicate their talent to providing 'edutainment' (rapping, singing, druming and dancing all the while communicating the importance of HIV/AIDS prevention). They are really cool and really talented, and there is two guys within the group who have released a song that gets radio play in Tanzania. They act as the draw... initially come to see them, and then hopefully they will decide to get tested.
Set up in tents, we have several testing stations with qualified nurses. It is all very confidential; even White Orange Youth (my organization) staff are not allowed in the tents while testing is in progress. On a typical day, we test between 150 and 200 people. About 7 percent are found to be positive. In tbe event of a positive test, the patient is given a referal to a nearby source at which they can obtain free HIV medication and counselling.
The test itself is actually pretty cool. They prick your finger the same way one would to measure blood sugar if they were diabetic. You place the drop of blood on the end of this stick and dilute it with a chemical I cannot remember. Then, a liquid bar moves across a strip of paper, if the bar stops in one of two places, the test is postive. If the bar passes all the way to the end of the strip, you are negative. I tested one day because I wanted to see how it worked, and for the record, I was negative. Hahaha.
My main role for the VCT testing campaign is instructing. Using a penis model, I show people how to properly put on condoms and answer any questions I can. You would be incredibly shocked with how many people here do not know how to put on a condom. One of the major problems within the Kilimanjaro region is that sexual health education contradicts cultural norms, so it is ommitted from school curriculum. Things we take for granted are not-so-common-knowlege here. My instruction is a 15 step process... not just rip and roll. If sexual discussion makes you squirm, you may want to skip the next 2 paragraphs. The condom instruction process is as follows:
1. Check the expiry date on the outside of the box.
2. Open the box and remove the condoms.
3. Read the instructions printed on the inside of the box.
4. Check the expiry date printed on the condom package itself.
5. Verify that the condom package still has air surrounding the condom.
6. Rip off one of the condoms.
7. Open the condom from the jagged side of the packaging.
8. Remove the condom carefully.
9. Place the condom on the tip of your erect penis.
10. Pinch the end of the condom to ensure there is a place for semen to enter.
11. Roll the condom on until you reach the base of your penis.
12. Immediately after ejaculation, the female must remove the condom. This is because the fluids on the outside of the condom belong to the woman, therefor helping further prevent the spread of HIV.
13. Make sure the woman removes the condom in a way that it is not turned inside out, which may spill semen.
14. She must then tie the condom in a knot, preventing spillage.
15. Dispose of the condom in an appropriate trash receptical.
As you can see, it is very step by step. To be fair, I was not aware of step 12, although it makes sense for high-risk HIV/AIDS areas. I also have to instruct women here on how to use female condoms, using a vagina model. I had never seen a female condom before (not a diaphram, this is different) but they are, well.... interesting. It looks like one of those giant tubes you crawl through at a play house when your a child. Basically the women inserts the tube into her vagina, leaving the ring at the open end on the outside of her labia. They are nasty. Primarily, we encourage their use to commercial sex workers and women involved in transactional sex - that is our politically correct term for prostitute.
So here I am... Graeme Hoit, the sex-ed teacher. Who would have thought that I would have the maturity to carry out such instruction.
I also sometimes work crowd control, preventing those in line to get tested from peering in the testing area. And, believe it or not, I was one of the main forces in designing and painting the banners used for the events. I believe there are some pictures on facebook of these.
All in all the activities are awesome. We are accomplishing something: by updating people on their health status, we are helping to stop the spread of HIV/AIDS due to ignorance. Although I now often arrive late, or miss many meals because I'm out on location, I feel please with what were doing. Those of you hoping to see a skinny Graeme may get your wish upon my return after all.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Heaven and Hell
Before, I spoke of one of my favourite places in the world: Tuleeni Orphanage. The children have nothing except each other, but that is all they need. They are happy. They are loved, and on the couple days a week when I am able to go there, it is always the highlight of my day. This post will be dedicated to contrasting Tuleeni with the other orphanage associated with CCS: Upendo.
The word upendo in Swahili means love, yet nothing could be a more false representation what is actually practiced at this orphanage. Unlike Tuleeni, the building is amazing – there is adequate space for all the children, each has their own crib, there is a room for playing, a room for eating, a room for sleeping, a courtyard, a playground, murals painted on the walls, an adequate amount of workers and a large bin of toys. Yet, I have never been to an unhappier place in my entire life.
The orphanage is run by a group of nuns who declare themselves The Precious Blood Sisters of Upendo on the sign outside the building, as well as several workers who, for the most part, were once orphans themselves. The unhappiness begins with the corporal punishment. They beat the children with sticks. These children are all younger than 8-years-old, with the majority under the age of 4. The children are hit for reasons that I cannot even begin to comprehend. For example, one day at Upendo, for no reason at all, the workers decided that the boys were not allowed to go into the playroom. The children were lined up against the wall and asked to sit down. They were made to sit there, on the cement floor with their backs against the wall for hours with no explanation; if they moved, readjusted their position, or talked, they were beaten.
The children are not potty trained. They are not provided with diapers, which, to be fair, is not that uncommon here. The issue is that the children are beaten for wetting themselves. These are 2-year-olds. If they do pee themselves, they are forced to remain in their wet clothes, despite having the luxury, unlike most of the children at Tuleeni, to actually have other sets of clothing. The workers’ way of dealing with this situation, instead of making an effort to potty train the children, is to try and stop them from peeing all together, thus, the children are not given water. They do not understand the ramifications of severe dehydration, especially at such a young age. The children are so thirsty that, sometimes if a child pees on the floor, others will try and drink the urine.
Two weeks ago there was an incident with one of the baby girls who had a very severe ear infection. She is one of the cutest, most precious children I have ever seen. She screamed constantly. She had a fever, her ear was noticeably swollen and red, yet the Sisters refused to take action beyond consulting the on-staff nurse, saying she was fine, yelling at her to stop crying. She was administered painkillers, but nothing to cure the raging infection. They would shove q-tips in her ears while she was screaming, saying they were cleaning it out. Finally, one of the girls who is placed at Upendo intervened and took along the doctor we have volunteering at CCS to examine her. To the best of my knowledge, she is healthy now.
Intervention by CCS and Upendo is not well received. Many of you may be reading this wondering why the hell we haven’t taken drastic action against this cruelty. We are volunteers, there is nothing keeping them from simply saying CCS volunteers are no longer welcome at Upendo. Then, nothing would ever change. It cannot be something that is dealt with by us telling the nuns and workers what to do. It needs to come from a very respected Tanzanian source, and it needs to be long term. The volunteer who is placed there now is outlining a careful, calculated plan to change Upendo. We are all praying to God it works.
The children at Upendo rarely smile. They have adequate resources, yet they are incredibly unhappy. They may have basic needs; they may have toys and their own bed, but they are not loved. When we think of ‘the lucky kid’ from our childhood, we think of the kid who had the cool toys and the good food in their lunch. We think of the kid who wore the nice clothes, and drove the electric powered mini jeep. Yet, that kid was probably not the lucky kid. What every child needs, more than any toy or outfit, is love. What would make every child happy is the care that is give at Tuleeni, not the materials given at Upendo.
The word upendo in Swahili means love, yet nothing could be a more false representation what is actually practiced at this orphanage. Unlike Tuleeni, the building is amazing – there is adequate space for all the children, each has their own crib, there is a room for playing, a room for eating, a room for sleeping, a courtyard, a playground, murals painted on the walls, an adequate amount of workers and a large bin of toys. Yet, I have never been to an unhappier place in my entire life.
The orphanage is run by a group of nuns who declare themselves The Precious Blood Sisters of Upendo on the sign outside the building, as well as several workers who, for the most part, were once orphans themselves. The unhappiness begins with the corporal punishment. They beat the children with sticks. These children are all younger than 8-years-old, with the majority under the age of 4. The children are hit for reasons that I cannot even begin to comprehend. For example, one day at Upendo, for no reason at all, the workers decided that the boys were not allowed to go into the playroom. The children were lined up against the wall and asked to sit down. They were made to sit there, on the cement floor with their backs against the wall for hours with no explanation; if they moved, readjusted their position, or talked, they were beaten.
The children are not potty trained. They are not provided with diapers, which, to be fair, is not that uncommon here. The issue is that the children are beaten for wetting themselves. These are 2-year-olds. If they do pee themselves, they are forced to remain in their wet clothes, despite having the luxury, unlike most of the children at Tuleeni, to actually have other sets of clothing. The workers’ way of dealing with this situation, instead of making an effort to potty train the children, is to try and stop them from peeing all together, thus, the children are not given water. They do not understand the ramifications of severe dehydration, especially at such a young age. The children are so thirsty that, sometimes if a child pees on the floor, others will try and drink the urine.
Two weeks ago there was an incident with one of the baby girls who had a very severe ear infection. She is one of the cutest, most precious children I have ever seen. She screamed constantly. She had a fever, her ear was noticeably swollen and red, yet the Sisters refused to take action beyond consulting the on-staff nurse, saying she was fine, yelling at her to stop crying. She was administered painkillers, but nothing to cure the raging infection. They would shove q-tips in her ears while she was screaming, saying they were cleaning it out. Finally, one of the girls who is placed at Upendo intervened and took along the doctor we have volunteering at CCS to examine her. To the best of my knowledge, she is healthy now.
Intervention by CCS and Upendo is not well received. Many of you may be reading this wondering why the hell we haven’t taken drastic action against this cruelty. We are volunteers, there is nothing keeping them from simply saying CCS volunteers are no longer welcome at Upendo. Then, nothing would ever change. It cannot be something that is dealt with by us telling the nuns and workers what to do. It needs to come from a very respected Tanzanian source, and it needs to be long term. The volunteer who is placed there now is outlining a careful, calculated plan to change Upendo. We are all praying to God it works.
The children at Upendo rarely smile. They have adequate resources, yet they are incredibly unhappy. They may have basic needs; they may have toys and their own bed, but they are not loved. When we think of ‘the lucky kid’ from our childhood, we think of the kid who had the cool toys and the good food in their lunch. We think of the kid who wore the nice clothes, and drove the electric powered mini jeep. Yet, that kid was probably not the lucky kid. What every child needs, more than any toy or outfit, is love. What would make every child happy is the care that is give at Tuleeni, not the materials given at Upendo.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Climbing a Second Mountain
Coming to Africa, I prepared myself for many things. I packed my bags. I obtained the necessary documentation. I was ready to leave home, to leave all the people, culture, language, and surroundings I have come to know. I was ready to try new things and meet new people. I was ready to do something, and possibly the first thing, completely on my own. I was ready to climb a mountain. Yet, there is one thing I completely forgot to prepare myself for, and without a doubt it has been the hardest thing I have had to do in the past two and a half months: saying goodbye.
I don’t mean saying goodbye to the things I have grown accustom to back home, but as in goodbye to the people that have become my family here. Because everyone here is out of their element, living in a world completely alien to what would be considered normal in our lives, we are quickly unified. The volunteers share many of the same desires, life goals, philosophies, and of course, water bottles. Within the first couple days here, boundaries are broken and relationships are formed. Even though we may have met only weeks ago, bonds are formed in an uncommon way. These are the people you live with, eat with, talk with, cry with, laugh with, and miss home with. One could describe the relationship here as friendship, but, truly, family is a better adjective.
The sad thing about building such familial relationships is that, unlike your family at home, this family is short lived. There are a few people I will likely see at some point in the future, after we go our separate ways here, yet, there are many who I will likely never see again.
Many volunteers have come and gone since my arrival. I’ve said goodbye to my two mamas, and to several others who I will always remember. Yet, thus far, the goodbyes have been spaced out - two one weekend, one the next ect. However sad it may have been, it was manageable. This weekend was the hardest goodbye I have ever had to deal with. 10 members of the CCS family went home, including those I have become the closest with. I know that there are those I will see again, some even this summer, but it is different here now. The dynamic of CCS has changed. There is an emptiness felt at the meal table. We are few now. And although we will continue to build these relationships with the new volunteers who have arrived, the relationships made previously will not be forgotten.
Goodbyes are hard, yet there is something you can draw from all of them. As one of us here was told in comfort, “There are those who are in your life for a long time, and there are those who are in your life for a short time, but it is the impact they make on you that is significant.” Even though some of the people I have met here were only in my life for three weeks, they have made an enormous impact me, and for that I am thankful.
I don’t mean saying goodbye to the things I have grown accustom to back home, but as in goodbye to the people that have become my family here. Because everyone here is out of their element, living in a world completely alien to what would be considered normal in our lives, we are quickly unified. The volunteers share many of the same desires, life goals, philosophies, and of course, water bottles. Within the first couple days here, boundaries are broken and relationships are formed. Even though we may have met only weeks ago, bonds are formed in an uncommon way. These are the people you live with, eat with, talk with, cry with, laugh with, and miss home with. One could describe the relationship here as friendship, but, truly, family is a better adjective.
The sad thing about building such familial relationships is that, unlike your family at home, this family is short lived. There are a few people I will likely see at some point in the future, after we go our separate ways here, yet, there are many who I will likely never see again.
Many volunteers have come and gone since my arrival. I’ve said goodbye to my two mamas, and to several others who I will always remember. Yet, thus far, the goodbyes have been spaced out - two one weekend, one the next ect. However sad it may have been, it was manageable. This weekend was the hardest goodbye I have ever had to deal with. 10 members of the CCS family went home, including those I have become the closest with. I know that there are those I will see again, some even this summer, but it is different here now. The dynamic of CCS has changed. There is an emptiness felt at the meal table. We are few now. And although we will continue to build these relationships with the new volunteers who have arrived, the relationships made previously will not be forgotten.
Goodbyes are hard, yet there is something you can draw from all of them. As one of us here was told in comfort, “There are those who are in your life for a long time, and there are those who are in your life for a short time, but it is the impact they make on you that is significant.” Even though some of the people I have met here were only in my life for three weeks, they have made an enormous impact me, and for that I am thankful.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMoshi!
So, here it is, arriving by popular demand...... my description of the food! First of all, dispose of all your inklings as to what the food I'm consuming each day is like, because I guarantee it is nothing of the horror and quantity you are picturing. The food here is awesome and plentiful. We have a chef named Primo. Really. That's his name. Seriously. I want to take him to school with me next year!
Traditional Tanzanian food is present at every meal, accompanied by a western option. The main staple in Tanzania is a food called ugali (oo-gah-lee). It resembles mashed potatoes by appearence, yet is far closer to playdoh in texture. Essentially it is flour mixed with water until the correct consistancy is achieved where you can mold it into whatever shape desirable. Playing with your food is allowed here. haha. Basically you eat it by grabbing a tablespoon sized piece of it, rolling it into a ball (using only your right hand as the left hand in Tanzania is associated with hygiene), making a dent in the centre so it resembles a mini bowl, and scooping another substance (lentils, sauce, small vegetables ect.) into the dent with your thumb. Then, consumption. It is awesome. I think part of my enjoyment comes from the fact that when I was younger, I really wanted playdoh to taste good because it looked so appetizing, but I always felt disappointed when I tasted how salty and unappealing it was. Now, I have a replacement!
Lentils are a big part of the diet as well. I believe this is because meat isn't very affordable for the general public, even though we usually have a meat component to our meals. The meat is almost always chicken or pork and typically comes in one of the amazing sauces Primo makes. (Ironically not spaghetti sauce). It is usually intended to be mixed in with rice, which we have at most meals as well. Fruit is not a dessert here. It is a part of every meal. Pears, fruit salads, pineapple, and BANANAS!! I will not be able to eat bananas when I return in the same way I could not appreciate orange juice after Cuba. They are just amazing here. Always! And I'm not even a big banana person. One thing I must address though.... papaya juice = amazing... papayas themselves are really gross. They may be the mushiest type of food I have ever eaten and have a very odd, bitter taste that one would not expect after sampling them in juice form.
To go along with the traditional dishes is often something more familiar to our taste buds, such as the rice and meat listed above, or sometimes for a treat grilled cheese, egg salad sandwiches, pizza, or spaghetti. All of course with a local twist.
The things they don't have here that I probably miss more than anything from home are milk and red meat. Diary is just not common here. I assume it's due to the fact that very few people actually have refridgerators. I miss it. I typically drink a lot of milk. I actually have been eating the powdered milk here. Yes, eating. I consume it in granule form from the tin. It is excellent now, but I feel like when I get home it will be one of those things that only seemed reasonable at the time because of my body's needs. I also crave a lot of ice cream and chocolate, which are expensive, but available here. If you know me well, you know that these are two things I eat very little of at home, yet here, I simply can't get enough.
Red meat is something I feel is more important to my daily life than inhaling oxygen. It to is dearly missed. Upon my return I may request a roast for my first meal... but for myself. The rest present will have to find something else to eat.
Breakfast here is made up of crepes, scrambled eggs, oranges, and toast. It's usually the same thing everyday, which is fine by me seeing as I have at the same type of food for breakfast for the past 10 years of my life.
So, in conclusion, those of you who were expecting to see a withered, very skinny Graeme upon my return will be quite disappointed. Primo lives up to his name.
Traditional Tanzanian food is present at every meal, accompanied by a western option. The main staple in Tanzania is a food called ugali (oo-gah-lee). It resembles mashed potatoes by appearence, yet is far closer to playdoh in texture. Essentially it is flour mixed with water until the correct consistancy is achieved where you can mold it into whatever shape desirable. Playing with your food is allowed here. haha. Basically you eat it by grabbing a tablespoon sized piece of it, rolling it into a ball (using only your right hand as the left hand in Tanzania is associated with hygiene), making a dent in the centre so it resembles a mini bowl, and scooping another substance (lentils, sauce, small vegetables ect.) into the dent with your thumb. Then, consumption. It is awesome. I think part of my enjoyment comes from the fact that when I was younger, I really wanted playdoh to taste good because it looked so appetizing, but I always felt disappointed when I tasted how salty and unappealing it was. Now, I have a replacement!
Lentils are a big part of the diet as well. I believe this is because meat isn't very affordable for the general public, even though we usually have a meat component to our meals. The meat is almost always chicken or pork and typically comes in one of the amazing sauces Primo makes. (Ironically not spaghetti sauce). It is usually intended to be mixed in with rice, which we have at most meals as well. Fruit is not a dessert here. It is a part of every meal. Pears, fruit salads, pineapple, and BANANAS!! I will not be able to eat bananas when I return in the same way I could not appreciate orange juice after Cuba. They are just amazing here. Always! And I'm not even a big banana person. One thing I must address though.... papaya juice = amazing... papayas themselves are really gross. They may be the mushiest type of food I have ever eaten and have a very odd, bitter taste that one would not expect after sampling them in juice form.
To go along with the traditional dishes is often something more familiar to our taste buds, such as the rice and meat listed above, or sometimes for a treat grilled cheese, egg salad sandwiches, pizza, or spaghetti. All of course with a local twist.
The things they don't have here that I probably miss more than anything from home are milk and red meat. Diary is just not common here. I assume it's due to the fact that very few people actually have refridgerators. I miss it. I typically drink a lot of milk. I actually have been eating the powdered milk here. Yes, eating. I consume it in granule form from the tin. It is excellent now, but I feel like when I get home it will be one of those things that only seemed reasonable at the time because of my body's needs. I also crave a lot of ice cream and chocolate, which are expensive, but available here. If you know me well, you know that these are two things I eat very little of at home, yet here, I simply can't get enough.
Red meat is something I feel is more important to my daily life than inhaling oxygen. It to is dearly missed. Upon my return I may request a roast for my first meal... but for myself. The rest present will have to find something else to eat.
Breakfast here is made up of crepes, scrambled eggs, oranges, and toast. It's usually the same thing everyday, which is fine by me seeing as I have at the same type of food for breakfast for the past 10 years of my life.
So, in conclusion, those of you who were expecting to see a withered, very skinny Graeme upon my return will be quite disappointed. Primo lives up to his name.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Mud, Bugs, and Plugs
The rainy season has arrived! This means that:
1. your pants are always muddy.
2. cars can't get down dirt roads because they are now mud.
3. the power never works - hence the lack of internet activity on my part for the last 2 weeks.
4. flip flops are often lost during walks into town.
5. laundry refuses to dry. The main problem with this is that if laundry is left out for more than an afternoon you risk the danger of bugs called 'jiggers' laying eggs in the seams of your clothing, which apparently will hatch into insects that enjoy burrowing into your skin. (Anyone remember The Mummy?) So everything, including underwear, must thoroughly be ironed.
5. bugs have taken the opportunity to start breeding like crazy! We get swarmed by flying ants here... which are actually massive, yet harmless. I mean literally swarmed... like thousands of them flying around your head. Some of the girls are quite terrified, which provides humour for those of us who were raised by mothers like Julie Hoit, who let everyone know that nature is a peaceful, harmless thing of which all forms should be embraced and celebrated.
Although it is certainly better for the farmers of Tanzania, general consensus is that the low season sucks. hard. It is not constantly raining, but when it does rain... it feels more like you are getting a bucket of water thrown at you rather than a nice downward sprinkle.
The CCS homebase is surrounded by the most dense hedge I have ever seen. It's around 7 feet tall and has many thorns. We all feel quite safe because of it. Yet, the other day, it rained. Part of the road outside CCS was completely washed out, and by this I mean there is a four foot deep, 10 foot wide trench that runs perpendicular to what was formerly our means of transportation. The problem, other than the fact that you can no longer turn left out of CCS, is that a significant portion of the monsterous hedge that used to protect us, no longer stands erect. It has fallen into what is now the San Andreas Fault of Moshi. The CCS staff then took this opportunity to let us in on the fact that three years ago the former homebase was attacked at 3am by thirty men yeilding machetes and two others with machine guns. um????? Thanks for the timing? I should add to the end of what I have just mentioned that no volunteers were injured.
Chicken wire now lies in place of the hedge that once was.
1. your pants are always muddy.
2. cars can't get down dirt roads because they are now mud.
3. the power never works - hence the lack of internet activity on my part for the last 2 weeks.
4. flip flops are often lost during walks into town.
5. laundry refuses to dry. The main problem with this is that if laundry is left out for more than an afternoon you risk the danger of bugs called 'jiggers' laying eggs in the seams of your clothing, which apparently will hatch into insects that enjoy burrowing into your skin. (Anyone remember The Mummy?) So everything, including underwear, must thoroughly be ironed.
5. bugs have taken the opportunity to start breeding like crazy! We get swarmed by flying ants here... which are actually massive, yet harmless. I mean literally swarmed... like thousands of them flying around your head. Some of the girls are quite terrified, which provides humour for those of us who were raised by mothers like Julie Hoit, who let everyone know that nature is a peaceful, harmless thing of which all forms should be embraced and celebrated.
Although it is certainly better for the farmers of Tanzania, general consensus is that the low season sucks. hard. It is not constantly raining, but when it does rain... it feels more like you are getting a bucket of water thrown at you rather than a nice downward sprinkle.
The CCS homebase is surrounded by the most dense hedge I have ever seen. It's around 7 feet tall and has many thorns. We all feel quite safe because of it. Yet, the other day, it rained. Part of the road outside CCS was completely washed out, and by this I mean there is a four foot deep, 10 foot wide trench that runs perpendicular to what was formerly our means of transportation. The problem, other than the fact that you can no longer turn left out of CCS, is that a significant portion of the monsterous hedge that used to protect us, no longer stands erect. It has fallen into what is now the San Andreas Fault of Moshi. The CCS staff then took this opportunity to let us in on the fact that three years ago the former homebase was attacked at 3am by thirty men yeilding machetes and two others with machine guns. um????? Thanks for the timing? I should add to the end of what I have just mentioned that no volunteers were injured.
Chicken wire now lies in place of the hedge that once was.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Importance of Two-Way Communication
Accompanying all the elightenment I have recieved and all the things I have learned, is a small void that I have felt for the past couple days. It is not necessarily that I miss home, as the actual place, or that I am away from the people I love. Those are things I can handle. What has been hardest for me, is that I have absolutely no idea about what is going on at home, and with all of you. I do not know who is in the playoffs; I am completely unaware as to who won March Madness; I don't know the most recent TASShole activities, and I have no clue what the jeanwall looks like at Bootlegger. Although I am currently galavanting through Africa, those things are still important to me. I have made an effort, through my blog, to tell you all how my life is going, what I have been doing, and how I feel. Now it is your turn. Tell me your funny stories, your sad stories, your accomplishments, your failures, your university acceptances, your hook-ups, and most importantly, explain to me what the Buffal0 Bills organization said in defense to the media as to why they signed T.O.
So send me emails, or facebook messages, and let me know... what is going on in Peterpatch these days. It doesn't have to be significant. Act as if we were sitting in the cafeteria, or around the dinner table, or wherever, and share what is happening in your life... I will continue to try and do the same in return. I cannot promise a reply to every message or email. What I can promise, is that I will read them, and that I will feel a little more comfort because of it.
So send me emails, or facebook messages, and let me know... what is going on in Peterpatch these days. It doesn't have to be significant. Act as if we were sitting in the cafeteria, or around the dinner table, or wherever, and share what is happening in your life... I will continue to try and do the same in return. I cannot promise a reply to every message or email. What I can promise, is that I will read them, and that I will feel a little more comfort because of it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Prophet Abbas
There is a man here, who is very well known to CCS volunteers, named Abbas Alula. He owns a safari and African expedition company called Bushman Expeditions and Safaris, and is the man who CCS typically books through. Abbas is known throughout CCS and Moshi, as we're trying to spread the word, as the Jesus of our time. The man is a prophet.
I feel in order for you to get a visual, I first need to describe His appearance. Men here are short. Like very short. I am on the tall side of average, and outweigh pretty much anyone by at least 20 lbs. Abbas, on the other hand, is around 6 foot 4, and not a small man. He actually rivals the largest person I have seen up close. Yet in spite of this brooding figure, He is the most gentle, calm, and welcoming man I know, and certainly has the biggest smile I have ever seen - the ear to ear kind you see on cartoon shows. His handshake is not the firm kind we appreciate as manly in our culture back home, but a warm gentle touch, embracing your hand with both of His, as you would do if you were handed a baby chick. "Hello my kaka (brother), thank you so much for blessing me with your presence today," is what usually follows this handshake.
Abbas is very wise, and offers bits of advice that you could have sworn came from an ancient greek philosopher. The man speaks in metaphors. When explaining the preservation of culture He simply said: "A tree cannot grow without its roots, my kaka." For His philosophy on foreign aid policies, He used this description: "You see this hand, 5 fingers, all different sizes and different thicknesses, but they all work together."
In addition to running a pretty major safari company, Abbas is also a painter, a local volunteer, a yoga and aerobics instructor, a photographer, and he has his own coffee plantation. Mind you, this is only what I have discovered so far, as we typically find out a new speciality of His every week. He does everything!
We have determined that He is in fact a prophet, and deserves his own cult following. I intend to fully participate. He even has a prophet name. If I were to start a religion it would not work, solely for the reason that there could not be a prophet Graeme. It just doesn't work, Prophet Abbas on the other hand, has a very nice ring to it.
In addition to the crazy Russian impersonations I have promised upon my return, I will also provide Prophet Abbas impressions.
I feel in order for you to get a visual, I first need to describe His appearance. Men here are short. Like very short. I am on the tall side of average, and outweigh pretty much anyone by at least 20 lbs. Abbas, on the other hand, is around 6 foot 4, and not a small man. He actually rivals the largest person I have seen up close. Yet in spite of this brooding figure, He is the most gentle, calm, and welcoming man I know, and certainly has the biggest smile I have ever seen - the ear to ear kind you see on cartoon shows. His handshake is not the firm kind we appreciate as manly in our culture back home, but a warm gentle touch, embracing your hand with both of His, as you would do if you were handed a baby chick. "Hello my kaka (brother), thank you so much for blessing me with your presence today," is what usually follows this handshake.
Abbas is very wise, and offers bits of advice that you could have sworn came from an ancient greek philosopher. The man speaks in metaphors. When explaining the preservation of culture He simply said: "A tree cannot grow without its roots, my kaka." For His philosophy on foreign aid policies, He used this description: "You see this hand, 5 fingers, all different sizes and different thicknesses, but they all work together."
In addition to running a pretty major safari company, Abbas is also a painter, a local volunteer, a yoga and aerobics instructor, a photographer, and he has his own coffee plantation. Mind you, this is only what I have discovered so far, as we typically find out a new speciality of His every week. He does everything!
We have determined that He is in fact a prophet, and deserves his own cult following. I intend to fully participate. He even has a prophet name. If I were to start a religion it would not work, solely for the reason that there could not be a prophet Graeme. It just doesn't work, Prophet Abbas on the other hand, has a very nice ring to it.
In addition to the crazy Russian impersonations I have promised upon my return, I will also provide Prophet Abbas impressions.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Warm Hearts of Local Men
So far, the majority of my blog posts have been directed toward the shocking things I have seen or experienced as an outsider looking in, most of which paint a depressing picture of Tanzania. What I have failed thus far to communicate, beyond a few short mentions, is that there are many local people in Moshi who are making a substantially larger difference than any international volunteer could hope to make.
There is a group of young local men here who are just incredible. They dedicate their time, when they aren't in class, to helping out at schools, organizations and orphanages. The future of this nation truly lies with this generation. There are so many who care, and want things to be better for future generations.
There are people who have started schools in their back yard, and sponsored orphanes to go to school, despite not being able to afford electricity for their own home. People care here. They care about eachother far more than we do at home, and that is something that I will certainly miss upon my return.
There is a group of young local men here who are just incredible. They dedicate their time, when they aren't in class, to helping out at schools, organizations and orphanages. The future of this nation truly lies with this generation. There are so many who care, and want things to be better for future generations.
There are people who have started schools in their back yard, and sponsored orphanes to go to school, despite not being able to afford electricity for their own home. People care here. They care about eachother far more than we do at home, and that is something that I will certainly miss upon my return.
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