Warning: This is not a real blog, I just had a few minutes of FREE internet and thought I would make the most of it. Enjoy.
It came to my attention the other day that for the entire summer I have been mispelling the name of my favorite tree. Baobob is actually spelled baobab (it is still pronounced Baobob as in scott BAO and what about BOB). This error has weighed heavily on my conscience and I just had to make the correction.
In a related matter I have cancelled all of my flights and built an ark-sized dhow out of banana leaves, monkey spit, and zebra hair. I will travel in this vessel, manned by an able bodied crew of baboon and hippopotamus, from Dar Es Salaam to Mobile bay. The cargo of my precious ark will be Stanley, Livingstone, Bono, and Goolsby (this is for the little boy pants comment), which are the names of my favorite Baobab trees. I have uprooted them and will replant these trees with their house sized trunks in the following locations: Mobile, AL - Sandge Brinings back yard, Auburn, AL - Samford Lawn, Birmingam, AL - 2620 Niazuma Ave. Parking Lot, and finally my parents backyard in Crossville, AL (and hopefully CJ will not eat the tree). Afterward my ark dhow will be employed alongside my favorite sailboat Sundancer (which will be manned by a crew of Jarvii clones - this fake blog is full of inside jokes) in making the vision of Caribbean caravan a reality. The fleet will be commodored by the one and only Captain Jones (although there are two) and our journey will consist of an island hopping route between the Island of Freedom and Tobago.
Other news: Do you know the ninja (this is a terrible adjective) muslim women, the ones who cover every square inch of there body in black except for the eyes...well, I think that they have beautiful eyes and it is a shame that they look away everytime I make eye contact...that is all I have to say about that.
On Saturday I attended the university of Dar Es Salaam and had to fight a monkey for my backpack (this is kind of true). The university has 35000 students and to my knowledge no Wesley Foundation (Juuulius - if you are reading this, I think they could use you,....I could translate, maybe).
I am going to have to blog on Zanzibar but not yet, lets just say that its waters are every bit as spectacular as the electric blue lonely liar book picture showed. And here are the highlights of my voyage their - vomit (not mine), car wreck (maybe mine), a University of Alabama shirt, semi-true stories and a lot of things that I could never make up....coming soon, the Tale of the Spice Islands.
From Dar es Salaam, me being 100% healthy and happy, Good night and good luck.
War Eagle!
Sincerely,
Himself
ps - Sorry for all of the monkey business, the baboon didn't like it either and I have pictures to prove it. this part is true.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The live version
I am wrapping things up in Moshi. Friday I head to Dar. Then to Zanzibar. Then to Nairobi. Then to Brussels. Then to Atlanta. Then to Bham. If God wishes (that is what all the Africans say) I will be back home on Tuesday August 4th. I will try to blog a little from the road if I can. I also have at least 2 thoughtful posts I am going to make once I get home. But there is much I have not written about or just forgot to write about.....
so here are some flash words to jog my memory next time I see you wonderful people. And like my cousin says, the live version is always better.
-warrring Greeks, Penelope Cruz confusion, European girls taking multiple candid photos of me (I hate this and don't know why it happens), being on the daladala when it exploded (I aint kidding), snakes (but not King Cobras), geckos, deep swahili conversation with the staff of international house, countryside misadventures with Bwana Paul, MBEGE, Swahili flirting with the cooks at the hospital, being proposed to at least 4 times (Siliewi kwa nini wanawake Afrikani wakili sana na wanawake Marekani wajinga sana....Natania tu! pole mimi!), Dr. Babu, yoga, and lots of other stuff that I can't think of right now.
So here is a poem i stumbled across somewhere along the way(its not Bits and Pieces by Dick, I mean Lois, Cheney- but thats a great poem)...something for you to read and pass the time while I am on the road.
Traveler by W.L. Kent
God bless the traveler
Blown with the wind
finding a home wherever
He can find a friend
Guide her on life's pathway
Leaving footprints of joy.
A smile for each new day
May all her talents you employ.
Blessed to be a blessing.
The traveller wanders on.
Unencumbered and addressing
Any need that is shown.
Through solitude and commune,
compelled by your small voice
Refreshed by Spirit Triune
Seeking wisdom with every choice.
Thankful for the freedom
Yet knowing its not free.
Conscious of the Kingdom
Wherever they may be.
The traveler is but a servant
In motion for highest cause.
Chasing the magnificent,
In spite of all the flaws.
Constant and ever ready,
New horizons to explore.
Love, simple and steady,
Gives the strength to endure.
God bless the traveler.
Along the journey that we share.
May we faithfully deliver,
Your Peace, sweet and fair.
And here is one that I wrote at 3:00 am after taking lariam (that stuff is like kryptonite for sleep - that was for you Sarah ;)
Lariam side effect blues by N.T. Wilkes
I cant sleep.
My learning curve is steep.
If I get out of bed,
I will have a mosquito on my head.
Woe is me.
I am so sleepy...
But I can't sleep.
I am 27 years old and as far as I can remember this is the first poem I have ever written....what a waste of talent. I am a poet and I didn't know it.
And I wrote this one the next night (sometimes the side effects linger a little) this one has no title.
Here's the book.
Here's the pen.
It's 3 am.
Let's begin.
- Well thats all I've got. Time to go say my sad goodbyes to the hospital and set sail for ZanZibar!
tutaonana baadaye!
so here are some flash words to jog my memory next time I see you wonderful people. And like my cousin says, the live version is always better.
-warrring Greeks, Penelope Cruz confusion, European girls taking multiple candid photos of me (I hate this and don't know why it happens), being on the daladala when it exploded (I aint kidding), snakes (but not King Cobras), geckos, deep swahili conversation with the staff of international house, countryside misadventures with Bwana Paul, MBEGE, Swahili flirting with the cooks at the hospital, being proposed to at least 4 times (Siliewi kwa nini wanawake Afrikani wakili sana na wanawake Marekani wajinga sana....Natania tu! pole mimi!), Dr. Babu, yoga, and lots of other stuff that I can't think of right now.
So here is a poem i stumbled across somewhere along the way(its not Bits and Pieces by Dick, I mean Lois, Cheney- but thats a great poem)...something for you to read and pass the time while I am on the road.
Traveler by W.L. Kent
God bless the traveler
Blown with the wind
finding a home wherever
He can find a friend
Guide her on life's pathway
Leaving footprints of joy.
A smile for each new day
May all her talents you employ.
Blessed to be a blessing.
The traveller wanders on.
Unencumbered and addressing
Any need that is shown.
Through solitude and commune,
compelled by your small voice
Refreshed by Spirit Triune
Seeking wisdom with every choice.
Thankful for the freedom
Yet knowing its not free.
Conscious of the Kingdom
Wherever they may be.
The traveler is but a servant
In motion for highest cause.
Chasing the magnificent,
In spite of all the flaws.
Constant and ever ready,
New horizons to explore.
Love, simple and steady,
Gives the strength to endure.
God bless the traveler.
Along the journey that we share.
May we faithfully deliver,
Your Peace, sweet and fair.
And here is one that I wrote at 3:00 am after taking lariam (that stuff is like kryptonite for sleep - that was for you Sarah ;)
Lariam side effect blues by N.T. Wilkes
I cant sleep.
My learning curve is steep.
If I get out of bed,
I will have a mosquito on my head.
Woe is me.
I am so sleepy...
But I can't sleep.
I am 27 years old and as far as I can remember this is the first poem I have ever written....what a waste of talent. I am a poet and I didn't know it.
And I wrote this one the next night (sometimes the side effects linger a little) this one has no title.
Here's the book.
Here's the pen.
It's 3 am.
Let's begin.
- Well thats all I've got. Time to go say my sad goodbyes to the hospital and set sail for ZanZibar!
tutaonana baadaye!
Never Go to Church Alone
Sunday morning I decided I would try to go to the Moravian Church. It is about.5 miles from the hospital. I went by a couple of times earlier in the week to ask about the service time and no one was there but I just knew for some reason that it started at 10. So about 9:40 I started walking that way. When Igot to the church there was a crowd out front and I greeted them in Swahili. They welcomed me. I asked what time the service was (Ni saa ngape misa...i think). And they said 10. I asked if anyone spoke english. They all denied it but one man told me to come with him and went into the church and sat down.
The service consisted of about 45 minutes of singing (the choir onlyhad 8 people but they sounded amazing) and an hour and a half sermon by a lady. I guess the pastor had the day off as he just sat at the front watching the congregation. They spoke really fast and I realized how terrible my Swahili is. They read ps. 23, Jer 23, Ephesians 2, and Mark 6. Then she talked a long time about food and children and I am not sure what else. At the end of the service they marched the house and I gave the few shillings I had in my pocket. Then we went outside and stood in a circle and I dont know what was going on but it seemed like they were auctioning off bible covers and avacados, although no moneywas exchanged. He was definitely holding up things and c alling numbers. They gave away the Bible covers and some avacados and then I heard the infamous word "mzungu" spoken. I wasn't sure what to do because I had given all of my money to the offering and had not bid on the avacados. Then he brought them to me and said in English "this is your prize" and everyone laughed and applauded. I still don't know what happened but I have some nice avacados that I will eat soon.
Everything so far was somewhat expected. But next my friend whom I sat beside brought a teenage boynambed Abraham over (I think he was his son). Abraham spoke english and is in the equivalent of the tenth grade. But the father Yusufu did thetalking and Abraham translated about half of what he said. Yusufu asked if I would like to come to his home to eat and pointed beside the church. THinking he lived next door I said yes. We went beside thechurch and jumped in his pickup with about 10 other children and drove several kilometers to a part of Moshi I have never seen before called Pasuo or something. Abraham and I sat up front with Yusufu. He asked me ifI ate pork andI said yes. This is an honor because pork is hard to find here with the heavy Muslim influence.
Yusufus house was clean and nice and about 2x the size of my apartment and I think it is shared by 2 families. He could speak about as much English as I can speak Swahili and we had good Swenglish conversation. Yusuf is a small business owner in Moshi that distributes sugarcane, peanuts, and corn. We talked for a while the Yusuf and I were served food at the table. I don't know where everyone else ate or what they had. We had ugali, BBQ, and fanta. About halfway through the meal Yusuf insisted thet I drink milk with him. I tried to say no thanks but he was persistent. So I said okay and for the first time in recent memoryI hoped I was drinking a Nestle product (I can't stand Nestle and I will tell you about it if you want to know). Nestle powdered milk is very common here. Instead I got a cup full of thick, sour, chunky, cold, white, gooey stuff that I downed in 3 gulps and chased with fanta and started thinking aboutt he brucella cases at the hospital and started having flashbacks to Tuxpan, MX and Quito Ecuador....
Other than the milk, the food was amazing and I stuffed myself. Afterward I watched a not so pay-per-view WWE Bash with Yusuf and Abraham. Ray Mysterio beat Chris Jericho for the intercontinental title. Chris Jericho and Edge won the unified tag team belts and I thought Triple H and Randy Orton were about to wrestle for the Heavyweight title and figured I should get back to the Hospital and told them I needed to leave. They proceeded to give me a big sugarcane and a bag of peanuts. As we were leaving I noticed the WWE Diva match was starting and suddenly wanted to stay but it was a little late then (typical Trent timing).
On the way back they asked me the names of my family. Since I am Nicholas here I figured my Dad would be James and my brother Patrick (all the men in my family go by their middle name). My mom got to stay Shirley. THey made me promise to greet James, Patrick, and Shirley for them and I will. They also asked me to visit again should I return to Tanzania. And we offered each other God's blessing (Mungu akubariki). I walked back to my room with a 4 foot piece of sugarcane slung over my shoulder with bags of avacados and peanuts. Dr. Sister Lymo saw me and started laughing and made me explain where I got this stuff. She said she would roast the peanuts for me and have some one cut up the sugarcane. I told her I could handle the avacados myself.
Sitting in my room later I thought about the scripture that says to entertain strangers. They might be angels. Knowing I am no angel I thought that maybe it works both ways and I was entertained by a family of angels today. People with so little offered a complete stranger so much...and my heart was strangely warmed (I had to throw that in there)...and I digested that gooey, sour, slimy, milky, nasty, goodness just fine.
The service consisted of about 45 minutes of singing (the choir onlyhad 8 people but they sounded amazing) and an hour and a half sermon by a lady. I guess the pastor had the day off as he just sat at the front watching the congregation. They spoke really fast and I realized how terrible my Swahili is. They read ps. 23, Jer 23, Ephesians 2, and Mark 6. Then she talked a long time about food and children and I am not sure what else. At the end of the service they marched the house and I gave the few shillings I had in my pocket. Then we went outside and stood in a circle and I dont know what was going on but it seemed like they were auctioning off bible covers and avacados, although no moneywas exchanged. He was definitely holding up things and c alling numbers. They gave away the Bible covers and some avacados and then I heard the infamous word "mzungu" spoken. I wasn't sure what to do because I had given all of my money to the offering and had not bid on the avacados. Then he brought them to me and said in English "this is your prize" and everyone laughed and applauded. I still don't know what happened but I have some nice avacados that I will eat soon.
Everything so far was somewhat expected. But next my friend whom I sat beside brought a teenage boynambed Abraham over (I think he was his son). Abraham spoke english and is in the equivalent of the tenth grade. But the father Yusufu did thetalking and Abraham translated about half of what he said. Yusufu asked if I would like to come to his home to eat and pointed beside the church. THinking he lived next door I said yes. We went beside thechurch and jumped in his pickup with about 10 other children and drove several kilometers to a part of Moshi I have never seen before called Pasuo or something. Abraham and I sat up front with Yusufu. He asked me ifI ate pork andI said yes. This is an honor because pork is hard to find here with the heavy Muslim influence.
Yusufus house was clean and nice and about 2x the size of my apartment and I think it is shared by 2 families. He could speak about as much English as I can speak Swahili and we had good Swenglish conversation. Yusuf is a small business owner in Moshi that distributes sugarcane, peanuts, and corn. We talked for a while the Yusuf and I were served food at the table. I don't know where everyone else ate or what they had. We had ugali, BBQ, and fanta. About halfway through the meal Yusuf insisted thet I drink milk with him. I tried to say no thanks but he was persistent. So I said okay and for the first time in recent memoryI hoped I was drinking a Nestle product (I can't stand Nestle and I will tell you about it if you want to know). Nestle powdered milk is very common here. Instead I got a cup full of thick, sour, chunky, cold, white, gooey stuff that I downed in 3 gulps and chased with fanta and started thinking aboutt he brucella cases at the hospital and started having flashbacks to Tuxpan, MX and Quito Ecuador....
Other than the milk, the food was amazing and I stuffed myself. Afterward I watched a not so pay-per-view WWE Bash with Yusuf and Abraham. Ray Mysterio beat Chris Jericho for the intercontinental title. Chris Jericho and Edge won the unified tag team belts and I thought Triple H and Randy Orton were about to wrestle for the Heavyweight title and figured I should get back to the Hospital and told them I needed to leave. They proceeded to give me a big sugarcane and a bag of peanuts. As we were leaving I noticed the WWE Diva match was starting and suddenly wanted to stay but it was a little late then (typical Trent timing).
On the way back they asked me the names of my family. Since I am Nicholas here I figured my Dad would be James and my brother Patrick (all the men in my family go by their middle name). My mom got to stay Shirley. THey made me promise to greet James, Patrick, and Shirley for them and I will. They also asked me to visit again should I return to Tanzania. And we offered each other God's blessing (Mungu akubariki). I walked back to my room with a 4 foot piece of sugarcane slung over my shoulder with bags of avacados and peanuts. Dr. Sister Lymo saw me and started laughing and made me explain where I got this stuff. She said she would roast the peanuts for me and have some one cut up the sugarcane. I told her I could handle the avacados myself.
Sitting in my room later I thought about the scripture that says to entertain strangers. They might be angels. Knowing I am no angel I thought that maybe it works both ways and I was entertained by a family of angels today. People with so little offered a complete stranger so much...and my heart was strangely warmed (I had to throw that in there)...and I digested that gooey, sour, slimy, milky, nasty, goodness just fine.
Appendecto-Me na Chapati
Last Friday I scrubbed in and assisted with an appendectomy. I stood on the patients left side. To my right was Dr. Rita - a clinician at the hospital who is training to do surgery and this was her fourth time to operate. Directly across from me was Fatima - the lovely scrub nurse who could probably do this operation in her sleep. To Fatima's left was Dr. Karim - the chief surgeon in charge of the procedure. I held retractors and blotted up blood and had to ask the circulating nurse to adjust my mask because it was falling off of my face. It was a great experience and the best view of a surgery I have ever had. That was great but I think last Saturday may have been better.
I told "mama Lucy", one of the nurses, that I wanted to learn to cook chapatis. So she said to come to her house at mid day on saturday and arranged from some guy named Mrombo that works at the hospital to take me because the route was kind of confusing (she lived much further away than I thought). So 12:00 rolls around and Mrombo is a no show. Not concerned, I pull out my patented Swahili phrase "namtafuta Mrombo" ( I am looking for Mrombo). And pretty soon I have someone helping me find him...except we don't. They tell me he has gone to the shamba (farm) and will not be back today and I start thinking that I might not learn to cook chapatis.
Phase 2 of my spontaneous plan is to ask for Mama lucy's phone number and try to contact her. 30 minutes later, I finally find an older nun who doesn't speak English that knows the number. I dial, and it doesn't go through. I try several times and finally get her and convince her that I can find it myself if she gives me directions. The next 2 hours are transit in which I went to Moshi town on a daladala and then got on a bus (I wasn't expecting this) to a place called Umbwe. Th bus started toward Arusha on the main road and then after a while turned right and started heading up the mountain on a dirt road through woods and farmland. I knew just enough swahili to get them to drop me off at Sambarai church (which I thought was samurai and was expecting to fight ninjas).
Once there I called mama L and she said she was on her way. After about 20 minutes she shows up and then leads me on a 20 minute hike through the biggest cornfield I have ever walked through. Actually it was half sunflower, half corn, planted together. And then we get to her house which is in the middle of the cornfield. It is nice with power and indoor plumbing but we cooked over coals outside to save electricity.
Chapati ingredients : flour, water, salt, sugar, oil ....mixed to a play-dough consistency then rolled out like pizza crust and cooked in a frying pan - they look like tortillas. I have had hundreds in the past 5 weeks and love them. As i rolled them out she told me to keep adding dry flour to prevent sticking like they add hydrocortizone cream to a wound dressing at the hospital to prevent sticking (i wasn't sure of this metaphor but afterward she kept calling the flour hydrocortizone and cracked me up. I will never be able to call flour anything else...this may cause my future wife confusion....). We cooked chapatis for a couple of hours and then I was invited in for supper and had rice and beef and chapati, it was very good.
As I was sitting at the dinner table I looked out the window and realized that Mama Lucy's backyard was as close to the mountain as I have yet been. Mama Lucy's backyard view is breathtaking. AS i was finishing my meal her husband came home (I think his name is Wilfred). He is a doctor at a hospital near the Kenya border and is gone during the week. I talked with them for a while and had a great time. Finally, at dusk, the dr. said "We had better escort youback to the bus before it gets too dark and someone sees you and thinks that you have a lot of money." and I said, "yeah, they would be disappointed". So they walked me back to the Sambarai church and put me on a bus (they offered to pay the fare but I refused to let them).
I told "mama Lucy", one of the nurses, that I wanted to learn to cook chapatis. So she said to come to her house at mid day on saturday and arranged from some guy named Mrombo that works at the hospital to take me because the route was kind of confusing (she lived much further away than I thought). So 12:00 rolls around and Mrombo is a no show. Not concerned, I pull out my patented Swahili phrase "namtafuta Mrombo" ( I am looking for Mrombo). And pretty soon I have someone helping me find him...except we don't. They tell me he has gone to the shamba (farm) and will not be back today and I start thinking that I might not learn to cook chapatis.
Phase 2 of my spontaneous plan is to ask for Mama lucy's phone number and try to contact her. 30 minutes later, I finally find an older nun who doesn't speak English that knows the number. I dial, and it doesn't go through. I try several times and finally get her and convince her that I can find it myself if she gives me directions. The next 2 hours are transit in which I went to Moshi town on a daladala and then got on a bus (I wasn't expecting this) to a place called Umbwe. Th bus started toward Arusha on the main road and then after a while turned right and started heading up the mountain on a dirt road through woods and farmland. I knew just enough swahili to get them to drop me off at Sambarai church (which I thought was samurai and was expecting to fight ninjas).
Once there I called mama L and she said she was on her way. After about 20 minutes she shows up and then leads me on a 20 minute hike through the biggest cornfield I have ever walked through. Actually it was half sunflower, half corn, planted together. And then we get to her house which is in the middle of the cornfield. It is nice with power and indoor plumbing but we cooked over coals outside to save electricity.
Chapati ingredients : flour, water, salt, sugar, oil ....mixed to a play-dough consistency then rolled out like pizza crust and cooked in a frying pan - they look like tortillas. I have had hundreds in the past 5 weeks and love them. As i rolled them out she told me to keep adding dry flour to prevent sticking like they add hydrocortizone cream to a wound dressing at the hospital to prevent sticking (i wasn't sure of this metaphor but afterward she kept calling the flour hydrocortizone and cracked me up. I will never be able to call flour anything else...this may cause my future wife confusion....). We cooked chapatis for a couple of hours and then I was invited in for supper and had rice and beef and chapati, it was very good.
As I was sitting at the dinner table I looked out the window and realized that Mama Lucy's backyard was as close to the mountain as I have yet been. Mama Lucy's backyard view is breathtaking. AS i was finishing my meal her husband came home (I think his name is Wilfred). He is a doctor at a hospital near the Kenya border and is gone during the week. I talked with them for a while and had a great time. Finally, at dusk, the dr. said "We had better escort youback to the bus before it gets too dark and someone sees you and thinks that you have a lot of money." and I said, "yeah, they would be disappointed". So they walked me back to the Sambarai church and put me on a bus (they offered to pay the fare but I refused to let them).
I like venturing out on my own and this was a good warmup for the next day...as well as my solosafari across Tanzania, Zanzibar, and Kenya that I set out on this Friday...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Life and Death
I thought the most amazing things I could see on this trip were Kili, Lake Victoria, and the African sky. And these have truly amazed me. But nothing prepared me for how awestruck tuesday morning would leave me.
We brought the 35 year old expectant mother into the operating theater and gave her an epidural. Then the ceasarian section began. I saw a real live human being surgically removed from a real live human being. That is the most simplistic description I can give. But honestly, I can't describe it. The procedure itself was one of the messiest and bloodiest I have seen. But the end result is amazing. I can't claim to know how it feels to be a brand new father, but I can empathize a little bit more now.
So after an intense 5 minutes of blood and water and placenta the nurse was holding a perfect 3.5 kg baby boy upside down as he cried. It was beautiful. I looked at the baby and said "welcome to Africa kiddo. May your generation see this continent transformed and renewed." (Okay, I didn't really say that...I made goofy faces through the surgical mask and kept repeating in a squeaky, baby voice "Mambo Poa!, Mambo Vipi". But if I could go back I would say....No, I would do the exact same thing again - I know this because we did another C section the next day and my reaction didn't change).
This was awesome, but my exctasy didn't last long. As I was leaving the OR, Christina informed me that our burn patient (a lady in her mid 20's who had 2nd degree burns over 50% of her body from a cooking accident) had recently passed away. I helped treat her on Saturday and though that she was improving. This frustrated me a lot because it would never have happened with the right facilities. And later on that day another patient died. I have been at this small hospital for almost a month with no deaths and we have 2 in one day. So this left me in a bittersweet mood feeling selfishly grateful for my own life and health. (I would wake up at 3 am for the next two nights thinking about the burn lady and lots of other stuff - but I slept like a rock last night).
The fact is death is never far away in Africa. This is evidenced by all of the coffin factories. I described Moshi as the "Garden Spot" of Tanzania and it is relatively prosperous. But I could show you at least 2 roads in town that are lined with one coffin company after another. It is a sobering sight...
...Welcome to Africa beautiful babies. I pray that your generation sees this continent transformed and renewed.
We brought the 35 year old expectant mother into the operating theater and gave her an epidural. Then the ceasarian section began. I saw a real live human being surgically removed from a real live human being. That is the most simplistic description I can give. But honestly, I can't describe it. The procedure itself was one of the messiest and bloodiest I have seen. But the end result is amazing. I can't claim to know how it feels to be a brand new father, but I can empathize a little bit more now.
So after an intense 5 minutes of blood and water and placenta the nurse was holding a perfect 3.5 kg baby boy upside down as he cried. It was beautiful. I looked at the baby and said "welcome to Africa kiddo. May your generation see this continent transformed and renewed." (Okay, I didn't really say that...I made goofy faces through the surgical mask and kept repeating in a squeaky, baby voice "Mambo Poa!, Mambo Vipi". But if I could go back I would say....No, I would do the exact same thing again - I know this because we did another C section the next day and my reaction didn't change).
This was awesome, but my exctasy didn't last long. As I was leaving the OR, Christina informed me that our burn patient (a lady in her mid 20's who had 2nd degree burns over 50% of her body from a cooking accident) had recently passed away. I helped treat her on Saturday and though that she was improving. This frustrated me a lot because it would never have happened with the right facilities. And later on that day another patient died. I have been at this small hospital for almost a month with no deaths and we have 2 in one day. So this left me in a bittersweet mood feeling selfishly grateful for my own life and health. (I would wake up at 3 am for the next two nights thinking about the burn lady and lots of other stuff - but I slept like a rock last night).
The fact is death is never far away in Africa. This is evidenced by all of the coffin factories. I described Moshi as the "Garden Spot" of Tanzania and it is relatively prosperous. But I could show you at least 2 roads in town that are lined with one coffin company after another. It is a sobering sight...
...Welcome to Africa beautiful babies. I pray that your generation sees this continent transformed and renewed.
Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Altitudes
I moved to the hospital and like my new room as well as the old one. I am debating on whether to call it St. Somewhere or St. Elsewhere (feel free to vote, i probably wont decide until I get back to Bham). This is a 180 degree change from the International House as I am now living with a bunch of African nuns and an Austrian nurse named Christina who is about my age. She is a good nurse.
Anyway, these nuns know how to party, and I think they are all really cute. Too bad they are nuns. I was pretty arrogant about my ownership of the Fortress of Solitude so maybe it is poetic justice that I am now in a convent. WHatevuh! I like it here. There is also a Moravian church down the street and I suspect that this Sunday my heart will be "strangely warmed" (to my friends schooled in methodism forgive me if this is out of context...I get this and aldersgate confused...or are they the same thing? Sijui-swahili for I don't know).
I walked outside my first night at St. Something. My room is behind the hospital. I looked at all of the homemade bricks for the addition to the building that were drying in rows outside and it reminded me of a place not too far from here not too long ago. I then looked up into the cloudless African night and forgot everything I was thinking about. The hazy glow of the milky way and an infinite number of stars stretched out before me...I quickly focused on the Southern Cross, as I do every chance I get, and thought "O Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth." And I knew that I had made a good move.
-Also, earlier that day a bird pooped on my hat while I was wearing it. That is the 2nd time this year that has happened and I think Pepe Loco is behind it. And I am very thankful for my hat because it obviously loves and protects me.
Anyway, these nuns know how to party, and I think they are all really cute. Too bad they are nuns. I was pretty arrogant about my ownership of the Fortress of Solitude so maybe it is poetic justice that I am now in a convent. WHatevuh! I like it here. There is also a Moravian church down the street and I suspect that this Sunday my heart will be "strangely warmed" (to my friends schooled in methodism forgive me if this is out of context...I get this and aldersgate confused...or are they the same thing? Sijui-swahili for I don't know).
I walked outside my first night at St. Something. My room is behind the hospital. I looked at all of the homemade bricks for the addition to the building that were drying in rows outside and it reminded me of a place not too far from here not too long ago. I then looked up into the cloudless African night and forgot everything I was thinking about. The hazy glow of the milky way and an infinite number of stars stretched out before me...I quickly focused on the Southern Cross, as I do every chance I get, and thought "O Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth." And I knew that I had made a good move.
-Also, earlier that day a bird pooped on my hat while I was wearing it. That is the 2nd time this year that has happened and I think Pepe Loco is behind it. And I am very thankful for my hat because it obviously loves and protects me.
The Next Sunday
This past Sunday I was supposed to move to the hospital. My 3 hours of transit each day were causing me to miss morning rounds and afternoon operations. After talking with our director here he said I had to get permission (and more money) from the organization. I sent a patented mean email and the next day they were wiring money for me to move....speaking of mean emails Delta has changed my itinerary yet again so they better watch out. But I didn't move because my ride went to Nairobi and was delayed in getting back.
So I decided to take a walk and see if I could find a patient named Moses. A 12 year old Tanzanian who I had become friends with at the hospital as he was recovering from surgery. I was giving him english lessons and he gave me even better Swahili lessons. He said that he lived near where I said the international house was. So finding him consisted of me wandering aimlessly saying "namtafuta Macha " (I am looking for Macha-that is his family's name). After about 30 minutes and a couple of false leads, someone led me straight to the house and everyone was excited to see me. They gave me chicken (kuku) and rice (wali) and bananas (ndizi) and fanta (fanta).
We watched a live broadcast of a tent revival from Dodoma. The tent was easily larger than a football field and I was very impressed because I like tents a lot. There was a giant banner over the speakers podium that read "LISHA KONDOO ZANGU" (FEED MY SHEEP). I sat there with the family and watched this guy preach in swahili for over 2 hours. At one point one of the girls jumped up and everyone laughed and got excited. Apperently the preacher said "you watching this on the red couch with the hurt arm get up and pray"....well, we were all on red couches but the girl that jumped up possibly had a hurt arm that got better. I am not ready to call it a miracle yet because I wasn't really listening to the sermon. I was zoned out trying to think of jokes about chickens (kuku) and wondering where my Fanta was that they had promised to bring me. But this is my own fault and I have no doubt the Holy Spirit is equally powerful with or without my attention.
After this Moses showed me his music collection on the computer (this may have been the most well off family I have ever seen in Africa, still the tv was a 12 inch). He chose to open Red Red Wine and No Woman No Cry simultaneously. The preacher was also still going strong. I thought that the 2 songs with the swahili sermon in the background complimented each other well.
I stayed at the house for 3 hours then walked back to the hostel after dark with a couple of the family members escorting me. It was probably my favorite afternoon of the trip so far. Then I slept on the front porch of the Fortress of Solitude - I had already given it up to some dude from Eugene, Oregon.
So I decided to take a walk and see if I could find a patient named Moses. A 12 year old Tanzanian who I had become friends with at the hospital as he was recovering from surgery. I was giving him english lessons and he gave me even better Swahili lessons. He said that he lived near where I said the international house was. So finding him consisted of me wandering aimlessly saying "namtafuta Macha " (I am looking for Macha-that is his family's name). After about 30 minutes and a couple of false leads, someone led me straight to the house and everyone was excited to see me. They gave me chicken (kuku) and rice (wali) and bananas (ndizi) and fanta (fanta).
We watched a live broadcast of a tent revival from Dodoma. The tent was easily larger than a football field and I was very impressed because I like tents a lot. There was a giant banner over the speakers podium that read "LISHA KONDOO ZANGU" (FEED MY SHEEP). I sat there with the family and watched this guy preach in swahili for over 2 hours. At one point one of the girls jumped up and everyone laughed and got excited. Apperently the preacher said "you watching this on the red couch with the hurt arm get up and pray"....well, we were all on red couches but the girl that jumped up possibly had a hurt arm that got better. I am not ready to call it a miracle yet because I wasn't really listening to the sermon. I was zoned out trying to think of jokes about chickens (kuku) and wondering where my Fanta was that they had promised to bring me. But this is my own fault and I have no doubt the Holy Spirit is equally powerful with or without my attention.
After this Moses showed me his music collection on the computer (this may have been the most well off family I have ever seen in Africa, still the tv was a 12 inch). He chose to open Red Red Wine and No Woman No Cry simultaneously. The preacher was also still going strong. I thought that the 2 songs with the swahili sermon in the background complimented each other well.
I stayed at the house for 3 hours then walked back to the hostel after dark with a couple of the family members escorting me. It was probably my favorite afternoon of the trip so far. Then I slept on the front porch of the Fortress of Solitude - I had already given it up to some dude from Eugene, Oregon.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Oasis and Shots in the Butt
2 Sundays ago we went to a place called MagiMoto (hot water). It is a hot springs that is between Moshi and Arusha. This trip involved us leaving the main road and driving for 1.5 hours over round Masaii village and baobob studded landscape. This experience was nothing short of breathtaking. After driving for an hour through very dry bush country I saw my first real live oasis. It was like something out of a book. A sea of bright green palms and acacias sitting in the middle of the brown bush country. Inside the green was a spot where on underground spring surfaced and literally the clearest water I have ever seen in my life. There were also turtles and monitor lizards. We went swimming. And if you are still not impressed I should add that from the edge of the oasis was the best view of Kili I have ever seen including all the post cards, national geographics and discovery channel shows. From this perspective you could fully appreciate its great height and width. It was simply awesome.
I spent the next week at the hospital helping the nurses. I have learned a lot and gotten to give a few shots in the butt as well as hold some old ladies hands who are scared of the nurses starting their IV's. I tell them "pole bibi" (i am sorry grandmother - all the elderly ladies are called grandmother in east africa), and they look at me with loving grandmother eyes and say "asante, asante".
All of the Lake Victoria ridiculousness got me way behind on blogging. I am trying to catch up. I have made some big changes and have a lot to report...I cannot do it with the 5 minutes of internet time that I have left and I need to start trekking back to my new home. Yeah, that is right. I moved. And I will write about it soon. To my family on vacation in Panama City Beach - I miss you and wish I could join you, play Goofy Golf for me.
I spent the next week at the hospital helping the nurses. I have learned a lot and gotten to give a few shots in the butt as well as hold some old ladies hands who are scared of the nurses starting their IV's. I tell them "pole bibi" (i am sorry grandmother - all the elderly ladies are called grandmother in east africa), and they look at me with loving grandmother eyes and say "asante, asante".
All of the Lake Victoria ridiculousness got me way behind on blogging. I am trying to catch up. I have made some big changes and have a lot to report...I cannot do it with the 5 minutes of internet time that I have left and I need to start trekking back to my new home. Yeah, that is right. I moved. And I will write about it soon. To my family on vacation in Panama City Beach - I miss you and wish I could join you, play Goofy Golf for me.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Snatching Victoria Part 3 (I swear this is the last one, thanks for humoring me)
Chapter 3:
I awake at 7:00 am Sunday mornint to Roman Cavalry choirs singing, check that...it is Roman Catholic choirs. Anyway, I like it and we have breakfast before making our way to the ferry dock. From there I inquire about where to find the fishermen and am told to walk down the bank. So we do and come to a beach with 6 or 7 long, wooden, fishing boats anchored on the beach and people cooking fish and other people running around and selling fresh fish, almost all tilapia. But one man shows me a nile perch and while I am admiring it on of the Florida girls convinces a fisherman to take us on a boat ride for a small fee. We go down the bank, beside hotel Tilapia, around the Saa Nane island (as far as I can tell it is inhabited by fish eagles, gazelle, and monitor lizards...I was told it has crocodiles but I didn't see any) and then back to the fish beach.
After this we head into town for lunch and run into a guy from Michigan who asks if we have been to the giant fish market. I insist that we have not and he tells us the way. It is a huge building on the water that I have seen several times before and thought was a marina. It smelled like fish and there were miles and miles of fish and I saw some pretty big Nile Perch (4feet +). This place was also guarded by hundreds of Maribu Stork with their long jagged beaks, skinny legs, bald heads, and 5 foot wingspans. Cool and nasty at the same time.
After this we ventured several kilometers out of town and followed a herd of cattle down a dirt road for a couple of miles before coming to this tranquil ranch type place on the lakeshore with a beach and several cabanas and a restaurant and a volleyball net. I had some grilled nile perch with coconut sauce and it was some of the best fish I have ever had. There were also random Masaii guys guarding the door.
We played volleyball then took a cab to a marked that was selling hundreds of kangas, my favorite ones had Barack Obamas picture on them (I thought this was hilarious...I also think he is the king of Africa, these people are Obamamaniacs and they love Americans just because of him). Later on we decided to go to a store and get supplies for the 16 hour bus ride back. This consisted of me leading the group on a wild goose chase because, although the store was real, it was no where near where the lonely liar map said it was. And when we finally fount U-turn grocery (that is the real name), it was closed. So we had ice cream and went back to the hotel and went to bed early because the cab was coming to get us at 4:30 Monday morning to take us to the bus station to catch our 6:00 AM COACH (AM COACH is the name of the bus company) to moshi.
Chapter 4:
4:30 am - I hear a cab pull up outside. Pack my sleeping bag into my backpack, and walk outside to negotiate cab fair. All 6 of us cram into a taxi and then catch our bus. I see a fast, and beautiful sunrise illuminating baobobs in the distance and all I can think about is the song O Sifuni Mungu (if you don't know it look it up sometime...great song). And my billfold is in a very secure place and my money belt actually has money in it.
3:30 pm - the bus breaks down outside of a town called Endasak (prounounced by us as In-da-Suck). We are there for 3 hours and I meet a guy named Moses and another named William who said his dad had 20 wives and 50 children. I am impressed. Hemingway also writes about staying in a nice bed and breakfast near here in Babati but I don't think it exists anymore.
We are hot and the group is disgruntled and wants to hitchhike. Being the mzee (elder), I guess I have the final say...I resist my primal instincts to tear out across the countryside on Chacos making a straight line to Moshi with only a map and my smile to guide me...I tell them there is no way we are leaving the bus.
6:30 pm - They fix teh bus and we get to rolling. At some point during the drive a chicken is behind me and everytime we hit a bump it bellows out a tormented CaCaw! This is the vocalization of my own feelings and amuses me for a long time. i start looking forward to the bumps and laugh out loud often.
12:00 am Tuesday - We get to Arusha and change buses. It has been 18 hours since we left Mwanza.
1:15 am -We arrive home in Moshi and have to take a cab to the hostel. As we are pulling out a land Rover cuts us off and blocks the road. Our cab driver gets out and starts talking to them. I am getting ready to be relieved of my money again when the driver gets back in and starts following the land rover. Then suddenly he turns a different way and takes back roads to our house. I still don't know what this was about but I was glad to be home. I enter the Fortress of Solitude, take my sleeping bag out of my backpack, get in it, and close my eyes. Lala Salama!
The end, thanks for reading.
I awake at 7:00 am Sunday mornint to Roman Cavalry choirs singing, check that...it is Roman Catholic choirs. Anyway, I like it and we have breakfast before making our way to the ferry dock. From there I inquire about where to find the fishermen and am told to walk down the bank. So we do and come to a beach with 6 or 7 long, wooden, fishing boats anchored on the beach and people cooking fish and other people running around and selling fresh fish, almost all tilapia. But one man shows me a nile perch and while I am admiring it on of the Florida girls convinces a fisherman to take us on a boat ride for a small fee. We go down the bank, beside hotel Tilapia, around the Saa Nane island (as far as I can tell it is inhabited by fish eagles, gazelle, and monitor lizards...I was told it has crocodiles but I didn't see any) and then back to the fish beach.
After this we head into town for lunch and run into a guy from Michigan who asks if we have been to the giant fish market. I insist that we have not and he tells us the way. It is a huge building on the water that I have seen several times before and thought was a marina. It smelled like fish and there were miles and miles of fish and I saw some pretty big Nile Perch (4feet +). This place was also guarded by hundreds of Maribu Stork with their long jagged beaks, skinny legs, bald heads, and 5 foot wingspans. Cool and nasty at the same time.
After this we ventured several kilometers out of town and followed a herd of cattle down a dirt road for a couple of miles before coming to this tranquil ranch type place on the lakeshore with a beach and several cabanas and a restaurant and a volleyball net. I had some grilled nile perch with coconut sauce and it was some of the best fish I have ever had. There were also random Masaii guys guarding the door.
We played volleyball then took a cab to a marked that was selling hundreds of kangas, my favorite ones had Barack Obamas picture on them (I thought this was hilarious...I also think he is the king of Africa, these people are Obamamaniacs and they love Americans just because of him). Later on we decided to go to a store and get supplies for the 16 hour bus ride back. This consisted of me leading the group on a wild goose chase because, although the store was real, it was no where near where the lonely liar map said it was. And when we finally fount U-turn grocery (that is the real name), it was closed. So we had ice cream and went back to the hotel and went to bed early because the cab was coming to get us at 4:30 Monday morning to take us to the bus station to catch our 6:00 AM COACH (AM COACH is the name of the bus company) to moshi.
Chapter 4:
4:30 am - I hear a cab pull up outside. Pack my sleeping bag into my backpack, and walk outside to negotiate cab fair. All 6 of us cram into a taxi and then catch our bus. I see a fast, and beautiful sunrise illuminating baobobs in the distance and all I can think about is the song O Sifuni Mungu (if you don't know it look it up sometime...great song). And my billfold is in a very secure place and my money belt actually has money in it.
3:30 pm - the bus breaks down outside of a town called Endasak (prounounced by us as In-da-Suck). We are there for 3 hours and I meet a guy named Moses and another named William who said his dad had 20 wives and 50 children. I am impressed. Hemingway also writes about staying in a nice bed and breakfast near here in Babati but I don't think it exists anymore.
We are hot and the group is disgruntled and wants to hitchhike. Being the mzee (elder), I guess I have the final say...I resist my primal instincts to tear out across the countryside on Chacos making a straight line to Moshi with only a map and my smile to guide me...I tell them there is no way we are leaving the bus.
6:30 pm - They fix teh bus and we get to rolling. At some point during the drive a chicken is behind me and everytime we hit a bump it bellows out a tormented CaCaw! This is the vocalization of my own feelings and amuses me for a long time. i start looking forward to the bumps and laugh out loud often.
12:00 am Tuesday - We get to Arusha and change buses. It has been 18 hours since we left Mwanza.
1:15 am -We arrive home in Moshi and have to take a cab to the hostel. As we are pulling out a land Rover cuts us off and blocks the road. Our cab driver gets out and starts talking to them. I am getting ready to be relieved of my money again when the driver gets back in and starts following the land rover. Then suddenly he turns a different way and takes back roads to our house. I still don't know what this was about but I was glad to be home. I enter the Fortress of Solitude, take my sleeping bag out of my backpack, get in it, and close my eyes. Lala Salama!
The end, thanks for reading.
Monday, July 6, 2009
I found a USB port!
And I added pics of Wicker Mandela to the Safari Njema blog. A pic of the waterfall, and a pic of lake Victoria. But they took a very long time to upload. Salama!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Snatching Victoria from the Jaws of Defeat (Part deaux)
Chapter 2:
I wake up at 7am on Saturday morning to a choir of nuns singing (we are staying at a Catholic run hostel) and then go to the cafeteria for the complimentary breakfast. Afterward we wait 2 hours on Cleopatra who said she was going to give us a tour this morning but she never shows so we set out on foot. After walking about 1/4 of a mile I see it for the first time and I am not disappointed.
Lake Victoria is the source of "da Nile" and the 2nd largest freshwater lake in the world. Gazing across the bank bordered by boulders and sand and lilypads and reeds and looking out across the lake there is water as far as the eye can see, and beyond that, Uganda. Victoria is equally as impressive as Kilimanjaro in its own way, and surprisingly much easier to spot. After spending several minutes soaking up Lake Victoria (figuratively that is)...I head to the town center to casch in my travellers checks. This takes almost two hours and I get a terrible exchange rate (I could wig out on Lonely Liar again but I'm not going to).
Next we go to the Mwanza market which is huge and I am excited, expecting to see miles and miles of fish but they are not there. I find this troubling and confusing. I ask for Nile Perch and I get tilapia, such is life. But the market is nice, crowded, and full of colors and smells.
From the market we head to lunch then trek to Capri point where the lonely L says we can take a 2000 shilling boat ride to an island game reserve called Saa Nane. But the actual price is 32000 and we cant negotiate anything cheaper so we leave and go to this wazungu (white man) paradise down the street called Hotel Tilapia. It has a pool and several restaurants and a peer and everything is very nice and a lot of Safaris begin or end here. I am impressed at first and we rest a little from our walk.
While hanging out poolside I notice some awesome boulders (Mwanza has to be the boulder capital of Africa, the giant smooth stones are everywhere in this city) and say we should go climb them. So most of the group follow me over there. After starting the climb I realize that there are little shacks nestled between the boulders and this is a very poverty stricken area with half naked (and naked) children running around and chickens and goats and it is right beside 5 star Hotel Tilapia. All of a sudden I am not as impressed with Hotel Tilapia and I am sick with myself for trespassing and climbing all over these peoples houses. The others go to the top but I head back to the hotel navigating my way through a barrage of children and adults saying "mzungu, give me my money" (this is a phrase that I have come to know well over the past few weeks and I intend to write a serious blog about it, but I can't yet because I am still processing) and me replying, "samahani, pole sana" (excuse me, I am very sorry).
After these events we walk back downtown to Mwanza's main waterfront and arrive just as the sun begins its descent. There is a nice waterside park and we check it out. I walk down the bank away from the others and find a boulder that uncannily resembles a lounge chair and I help myself to it. My rock recliner is very comfortable and is a great spot to take photos and take in the lake. As my travelling companions are napping on the grass or doing cartwheels or whatever, I stare out at the lake. I look across the Mwanza gulf bordered by rocky neighborhoods for miles until it opens up into the full length and depth of Lake Victoria. There are fish boats and dhaus and, for my parrothead friends, even tiny little handmade boats shaped just like a smile (I do not know if they were sailed my a magician) gliding over the surface of the water. The horizon brings the setting sun and a billion rays of light making a shimmering golden path straight to my eye. I can even feel the warmth on my face as I am seeing my second Tanzanian sunset of this trip.
Being in this setting makes me very contemplative and I start thinking about history. About some guy named John Speke who "discovered" Lake Victoria (I think the Africans beat him by a few thousand years) and how Dr. Livingstone died while trying to determine the source of the Nile and how it only took me 16 hours on a bumpy bus to get here. I think about how special this moment is...but how much more special it would be if any of my family or friends were here to share it with me. Then I think about all of those special people, most in the states, some scattered across Mexico, the Caribbean, Europe, Asia, Africa, probably lots of other places, and I say a prayer for them and then I feel really thankful and have a little private worship time (there is a church across the street from the park named St. Nicholas, and all of the africans call me Nicholas, pronounced NEEEKOL, this is probably just a coincidince) and I see my fellow volunteers and I am thankful that they are here to share the moment....And then I get up and tell them I am hungry and we finish the sunset at a Chinese place on the lakeshore. After that we may or may not have gone dancing to some live Swahili music (I can't believe I let those girls talk me into it, crazy Canadians).
to be continued...2/3 through, I hope I haven't exhausted anyone yet
I wake up at 7am on Saturday morning to a choir of nuns singing (we are staying at a Catholic run hostel) and then go to the cafeteria for the complimentary breakfast. Afterward we wait 2 hours on Cleopatra who said she was going to give us a tour this morning but she never shows so we set out on foot. After walking about 1/4 of a mile I see it for the first time and I am not disappointed.
Lake Victoria is the source of "da Nile" and the 2nd largest freshwater lake in the world. Gazing across the bank bordered by boulders and sand and lilypads and reeds and looking out across the lake there is water as far as the eye can see, and beyond that, Uganda. Victoria is equally as impressive as Kilimanjaro in its own way, and surprisingly much easier to spot. After spending several minutes soaking up Lake Victoria (figuratively that is)...I head to the town center to casch in my travellers checks. This takes almost two hours and I get a terrible exchange rate (I could wig out on Lonely Liar again but I'm not going to).
Next we go to the Mwanza market which is huge and I am excited, expecting to see miles and miles of fish but they are not there. I find this troubling and confusing. I ask for Nile Perch and I get tilapia, such is life. But the market is nice, crowded, and full of colors and smells.
From the market we head to lunch then trek to Capri point where the lonely L says we can take a 2000 shilling boat ride to an island game reserve called Saa Nane. But the actual price is 32000 and we cant negotiate anything cheaper so we leave and go to this wazungu (white man) paradise down the street called Hotel Tilapia. It has a pool and several restaurants and a peer and everything is very nice and a lot of Safaris begin or end here. I am impressed at first and we rest a little from our walk.
While hanging out poolside I notice some awesome boulders (Mwanza has to be the boulder capital of Africa, the giant smooth stones are everywhere in this city) and say we should go climb them. So most of the group follow me over there. After starting the climb I realize that there are little shacks nestled between the boulders and this is a very poverty stricken area with half naked (and naked) children running around and chickens and goats and it is right beside 5 star Hotel Tilapia. All of a sudden I am not as impressed with Hotel Tilapia and I am sick with myself for trespassing and climbing all over these peoples houses. The others go to the top but I head back to the hotel navigating my way through a barrage of children and adults saying "mzungu, give me my money" (this is a phrase that I have come to know well over the past few weeks and I intend to write a serious blog about it, but I can't yet because I am still processing) and me replying, "samahani, pole sana" (excuse me, I am very sorry).
After these events we walk back downtown to Mwanza's main waterfront and arrive just as the sun begins its descent. There is a nice waterside park and we check it out. I walk down the bank away from the others and find a boulder that uncannily resembles a lounge chair and I help myself to it. My rock recliner is very comfortable and is a great spot to take photos and take in the lake. As my travelling companions are napping on the grass or doing cartwheels or whatever, I stare out at the lake. I look across the Mwanza gulf bordered by rocky neighborhoods for miles until it opens up into the full length and depth of Lake Victoria. There are fish boats and dhaus and, for my parrothead friends, even tiny little handmade boats shaped just like a smile (I do not know if they were sailed my a magician) gliding over the surface of the water. The horizon brings the setting sun and a billion rays of light making a shimmering golden path straight to my eye. I can even feel the warmth on my face as I am seeing my second Tanzanian sunset of this trip.
Being in this setting makes me very contemplative and I start thinking about history. About some guy named John Speke who "discovered" Lake Victoria (I think the Africans beat him by a few thousand years) and how Dr. Livingstone died while trying to determine the source of the Nile and how it only took me 16 hours on a bumpy bus to get here. I think about how special this moment is...but how much more special it would be if any of my family or friends were here to share it with me. Then I think about all of those special people, most in the states, some scattered across Mexico, the Caribbean, Europe, Asia, Africa, probably lots of other places, and I say a prayer for them and then I feel really thankful and have a little private worship time (there is a church across the street from the park named St. Nicholas, and all of the africans call me Nicholas, pronounced NEEEKOL, this is probably just a coincidince) and I see my fellow volunteers and I am thankful that they are here to share the moment....And then I get up and tell them I am hungry and we finish the sunset at a Chinese place on the lakeshore. After that we may or may not have gone dancing to some live Swahili music (I can't believe I let those girls talk me into it, crazy Canadians).
to be continued...2/3 through, I hope I haven't exhausted anyone yet
Snatching Victoria from the Jaws of Defeat (Part 1)
Grab a coke and some popcorn and hang on because this is going to be a while.
Forward:
This story actually begins 4 years ago when I was preparing to travel to South America and wanted some quick dry cargo pants. I realized that the youth XL were almost the same size as my regular 30x30s and $20 cheaper. So, in an attempt to be thrifty and wise I bought the kids pants. Did I mention that the main difference in the youth XL and the mens was that, other than the snugness, the pockets were significantly smaller...
Chapter 1:
4:30 am Friday morning. I awake to my alarm clock and a rooster crowing outside, stuff my sleeping bag into my backpack and leave the fortress to meet 5 others volunteers who are about to embark on an incredible journey. 2 weeks ago all of the volunteers but myself were planning on taking a safari this weekend. Having already been on safari and not wanting to spend $500.00 I decided I would do something else. And after seeing the biggest mountain in Africa I figured "why not go see the biggest lake". Once I told my new friends about my plan 5 of them defected from safari and joined me in this pursuit (they really weren't missing safari, they are smart people and realized that the safari is wherever I go). So myself, the french guy (Paul), the german guy (Justos), the canadian girl (Julie), and the florida girls (Jenny and Furdos) got a friend of ours in moshi to arrange transport to Mwanza, the 2nd largest city in Tanzania which happens to be on the shores of Lake Victoria. Our "11 hour" bus ride would leave Moshi at 6 am. The Lonely Liar book (from now on I will be referring to Lonely Planet as Lonely Liar) said that we could take a bus through the Serengeti, but this was not an option. Instead we went around the Serengetti, which made the drive about 2x as long.
7:30 am - After stopping to pick up passengers in Arusha I have a suspicious looking Tanzanian sitting beside me. My wallet is in my front pocket and, thinking that we have 10 more hours to go and I will fall asleep I should sit on my billfold to prevent being pickpocketed, I move it to the back pocket of my quick dry cargo pants....completely ignorant of the road ahead.
Our bus seats about 70 people and has no shock absorbing capabilities whatsoever. After leaving Arusha and passing the gate to the Serengeti, the road has not pavement whatsoever. And our driver does not like to go slow. The remainder of the bus ride was more like a rodeo, except instead of hanging on for 8 seconds you have to do it for 14 hours (remember, we have already been on the road for 2). This bus trip redefined the term "ride it don't fight it". I spent most of the time suspended in the air about inches above the seat. The rest of the time was spent crashing my shoulder into the window or bruising my butt while making repeatedly harder landings on the seat below.
11:00 am - I start reading the Green Hills of Africa by Papa Hemingway and realize that he is describing a safari he took in the 1930s at the exact same location my bus is currently bouncing through...I look out the window and try to picture the landscape the way he describes it. It is mostly agricultural now with small huts and farms. I try to see it the way it was, with savannah and bush and rhinos running around and stomping out fires. I am also impressed with my ability to read while being knocked around like a pinball - no doubt, this is a talent.
1:00 pm - The road is even rougher and dust is flying through the window and covering the passengers. As I look out the window to admire Mt. Hanang, it dawns on me that my pockets are small and my billfold my fall out so I should put it back in the front. I reach back to find an empty pocket and get a sick, stupid feeling all over. Once I realize that it is not in the floor around my seat I start to get an even sicker, stupider feeling. None of the other volunteers have seen it and my friend beside me pleads innocent and starts asking other passengers in Swahili if they have found it (I honestly think he was innocent).
3:00 pm - After making a couple of stops and I looking over the entire bus and talking to the crew on the bus, who all of a sudden cant speak any English, and realizing that my Swahili, although getting better, is still not good enough to say "everyone empty your pockets" or "who stole my money" (I did manage to get out Ninapotea pesa (I lost my money) but no one seemed to care about this mzungu) I take out my trusty Zantel phone and call my wonderful father whom I can always count on to impersonate me and cancel all of my credit cards (Kathryn, if you are reading this and need to make room in the safe you can trash my papers. They are no good to anyone now). The contents of the wallet are 91000 TZ shillings (roughly $60 or about 2 months wages for the average Tanzanian according to Lonely Liar), my credit and debit cards and insurance card and drivers license. It bothers me that whoever found my money didn't return it but I wonder how great the temptation would be for me if I were in their shoes and found a small fortune. With my cards cancelled I now begin to relax and enjoy the countryside again. I still have emergency travellers checks in my money belt but was dumb didn't put any money there. And I kind of like the thought of being a poor mzungu in Africa.
5:00 pm - We have passed hundreds of Baobab trees (my favorite tree on earth, i like them even more than live oaks) and I still get excited every time I see one. We also pass some baby-bob trees (that is what I call the young baobobs). Oh, and someone with a chicken just sat down beside me.
7:00pm - I am seeing my first Tanzanian sunset of this trip (we don't get this in the cloudy mountains of Moshi) and it is priceless. Watching the profile of a magnificent baobob surrounded by a burning orange sun that seems to melt into the savannah, I couldn't care less that I lost all of my money. Oh, and some dude sits down beside me and starts singing in Swahili and I suspec that he is drunk or possibly has some type of mental illness.
8:15 - I have been asleep for about 15 minutes (the only time I slept the entire bus ride) when I awake to see that the singing swahili guy (still singing) has his left pinky and ring finger in my right pocket. I want to say "you are too late buddy" but instead I just give him the "you got to be kidding me" look...He gently removes his fingers from my pocket and folds his hands in his lap...and never stops singing.
9:15 - The conductor shines his light in my eyes and then hands me my wallet. The contents of the wallet are now 0 TZ shillings, 3 cancelled cards, drivers license, insurance card. I just laugh and am kind of relieved because I like the billfold.
10:30 pm - The bus tops in Mwanza, bruised and exhausted we get off and are greeted by a friend of our friend in Moshi. Her name is Cleopatra. I finally reach the source of the nile and I am received by Cleopatra. I think this is freaking awesome. And I also thank God to be off of the bus and realize that 16.5 hours on the road is a new record for me beating out the Sons of Robert F. Townsend drive in Mexico earlier this year (that is still my record for driving in one day - for more on the adventures of the Sons of Robert F. Townsend check out www.2mancoup.blogspot.com). Cleo takes us to a hostel and the end of a very long day is capped by the news of Michael Jackson's death and I am a little sad but really excited about being so close to Lake Victoria and the notorious Nile Perch.
....to be continued (I realize that only the people who love me the most are going to read this saga and hopefully it is not a waste of your time, we are now 1/3 of the way through this tale).
Forward:
This story actually begins 4 years ago when I was preparing to travel to South America and wanted some quick dry cargo pants. I realized that the youth XL were almost the same size as my regular 30x30s and $20 cheaper. So, in an attempt to be thrifty and wise I bought the kids pants. Did I mention that the main difference in the youth XL and the mens was that, other than the snugness, the pockets were significantly smaller...
Chapter 1:
4:30 am Friday morning. I awake to my alarm clock and a rooster crowing outside, stuff my sleeping bag into my backpack and leave the fortress to meet 5 others volunteers who are about to embark on an incredible journey. 2 weeks ago all of the volunteers but myself were planning on taking a safari this weekend. Having already been on safari and not wanting to spend $500.00 I decided I would do something else. And after seeing the biggest mountain in Africa I figured "why not go see the biggest lake". Once I told my new friends about my plan 5 of them defected from safari and joined me in this pursuit (they really weren't missing safari, they are smart people and realized that the safari is wherever I go). So myself, the french guy (Paul), the german guy (Justos), the canadian girl (Julie), and the florida girls (Jenny and Furdos) got a friend of ours in moshi to arrange transport to Mwanza, the 2nd largest city in Tanzania which happens to be on the shores of Lake Victoria. Our "11 hour" bus ride would leave Moshi at 6 am. The Lonely Liar book (from now on I will be referring to Lonely Planet as Lonely Liar) said that we could take a bus through the Serengeti, but this was not an option. Instead we went around the Serengetti, which made the drive about 2x as long.
7:30 am - After stopping to pick up passengers in Arusha I have a suspicious looking Tanzanian sitting beside me. My wallet is in my front pocket and, thinking that we have 10 more hours to go and I will fall asleep I should sit on my billfold to prevent being pickpocketed, I move it to the back pocket of my quick dry cargo pants....completely ignorant of the road ahead.
Our bus seats about 70 people and has no shock absorbing capabilities whatsoever. After leaving Arusha and passing the gate to the Serengeti, the road has not pavement whatsoever. And our driver does not like to go slow. The remainder of the bus ride was more like a rodeo, except instead of hanging on for 8 seconds you have to do it for 14 hours (remember, we have already been on the road for 2). This bus trip redefined the term "ride it don't fight it". I spent most of the time suspended in the air about inches above the seat. The rest of the time was spent crashing my shoulder into the window or bruising my butt while making repeatedly harder landings on the seat below.
11:00 am - I start reading the Green Hills of Africa by Papa Hemingway and realize that he is describing a safari he took in the 1930s at the exact same location my bus is currently bouncing through...I look out the window and try to picture the landscape the way he describes it. It is mostly agricultural now with small huts and farms. I try to see it the way it was, with savannah and bush and rhinos running around and stomping out fires. I am also impressed with my ability to read while being knocked around like a pinball - no doubt, this is a talent.
1:00 pm - The road is even rougher and dust is flying through the window and covering the passengers. As I look out the window to admire Mt. Hanang, it dawns on me that my pockets are small and my billfold my fall out so I should put it back in the front. I reach back to find an empty pocket and get a sick, stupid feeling all over. Once I realize that it is not in the floor around my seat I start to get an even sicker, stupider feeling. None of the other volunteers have seen it and my friend beside me pleads innocent and starts asking other passengers in Swahili if they have found it (I honestly think he was innocent).
3:00 pm - After making a couple of stops and I looking over the entire bus and talking to the crew on the bus, who all of a sudden cant speak any English, and realizing that my Swahili, although getting better, is still not good enough to say "everyone empty your pockets" or "who stole my money" (I did manage to get out Ninapotea pesa (I lost my money) but no one seemed to care about this mzungu) I take out my trusty Zantel phone and call my wonderful father whom I can always count on to impersonate me and cancel all of my credit cards (Kathryn, if you are reading this and need to make room in the safe you can trash my papers. They are no good to anyone now). The contents of the wallet are 91000 TZ shillings (roughly $60 or about 2 months wages for the average Tanzanian according to Lonely Liar), my credit and debit cards and insurance card and drivers license. It bothers me that whoever found my money didn't return it but I wonder how great the temptation would be for me if I were in their shoes and found a small fortune. With my cards cancelled I now begin to relax and enjoy the countryside again. I still have emergency travellers checks in my money belt but was dumb didn't put any money there. And I kind of like the thought of being a poor mzungu in Africa.
5:00 pm - We have passed hundreds of Baobab trees (my favorite tree on earth, i like them even more than live oaks) and I still get excited every time I see one. We also pass some baby-bob trees (that is what I call the young baobobs). Oh, and someone with a chicken just sat down beside me.
7:00pm - I am seeing my first Tanzanian sunset of this trip (we don't get this in the cloudy mountains of Moshi) and it is priceless. Watching the profile of a magnificent baobob surrounded by a burning orange sun that seems to melt into the savannah, I couldn't care less that I lost all of my money. Oh, and some dude sits down beside me and starts singing in Swahili and I suspec that he is drunk or possibly has some type of mental illness.
8:15 - I have been asleep for about 15 minutes (the only time I slept the entire bus ride) when I awake to see that the singing swahili guy (still singing) has his left pinky and ring finger in my right pocket. I want to say "you are too late buddy" but instead I just give him the "you got to be kidding me" look...He gently removes his fingers from my pocket and folds his hands in his lap...and never stops singing.
9:15 - The conductor shines his light in my eyes and then hands me my wallet. The contents of the wallet are now 0 TZ shillings, 3 cancelled cards, drivers license, insurance card. I just laugh and am kind of relieved because I like the billfold.
10:30 pm - The bus tops in Mwanza, bruised and exhausted we get off and are greeted by a friend of our friend in Moshi. Her name is Cleopatra. I finally reach the source of the nile and I am received by Cleopatra. I think this is freaking awesome. And I also thank God to be off of the bus and realize that 16.5 hours on the road is a new record for me beating out the Sons of Robert F. Townsend drive in Mexico earlier this year (that is still my record for driving in one day - for more on the adventures of the Sons of Robert F. Townsend check out www.2mancoup.blogspot.com). Cleo takes us to a hostel and the end of a very long day is capped by the news of Michael Jackson's death and I am a little sad but really excited about being so close to Lake Victoria and the notorious Nile Perch.
....to be continued (I realize that only the people who love me the most are going to read this saga and hopefully it is not a waste of your time, we are now 1/3 of the way through this tale).
Cold on the 4th of July
So this is to catch you up on the past week. I have been working in the lab this weeking. Pricking a lot of fingers, checking for malaria (I am getting better at this), and HIV - I alwasy pray these turn out negative, sadly some do not, and other stuff...parasites etc. It has been educational and i have gotten some good experience. I also watched a couple of procedure one was removing an impacted placenta and the other was a hemorrhoidectomy...I will spare you all the details but I do want to say the following. One of the procedures was done by the most respected surgeon at the hospital. I haven't met him before this week. His name is Dr. Professor (if you think that is awesome keep reading). So Dr. P shows up and scrubs in and I talk to him for a few minutes and am very impressed but as we go into the operating theatre and he gets scrubbed using disposable gowns and gloves and masks just like we do it back home I notice that he is wearing flip flops. He never takes them off and wears them for the entire duration of the surgery. This guy is my newest hero.
Also...It is winter here all of a sudden. I think the high was in the sixties today and it has been relatively cold all week. Lots of wazungu are getting head colds and some are coming to our hospital. I saw 4 Canadian girls the other day. They were sick and scared and clueless and very happy that i spoke English and started singing Sweet Home Alabama after i introduced myself. Unfortunately for them I am just a as clueless as they were, actually I helped them out (as I am typing this a wedding procession is going by outside and there is a brass band and drums in the back of a truck, it is awesome and will probably lead to typos). I saw them today and they looked healthier and said they were feeling good. By the way there malaria tests turned up negative.
That is about it I think except that the Colorado people left today and the Greeks and Spaniard are leaving Monday. Canadian Julie and French Paul left yesterday. The house is getting small again. A new canadian girl came yesterday. The Fortress of Solitude is as strong as ever but I am going to miss my new friends. Happy 4th of July folks...I miss my old friends too.
Also...It is winter here all of a sudden. I think the high was in the sixties today and it has been relatively cold all week. Lots of wazungu are getting head colds and some are coming to our hospital. I saw 4 Canadian girls the other day. They were sick and scared and clueless and very happy that i spoke English and started singing Sweet Home Alabama after i introduced myself. Unfortunately for them I am just a as clueless as they were, actually I helped them out (as I am typing this a wedding procession is going by outside and there is a brass band and drums in the back of a truck, it is awesome and will probably lead to typos). I saw them today and they looked healthier and said they were feeling good. By the way there malaria tests turned up negative.
That is about it I think except that the Colorado people left today and the Greeks and Spaniard are leaving Monday. Canadian Julie and French Paul left yesterday. The house is getting small again. A new canadian girl came yesterday. The Fortress of Solitude is as strong as ever but I am going to miss my new friends. Happy 4th of July folks...I miss my old friends too.
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