Saturday, December 22, 2012

First week at site

22 December 2012

Today, Friday, marks exactly one week that I have arrived at my site in Image Village in the region of Njombe.

I spent the first 48 hours "cleaning", organizing, unpacking and arranging with what already existing items in the house along with my belongings in my suitcase, backpack, 2 refugee bags and a small duffel bag including a small amount of food items to last me until my next food shopping excursion.

Food has been, still is, and will always be a security and comfort item for me. For being in lack of food makes me insecure. I always need to have an emergency stash back up. I supplement my "pantry" daily with tomatoes, some onions, and twice leafy greens that I gave money to kids to fetch for me and yesterday I was given a plate of fresh garden picked beans from a lady who woke me up in the morning as her hospitable offering. I was grateful for her food as it means protein for my body and one less thing to buy where I can save money.

In this one week, I have been relaxing, reading, doing housework, preparing meals and briefly talking and spending time with my new villagers. I wake up already tired which makes me unhappy for I know the day will start out with low energy. It's possible that the gloomy mornings here are making me lethargic.

I've been housebound unless I walk to the tiny "store" to buy tomatoes. At least this gets me out of the house.

What amazes me is that a big village of 3,700 people feel like a ghost town. Where the hell is everyone? Except for some tiny stores in front of my house where opening and closing time are at the whim of the villagers, there are barely anybody walking on the main road which is in front of my house. I've been told that villagers go to their farms to work which is far from their home.

I have spoken this morning to the village chairman, a small group of farmers and teachers about a need in the village that I feel strong about. They like my thinking and think it's a good idea. We'll see if it pans out. An Idea is one thing but execution is another....

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Part Five: My last full day with my host family in the village of Lusanga A or an Au Revoir party for “Mwaza”


Part Five: My last full day with my host family in thevillage of Lusanga A or an Au Revoir party for “Mwaza”

8 December 2012

Ninaitwa MwazaTanzania, lakini jina langu ni Wendy Marekani. I’m called Mwaza in Tanzaniabut my name is Wendy in America.

My family gave me a good-bye party on my last day in ourvillage. I woke up early today to pack, as the Peace Corps vehicle will becoming over to collect our baggage, as we 39 Peace Corps trainees will allleave our host families and head back to Dar es Saalam tomorrow for final trainingwrap up and Swearing-In preparation at now, the United States Embassy insteadof the residence.

While my father sets up a stereo and two loudspeakers andconnected the system placed in front of our house with a very long electricalcord strung across a neighbor’s house with electricity, the children and I satunder a tree. As I see Alima’s smile, Nyuki and Ismali dancing together andother familiar faces playing with each other, I began to feel emotional andtears rolled down my eyes. Oh Jesus, Iwill miss them very much! This was my home and my life. I quicklyput on my sunglasses to cover my face but I knew that I couldn’t fool anyone. Itwas obvious. Kids are not dumb. That morning, my little brother Salimu held myhand as he took me around to neighbors’ houses for visits and chats. TheTanzanians are hospitable and are always welcoming. I was able to check outsome other Tanzanian village household and saw how they lived. Tough, verytough...to say the least. The majority of houses have dirt floors and cookinside the house with burning wood. It’s primitive and rustic. Living conditionand sanitation are nonexistent but the people continue to be happy and smileaway without any care in the world. Thisis how people should live on a daily basis: happily with family and community.Their lacks in material items or long hard manual labor have no bearing ontheir emotional happiness.

We go visit this one house where lives little Usna whosename finally I am able to remember. She is one of my favorite little 5 yearsold girl, the one with pretty tattered dresses and funky hairstyle. She offersme a gift, a kitty. Wow…I never plan to have a pet in Tanzania as I no longerwant to be burden by an animal. I already will have a tough time cooking formyself let alone having to figure out sustenance for the baby animal. However,I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea as a cat will be able to chase and killrats which they will become useful and even ideal living in situation whereunwanted guests visit the house. I will think about it whether I will acceptthe kitty or not. Logistically, I would have to care for it for several days inDar es Saalam in which I would be able to find a veterinarian for vaccinationsbut the long trek from Dar to Njombe will be a long drag. Along with my alreadyheavy baggage, now I’ll have to carry a kitty cat. Don’t know if it’s a goodidea. If I was to advice someone, I would suggest not doing it. One can alwaysfind a kitty later in their village.

That day, I played with the two kitties, a baby chick and mysmall village friends. While baba sets up the music, we danced…the children andI. At around later afternoon, I finally took my first and possibly last bucket bathin the family’s house to dress for my party and later that evening, to attend abig hoopla of a wedding reception at our village.

I am dressed in my brand new African outfit and ready for mybon voyage party. I see that Tanzanian teens have built a makeshift backgroundstaging area using heavy tree branches. My mama took the curtains in my room todrape the built stand which will serve as a back drop to the couch and coffeetable in which they have set outside under the big fenesi tree (jack fruit) where I sometimes sit with the children.Wow, I’m touched and impressed with the thought, idea, and execution of allthis just for little ol’ me. The villagers, children and I dance to Tanzanianmusic. There is a microphone in which I hear my baba, his friend, and my littlebrother making announcements. Later, two Peace Corps language culturalfacilitator, one of them is my teacher, comes walking down toward my house.Mama has invited them to my party. They and I sit on the living room set underthe tree while eating the lunch that mama has made for us: Chicken, rice,beans, and stewed bananas. After eating, my Swahili teacher gave a speech… blahblah blah, she is sharing with the villagers that I have often and alwaysexpressed to her my love and fondness for the village children. After theyleft, soon my CBT classmate, Jane, came with her sister to my party. Moreannouncements and speeches followed. Now it’s the gift giving time. I’m askedto go to the “stage” and I see some people lining up in front of me with goodsin their hands. Mama gives me her gifts of a straw mat and a straw fan. I am sohappy and we hugged. Bibi gives me two sets of tea cup sets, sister in lawgives me two glasses, and another relative gives me bowl and food cover made instraw and Alima came to give me another teacup set. After all the asante sana, thank you very much, andhugs, baba comes and makes his appearance. My father gave me a kanga set, whichI absolutely love since it is red and yellow with pineapple designs. I am trulytouched and impressed with the amount of gifts I have received not only from myfamily but a handful of individuals. I’m asked to go to the front of the housewhere the microphone is and I dance wearing my new kanga. I take the microphoneand thank everybody. I’m now compelled to talk. My throat began to feel tightand my eyes are watering as emotion filled me. I am standing in front of myhouse looking at my village and friends and family. I see my favorite childrenand how do I calmly and objectively voice and express in a foreign language mygratitude and love for these people whom I have connected and bonded for thepast two and a half months? They have warmly and lovingly welcomed me in theircommunity. To give myself credit, I have always integrated with them from dayone. I’m not one of those Americans who only hang out with other Americansspeaking English and ignore the host nationals. I started to speak and my voicewavered and eyes becoming moist. I tried to compose myself but I’m doing ashitty job. I hear my mama “helping me out” by explaining to all that I am sadand will miss everyone thus the reason why I’m crying. I continued speaking inSwahili and right in the middle, damn it…I started to spew some English which Iknew nobody will understand but I’m certain they must know the jist of what I’mtrying to convey. Universally, we all can relate to emotions and the newfoundconnection that people develop and foster with each other. Separation isemotional and I hope they can feel my heartfelt sincerity. After that littledramatic scene, I thank everyone again and with the kanga tightly wrappedaround my waist, I began to boogy to the Tanzanian music with the watoto to lighten up the ambience. Theparty lasted around till early evening until it was time to attend the bigwedding.

I have been told that the villagers love me. They are happythat I have spent much time with their children, interacting with them, playingwith them, and eventually loving them. They call me dada, sister, although by age, I could totally be their grannygiven how villagers give birth by the time they reach puberty.

After the party, I chatted with Charles, a Tanzanian whospoke English. I thought I take advantage and inquire with him about Alima. Howmany siblings does Alima have exactly? It’s terribly difficult keeping track ofeveryone’s relationship in a village. To my surprise, this is what I found out:Alima has only one brother, Nyuki. The other children whom she lives with areher cousins and not her siblings as she is claiming. The story goes like this.Bibi, my paternal grandmother, has had 5 different relationships thus producing5 children to each of these 5 different men. She has three sons and twodaughters. Each of these children have children making them her grandchildrenin which some lives with her. Another twist was finding out that my sister,Mwatumu is not my baba’s real daughter. Between my mama and baba, they onlyhave two sons together, Idirissa and Salimu. They both had prior relationshipsbefore their marriage to each other. Baba’s two sons were with a women whom hehad a relationship and never was married to. When he married mama, Mwantumu wasalready a young child. Many people are not educated and start having sexualrelationships at an extremely young age and as a result, have children at anextremely young age as well. This is life and culture in a village.

Mama was exhausted from party preparation…cooking and morecooking. She asked Omari, her first eldest son, to go with me to the weddingreception. Past 8:00 o’clock, we walked to the venue. Whoaa….fancy! Consideringwe’re in a village, it was elaborate and quite the set up. Jane’s family wasinvited to the wedding too so she and I sat together. We both danced with thewomen who were dressed in their finest western eveningwear garb. The ladieseven had hair extension, which made them look like they came from America andnot Tanzania. This wedding was major as ladies got all decked out and jazzedup! As I was dancing, one woman sitting down got up and approached my way totell me that I danced well and to continue it. I had no idea what that was allabout…I’m guessing probably she was happy that a foreigner was into theirculture and event. Funny, I thought…I’mthe only person wearing an African outfit, a foreigner at that!

The wedding reception dragged on forever and I was pooped.If it wasn’t because I was hungry, I’d blow the popsicle stand long ago andreturn home. There was an MC conducting the reception. In Tanzania, bride issuppose to look sad and unhappy out of modesty. Looking at the bride and groomwith their respective best man and best woman, I would asked, who died? Theylooked absolutely somber, gloomy, unhappy, and out right depressed. What a goodjob they were doing at keeping themselves unemotional and modest. It lookedlike they were attending a funeral and not their own wedding. The bride lookedpregnant; she probably was. Finally after dinner was served and we all ate withour hands, I went back home with my mama who eventually decided to attend afterall.

That night, I couldn’t sleep because I was debating in mymind whether to take the kitty with me or not the next morning. I am the masterof the pro and con game. Everything pointed to con. I was so divided 50/50 onlybecause going to Dar es Saalam would allow me to get vet care andsentimentally, to own a kitty given by Usna. The kitty’s name is Amina but I would change it to Usna Alima, names ofmy favorite girls. Then I decided I don’t really their names and never approvedof human names for pets. I would name my kitty…what other than “simba”, which means lion in Swahili.Aside from mental anguish, I hear the kitty meowing out loud in the jiko which made sleeping even moredifficult. I figured I’d decide how I feel in the morning. At the day of theparty, I happily gave my hat, mysignature item as everyone recognizes me with the hat, to Alima and Iransacked my room to see what little gift I can offer Usna. I gave her my pinkcoin purse replicating the famous Balenciaga “Motorcycle” design. I wished Ihad brought more little gifts from USA to give to favorite friends.

Morning came and I saw the white kitty enter my room. Mamamust let him out. I asked where the orange striped kitty was. She was missing.She may have returned home so that is why her sister, Bahati, was meowing all night. I got dressed and go outside to findmy orange kitty, the one I would chose between the two. She was no where to befound. The village kids help me find her but nobody saw her. Fate has already decided for me that Aminaand I are not to be karmically linked. I am not to be her new owner and shewill not be my pet. We weren’t meant to be together. Decision made for me,I don’t need to make it. Hamna shidaor as they say in Kenya, hakuna matata…noproblem!

It was time for me to leave my family and my village ofLusanga A with whom and where I have happily and cozily stayed for nearly 3months. I was sad to say good-bye, but all good things must come to an end.Until then, I will try to return to them for a visit before I return home toAmerica in the next 2 years. Besides, Indirissa has been asking for my handheld crank light and radio, which I have promised to give to him before I leavehis country…as to the prior request of my sister who asked for my Iphone…uh…I don’t think so, but hey…how aboutmy skirt* instead? She gladly accepted.


* A handful of fellowfemale Peace Corps trainees have come up and complimented on this skirt. I wasthinking of giving it away eventually to someone…I guess Mwantumu has karmawith my skirt.




Monday, December 10, 2012

Part Four: Less than 2 more weeks until we leave our homestay for Dar es Saalam, Swear-In Ceremony



Part Four: Less than 2 more weeks until we leave our homestay for Dar es Saalam, Swear-In Ceremony

27 November 2012

I knew that after we returned from our site visit, the remaining 4 weeks of training would fly fast. True dat! I have mixed feelings about leaving the village and my family whom I’ve lived with during my Pre Service Training, living on my own to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer, and finally no longer a trainee under Peace Corp’s control where like children, we are told what to do, when to do, and where to do.

What I will miss most is someone cooking for me. Instant gratification of satiation from hunger without having to work for it makes life easy, let’s face it. At home, my breakfast and dinner are taken care of by my Tanzanian mama. In Swahili class, someone cooks lunch and prepares chai. At MATI, a buffet awaits us. I don’t have to lift one finger to prepare anything to eat. It is readily available and like a child, I just wait and food will be given to me. I’ll cut to the chase, I haven’t had to cook for a long time and the thought of cooking is a total turn off only because of the lack of infrastructure in cooking conveniences and appliances. Unless I splurge and blow a huge wad of money on a huge propane gas tank with cooking burners, which is effortless to use, then I have to basically resort to Tanzanian cooking style on a jiko, a stove, which is a portable little container where you burn coals as the heating source. Burning coals for cooking is somewhat of a pain in the ass as it takes a while to get the fire going and ready for cooking. The other option, which is quicker and more expensive, is using kerosene stove. This method is quick but the drawback is that I can taste kerosene in the cooked food and worst of all is the smell of this lighting fluid. I fear kerosene and charcoal may have long-term negative health side effect, ie. lung cancer and other respiratory infection. I am thinking of buying a hot plate and cook on days I have electricity. On days without electricity, I’ll eat foods that don’t need to be cooked ie. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, nuts, crappy cookies, fruits, and canned fish from home. Unless I crave ugali and beans..then, I’ll crack out my jiko. Another common method of cooking in Tanzania is using firewood a la camping style. Again, this is time consuming as wood need to be chopped, collected, and the process of starting a mini bonfire for cooking is burdensome. Bonfire beach party is very different from daily cooking on this little firewood set up with 3 big rocks with a pile of wood in the middle. Think I’ll ask my fam to send me more beef jerky and canned tuna…and how about throw in a giant bag of M&M’s and red vine licorice from Costco! I should have packed more food items.

On a sentimental note, I will miss the watoto in my village. I have become very fond of the children. I have never really been a “kid person”, but I always have an entourage of kiddies during this entire time. I’ve become the Pied Piper. We are not particularly doing anything. We are literally just hanging around each other either staring in space, talking, them showing me something or me showing them something. My favorite kid is Alima, an 8 years old girl. I dig this kid’s easy personality as she is very pleasant, compassionate, and clearly she understands my limited Swahili and is able to correct or “translate” for me. Nobody speaks English. She is clever, as I’ve seen her make a crown or hat from tree leaves, make broom using dried tree branch, and a slingshot from carved tree branch wrapped with rubber from spare tires. She is obviously handy and resourceful. She’d make a good reliable wife and definitely a trustworthy friend. She is my constant companion and a source of comfort and security. If I had to adopt an African child, so far Alima is on my list. There is another girl with a crazy fun hairstyle, unlike her peers who basically have no hair or have it shaved, who is sweet and always smiling. Her name escapes me, as I basically can’t remember anybody’s name. They all know my name but unfortunately, I can’t remember theirs because there is one of me and a lot of them. I suck and I feel somewhat guilty that I still don’t have all the kid’s name remembered. There are other boys and girls whose faces have become familiar to me and have a warm place in my heart. I’ve asked their names numerous times but unless it’s Jack and Jill, Dick or Jane…damn, I can’t remember their names. At the end of the day, I feel it’s not important if I remember their names or not. What is important is that I spend as much time with them as possible. The thought never occurred to them that I might have forgotten what they’re called. They are just happy to be in my presence and they know as well that I am happy to be in their presence too. One little boy I love to call because he has great big eyes and the cutest name. Okay, I’ll admit, it’s a name I remember cause it’s too dang cute and again, because I can remember it. It’s Nyuki, which rhymes with Yuki. When I see this little boy of 2 years old...with joy, I always exclaim his name…”Nyuki! I think he digs it because it makes him feel special that I am singling him out. I’m certain I’ll make more friends with watoto when I am in my village in Njombe but the ones in Lusanga A near my house will always be special as they were my first bunch of friends. I will not forget them. They have taught me how to love children and confirm that I know that I can be loveable by children as in the past, I have had stranger children affectionately approach me. I think human beings connect with whomever they feel an affinity to regardless of age, creed, nationality or appearance. Children are wholesome and honest and they gravitate to whomever they feel good and safe. If I give off that vibe to just one kid on this earth, then I feel I have succeeded as a human being.

Aside from village children whom I have tremendously enjoyed and are clearly the highlight of my stay in Tanzania, thus far, I will also miss this village’s bustling activity and commotion. I don’t mind the fact that almost every evening, there is music blasted from the “bar” or from a wedding celebration. I have attended a funeral, two weddings, a birthday and tomorrow I will go to another funeral. Sadly, a 25 years old young man was involved in a car accident; he was a famous rap star singer from our village who lived in Dar es Saalam. Everyday at my village, there are 2 to 3 deaths. It really is no surprise that the mortality rate is high. There is no sanitary living condition or resources and infrastructure for medical care. I am impressed with my body’s ability to not be sick living under my current living situation. To put it mildly and gently: hardcore rough. To put it bluntly and honestly: hardcore grody! I have not even experienced one diarrhea episode, which merits acknowledgment and a Purple Heart medal. Many trainees have already experienced the runs and other GI stomach issues numerous times where they had to be sent to Dar es Saalam to be treated and tested along with other mysterious ailments. Without a place to wash my hands and I eat with my hands, God knows what is breeding in my stomach. Also, kids hold my hands all the time. Kid’s hands are dirtier than a dog’s ass, if you ask my opinion. I may have a colony of Tanzanian parasites unbeknownst to me. What I don’t know won’t hurt me.

I yearn to quickly finish training, take the tests, hurry up and do Swear-In, and off I go to my village where I will finally settle into my house and finally live alone with only me controlling what I do. My time is mine and I answer to no one, at least for the first 3 months. The first 3 months is Village Situational Assessment where I will assess the needs and wants of my village before I take on projects and begin to teach.

I will miss my family but I really enjoy and need the sanctuary of my own space. I like living alone and I’m never lonely as I always find something to occupy and keep myself interested and motivated. My mama is whom I’ll miss the most in my family. I will think of my siblings too. When I receive candies or goodies from our training, I purposely save them and give to my sister and brothers. I personally don’t need the snickers, lollipops, or other candies as I’m drinking daily sodas and eating too much carb as weight gain. My siblings are stoked to get treats from me; I’m happy to see their excitement and anticipation.

My future village is spread out and very clean. My house is next to the village office and a primary school is located in front of my house. This is a very different set up than the village I am currently living in. Lusanga A is very dense and compact, somewhat unkempt, many people living in close proximity, and loud and boisterous activities abound. My new environment will be quiet, pleasant, and clean, very clean. Although I enjoy the communal camaraderie of Lusanga A, it is extremely fatiguing to have to turn your head left and right and greet every single being in the village as this is life in Tanzania. I great elders, peers, kids…it’s tiring having to talk and greet and meet. I will relish when I am at my site and will greet less intensely. Due to the set up of the village and where my house is located, I don’t foresee having to schmooze every couple second. No exaggeration. There are times when I feel antisocial, not feeling the mood to be Chatty Kathy or Susie Welcome Wagon. At times I want to be invisible and to be left alone. You really can’t do that though in this country.

28 November 2012

After lunch today, I attended the funeral of the famous rap star, Hussein Ramadhani. As I am walking in my neighboring village of Lusanga C, it appeared more of an event than a funeral. The turn out was huge as villagers always attend the funeral of a fellow villager. But this was no ordinary funeral as he was a famous singer in which there was police presence and a huge soda truck distributing drinks for the 4,000 to 5,000 attendees who were dying of heat under the hot sun. A camera came to film for this evening’s nightly news. I didn’t stay for the meal but there were huge pots of food being made. I was literally dying of heat and sweat under my long dress with a kanga tied to my hip and another covering my head.

After dinner, I took my evening bucket bath. I almost puked as I smelled the stank in the choo. Good Lord, I’m suppose to bathe in here…cause I don’t know how long I can hold my breath. Just less than 2 weeks and I’m out of here in this house. How can people live like this? Bathe in a room where you defecate on the ground? I’ve traveled in enough third world countries to know it can be done but damn…why is my sense of smell so keen and sharp since I’ve been in Africa? I seem to be the only one talking about body odor making me pass out and the other trainees just give me blank looks. I’ve inquired with others and it seems it doesn’t bother them to the extent it bothers me. Yesterday I even asked a young guy if he can smell what I smelled. He answered no. Amazing! My dog nose makes up for my deafness.

Dear Peace Corps,

Regrettably, I am giving you my notice of early termination, as I am unable to cope with the body odor and choo smell that is too intense for my sensibilities. It is prohibiting me to breathe normally and I am afraid I will die as a result of suffocation due to obnoxious assaults of the foulest kind.

Best wish,
Wendy S. Liu


29 November 2012

This morning, I saw my sister in slight tears with a young man and my mama in front of them. Why is Mwantumu looking sad with this dude touching her? Did she get pregnant by him? Is she to wed him? Is he her boyfriend? I’m trying to figure out this scenario. My mama tells me that this young man is her first son. Huh? My mother had this son prior to her marriage to her current husband, in which she is his second wife. To get the story straight, I asked for confirmation so that between her and baba, they have a total of 6 children: two sons from baba with his first wife, three children from both of them together and now this man from whomever with mama. Correct I am. I asked mama’s son his age and he replied to me in English, 24 years old. My mama had this kid when she was 8? Tonight, I wanted to confirm my mama’s age. She answered 32 years old. Mama was pregnant with this kid when she was 8 years old? She said she was still in school. Jesus Christ, is it possible to give birth at a ridiculously young age, like 8? Did she even have pubic hair at the age of 8, let alone menstruate? Something doesn’t add right. The man looks 24 but my mom is only 32? Unless she is lying about her age, could she really give birth at age 8???

30 November 2012

As I write this, it is nearly 1AM. I was sleeping and have been awoken by sobbing and moaning sounds from my sister. I don’t know what my parent’s are saying until at the end I hear my father say hospitali. I don’t know what is going on but I think she is sick and in pain. Later, I hear her trying to puke then later someone is in the choo taking a bath. Simultaneously, a sound I am unable to discern competes with my sister’s moaning. A cat, a chicken, a bat…is it even an animal? For the past 30 minutes, a surreal sound of screeching nonstop outside the house is taking place. Whatever this “animal” is, it initially sounded like it came from inside the house and then later I hear it outside. We have no animal in the house. Bibi has a cat but for the life of me, I can’t be certain that it is a cat making this strange noise. It doesn’t sound like a cat in heat, or is it? The sound is singular. To continue the surrealism, there is music outside and I hear people. Then, rain that lasts for 30 seconds then stop. There is that odd screeching noise again. What the hell is going on this evening or morning?
I can smell the leftover stench from the choo. Tonight’s bucket bath was icky as always. After dinner before I bathe, someone uses the choo to take a dump. The smell lingers. What is that noise again outside? My mama tells me during dinner last night that a child died today and an old man died yesterday in the village. From the sound of my sister’s painful moaning, I hope she is not next…nor the animal or whatever the hell is making this God-awful noise!!! What the hell is it because for the life of me, I can not make it out? A bird????????? Somebody needs to put this animal out of its misery because the noise its making is nonstop. I think this animal is possessed by Satan. Oh wow…just heard someone making nausea noise and now she’s spitting all over. I’m inside my mosquito net covered bed typing away so I can’t see what is happening around me but I can sure hear everything. Not to mention smell everything too….

There are times when I’m sweaty and itchy like tonight when I think what luxury it is to be back home in my beautiful palatial bathroom to relief my physical misery. My bathroom inside my bedroom is a very enjoyable personal and fancy sanctuary. Great care was taken to choose each design element during construction. The visual of my bathroom comforts me as I tried to replicate the style and ambience of a 5 star European hotel: The Ritz Hotel in Paris. I imagine I am in my big steam room shower taking a nice tepid shower with extremely fragrant shampoo and body gel to wash off the sweat, dirt and grime. The fully enclosed shower room is now filled with a lovely floral and fruity scent. I am using real shampoo to wash my hair. I step out of my shower onto a fresh microfiber bath math and wear my white fluffy absorbent bathrobe. I wear my light night dress and get into my clean bug free bed and enjoy the luxurious 600 thread count bed sheet under my skin. My body is stress free and I am fully comfortable and so relaxed ready for a dreamy slumber.

My current reality is an enclosed bathroom with cement walls covered with spider webs, patches of dirt, and stains. I have murky water in an old bucket, which looks dirty, to rinse myself. Since I have been in country, I use Dr. Bronner’s castile soap as my all-purpose wash everything from underwear, face, body, and hair. Washing hair with this gives a slick film and crunchy texture to the hair. For the past nearly 2 months, I’ve lived with crunchy solid hair that feels terrible to the touch. It easily traps the dust and when I brush my hair, which is something I never do back home, my Mason Pearson boar bristle brush is covered with slick hair in a filthy film of oil and tons of dust. After one brushing, the hairbrush needs to be washed. I only brought one bottle of shampoo with me to country and I left it in Dar es Saalam. Before I enter the choo, I brush my teeth in my bedroom and lather my face with said soap without water. I try to avoid spending much time in the choo if possible. Once I enter the choo, I unwrap the kanga from my body and hang it on the door. Next, I stand in front of the hole to piss while cranking my flashlight with 2 hands and a broken travel toothbrush in my mouth hoping it doesn’t drop from my mouth into the choo hole which I’d be screwed since I only have this one lousy toothbrush. This is the time when I think I want to leave the country because it stinks like hell where I am. I try to purposefully not inspect what is around me for I believe ignorant is bliss. I am in the dark and I have encountered dead cockroaches on the floor. Cockroaches don’t frighten me but geckos do and if I ever see one in the choo while bathing, I may experience a mild nervous breakdown. Depending on the amount of water given to me by my mama, I need to ration what I have with what I need to do. Couple times, soapy underwear needs to wait until the morning bath to get rinsed. Hair washing is extended in time until its unbearable or in the rare occasion I get a full bucket of water is when I’ll wash my hair. When I’m finished, I quickly exist the choo and back in my bedroom is when I dry myself with a cheap made in Korea microfiber towel purchased on Ebay. I dry my feet last and wear my Rainbow sandals, which are shoes I wear outside as well. There is no way in the world I will go barefoot in the house like my family. I wear rubber slippers in the choo when I bathe. I am never barefoot except when sleeping. 

The villagers don’t wear shoes in the village at times. Walking barefoot on the unpaved, rocky and dirty terrain is their environment in which they are used to and extremely adept. Because they have lived most of their lives in their villages, even in the dark at night with no such thing as street light, their walking is quick, confident, and they know exactly how to walk and run with their terrain. It is amazing how their feet are not hurt by the rocks, pebbles, unruly weed, trash, and whatever other debris are on the ground. The soles of their feet must be like leather. What is most amazing are the rickshaw pullers running on the hot streets in India barefoot without shoes. Once out of compassion for my rickshaw guy in Kolkata, I bought him a pair of shoes. He didn’t wear them and continued to transport me with his bare feet. WTF…I want my money back?

Two days ago, I helped my mama carry buckets of water on my head back home. We filled the buckets full to the rim and then a lid was covered on top. With a kanga, I wrap it in a way to make padding for my head in which the bucket will sit on top. Inevitably, water starts to spill out of the bucket and now my body just got a shower, which is actually welcoming in the hot afternoon. The hardest part was entering the door of the house. As I am tall in addition with a bucket on my head, I needed to somehow manage to duck and make way for clearance. Needless to say, there was spillage of water on the floor. 

At least for the past week or two, I am no longer eating dinner on the floor. I am now eating dinner on our old coffee table because my family recently had some furniture made. Men and women don’t eat together. We eat separately, if we are even eating together at the same time: the men on one side, the women on the other. This is Tanzanian culture. My mama and I eat together and my siblings sometimes eat with us unless they have eaten prior to me. If my baba and his friends are eating at our home, they do not eat on the same table as mama and I. There is two separate eating/sitting area in the house.

2 December 2012

Last night was traumatic. As I entered the choo to take my evening bucket bath, what do I see crawling on the dirty, cobwebbed covered cement walls? A tarantula. I don’t know which was more irritating…seeing a freakin’ tarantula in a dark choo where I’m half naked with toothbrush and toothpaste in my mouth with a soapy face in which I have to, got to, and need to bathe which means I can’t back out of the choo or my sister cracking up because the idea was so funny to her that I saw a creepy crawler on the wall as I entered the choo? I was totally calm the entire time; I never shrieked or got agitated. I was very matter-of-fact like. If that was not bad enough, 2 mornings ago, I saw another disgusting never–seen-before creature crawling on the cement floor in my room. This thing looked like a mini walking fishbone. It was long and had tons of feet or whatever the hell they were and was skinny and gross looking. A centipede perhaps? The millipedes here resemble a baby snake as they are huge…they look like human intestines with legs! The black jelly roll body is black and their legs are orange. Except for cockroaches in which they don’t terribly bother me…don’t get me wrong, I hate them but wouldn’t necessarily freak out because growing up in Taiwan, they were a common nuisance in homes…I would get my mama and make her extinguish these creatures for me. Other volunteers have already encountered a mambo snake and bats.  F***ing aye, hope I’m not next!

I finally got the low down on the two mysteries my inquiring mind needed to know.
That God-awful noise in the middle of the night was cries from 2 puppies being born. Jesus, someone remind me not to be a dog breeder! First mystery solved. My Swahili teacher “investigated” for me the age of my mama. The woman is 38 and not 32. This makes more sense as she had her first kid at age 14 and not 8. Okay, second mystery solved. Now, I can sleep in peace...unless I encounter another mini monster crawling around.

In some cultures, people do not know their exact age. I’m giving my mama the benefit of the doubt. I don’t see why she would lie. I don’t know exactly what level of education she has had. I dare say definitely not college level. I’ll venture to guestimate that since she was prego at age 14…that probably ended her academic career right there on the spot. At the beginning with the family, I would ask their ages. Unless I have pre Alzheimer’s, I seem to recall my brothers’ age changes, which is why I can never remember straight. I think my mama is not entirely certain with one’s age. I got fed up trying to figure things out. I should have just asked Alima at the beginning.

Recently, in order to supplement water to wash my hair, I am now using bottle water that I have refilled from a water cooler at MATI. This water is my drinking water and out of desperation, now I am using it as emergency stash for hair washing. It makes a difference to have more water to clean oneself. One’s gotta do what one’s gotta do for survival…

Today is Sunday and in exactly one week’s time, I’m outta of this house, village, and region for good. Pre Service Training is almost finished. Swahili class is finished and this coming week is testing, simulation, and wrap up. It will be a very stressful week as our final language written test, oral test, technical exam, and simulation of various scenarios conducted in Swahili and presentation of our village meetings in Swahili too. I’m not looking forward to any of this stuff, as I’m certain nobody is either. I’d dare say that everyone wants to get all this over with and quickly blow this popsicle stand and off to their sites.

I have one week to have some clothes made. I already had one outfit made and I was pissed initially as it was not at all to my drawing specification or was I consulted when there was not enough fabric to create my design in which the seamstress said there was enough. After me getting on her case with limited Swahili, finally she modified the outfit and it’s a better improvement. This is the outfit I have intended to wear for my Swear-In ceremony at the residence of the United States Embassy. The price was dirt cheap for her labor. Tonight, I gave her more fabric to make more African outfits. At 4,000 Tanzanian shillings to make a blouse and a skirt is only less than $3 bucks. Yep, it’s a price for a pack of gum back in good ol’ Uncle Sam.
I will need to wash one more load of laundry before I leave for Dar es Saalam this Sunday. Like last time, I will pay my sister to do it. I have washed a total of 3 laundry since I have been at homestay and it’s been hard and unpleasant. My hands turn red and callous-like from wringing the clothes to be hung and dried. I offered my sister to do my laundry for pay. Needless to say, she was stoked and agreeable. I gave her 1,000 shillings which is less than a buck. For a 12 years old girl, this is fantastic pocket money as she already does a lot of chore for free being a female in a Tanzanian family.

In my village in Njombe, I have already secured a lady who I will pay for house cleaning and laundry for the next 2 years. I already gave her half of her requested amount. When I arrive in my house, she understands that the house will be totally cleaned from top to bottom and all leftover beddings and whatever clothes and other washables exist must be washed. I apologize to no one by not “roughing it, Peace Corps style”. At my age, I deserve luxury and besides, I’m supporting the local economy. Some volunteers may blow it on booze. For me, it will be domestic services. Donatila is a 42 years old widow who has 3 children to support. She is a seamstress and owns a duka in the village selling miscellaneous mumbo jumbo. I have absolutely no problem and am more than happy to subsidize her for the duration of my residency in her village by giving her household jobs and clothes making gigs. I may pay her to do my garden too as she has offered this to me as well. No point to further screwing up my hands in gardening too with a course handle hoe. My backyard is currently in shamble and a total disarray of a garden. I brought tons of seeds to plant so I can grow my own food. If I feel like eating beans, coconut rice or other Tanzanian food, I’ll have gentle and mild mannered Donatila cook for me too. In front of my house, there is an outside kitchen, which I assume is the village office’s kitchen. She can easily cook for me as I have seen her cook in this kitchen for me when I visited my site and stayed in my house for 2 nights. My house has two huge kitchens, one inside the house and the other one outside in my backyard. This sounds fancy but in reality, it ain’t no western kitchen, although the indoor kitchen has 2 big working space in which is unheard of in this country and for that I’m totally blessed to have it. Jiko, or kitchen, in Tanzania is basically a room where you squat and do everything on the ground. There is no table. Although we are all living under Peace Corps’ monthly allowance in which we are expected to live like the level of a local, I will have to dip into my own pocket in the event I run out of my monthly budget. I don’t suspect this will be the case…unless I go crazy and blow my cash on fabric and custom-made clothes. I plan to wear pants at my site. I have already asked my village chairman and the head teacher if this was all right with them and the villagers. Being that it’s a Christian village, they were cool with this and said I could wear whatever I want. If I lived in a Muslim community, this will not be the case and I must abide the custom by always wearing a skirt and kanga wrapped around it. Thank God, I brought all my hiking pants and shirts cause I’ll primarily be living in those…

4 December 2012

Metaphorically, I felt like I finally gave birth to triplets.  A big burden is off my shoulder as today I have finished my final written Swahili exam, oral Swahili exam and tech exam. Instead of having the oral exam tomorrow, which is the usual time, I decided to be one of the few who had it today so I can be done and over with all testing!

Yesterday, we had our simulation with three different groups of Tanzanians for our oral practice in different scenarios. Real live officers came to MATI to role-play with us. There were police, immigration and out of school youth. When I was having my simulation with the immigration officers, in the middle of role playing, they asked the language cultural facilitator who was evaluating our language skill, if I was acting or what I’m claiming really happened which is that all my things got stolen therefore I was unable to produce my ID and resident permit. The LCT cracked up as my role playing was too convincing that the immigration officers actually may have believed my story. They talked amongst themselves saying it or I was really good. I would like to think they were referring to my Swahili, but I think they meant my acting. I don’t know really what they said for sure.

In four more days, we all leave for Dar es Saalam to conclude our training and get sworn-in as Peace Corps volunteer. I will miss my homestay family, the villagers, and Alima. I spoke about her during my oral exam today. I expressed how she is my 8 years old friend and how we enjoyed each other’s company. Today’s oral exam went well. I was able to talk pretty “fluently” in what I wanted and needed to say. Granted, I have a limited vocabulary but I am able to articulate what I need to express. Everyday is progress.

Today, my mother has been cooking using firewood for breakfast up to dinner inside the house. My eyes are irritated from the smoke and the smell is killing me. This is unbelievable, cooking camping style indoor! I can see the smoke inside my room as the jiko, is next to the choo, which is in front of my room.

A young man on a bike with his loudspeaker announced another death. There are deaths everyday in this village. The average lifespan here is 52 years old. If I have to inhale firewood smoke indoors, I’d be dropping like a fly too.

Tonight’s adventure in the choo went like this:

I walk in the dark choo with my hand crank light…the usual…my kanga wrapped around my body, broken toothbrush in mouth, soapy face and I’m holding things in my arm and hands. I see two brown things on the ground. I wonder to myself, wtf? I hope it’s not what I think it is. F*** it is! I remained calm and took a pail of water and tried to drown the two cockroaches. Oddly enough, one disappeared to God-knows-where and the other tried to save its life but again, I don’t know where it disappeared. The adventure continues as I began to scan the dirty walls and I see a silver colored scorpion. F***, that does it! I called out, “mama, mdudu!” She and my 10 years old brother appeared. I think he may be chuckling. I wanted to bop his head. My mama takes her flashlight and I pointed where I saw that mother f****er on the wall. With a plastic soap dish she picked up from the ground of the choo, she killed it and then took a broom to sweep it off and now it’s outside the choo. She tells me tomorrow that we will spray the room with bug spray. Meanwhile, I see other cockroaches on the floor outside my room and my brother squashes it with his barefoot. Jesus!

I like to dedicate this space to my mother dearest back home in U.S. of A:

Mother Dearest,

When I lived with you back home, you were a freakin’ pain in the ass with your Nazi-esque-control-freak-nature-micro-managing ways of harassing me to wash my hands with soap before eating at home and restaurants which at times made me wanted to run away from home for good and join the circus!

I reluctantly did it and many times it was only just so that you’d shut your trap.

Well, well, well…you may be happy to know that karma has it that my evil thoughts and stubborn ways are now pay back time because I am now living in a country where guess what, ma? I’ll be teaching primary school students the importance and necessity of hand washing with soap and water! And in Swahili too! But that’s not really my real punishment ma; you’d be extra pleased to know that now I am dying to wash my hands at each waking moment. For each rare opportunity that I can wash my hands with soap and water, I have dedicated a blessing and prayer to mother dearest, yes, that’s you! My smart-ass ways in the past have caught up to me and now I deserve to live in poor rural Africa where hand washing with soap and water is not a common easy occurrence, but a luxury that I took for granted back home with you. O please forgive me, mother dearest for I have sinned. Repent is I.

Oh mother dearest, how I long to hear you nag about the importance of hand washing.
How I miss turning the faucet to hot and putting my grimy paws under the running water.
What a joy to pump anti-bacterial soap and bubble up.
Luxury is the act of moving my soapy hands together to create white foam.
Ode to the mini rainfall of water to wash the germs away…goodbye dirt!
Ah…wiping dry the hands on an absorbent towel made for this purpose in life.
I hold up my hands to my nose to sniff the freshness.
Savor it is the virtue of clean hands.
Oh mother dearest, how I long to hear you nag about the importance of hand washing.

(Bro or Fendi, if you’re reading this, do me a fave and share this with ma although I know I’ll regret it one day only because she’ll nag and never let me forget that mother knows best!)

On a happier and lighter note, yesterday during chai at MATI, surprise was I to receive mail. Many trainees receive letters and care packages from home but I never receive anything. Nobody likes me, probably. Wow, someone sent me something? Who? From Bangkok? I don’t know anyone there. I turn the package over hoping to find out more info…and WOW, a complete delight to receive a gift from my Danish buddy, Stig, who has been traveling for over a year. I opened the small package and what I took out was a total unexpected little joy. This gentle Danish giant (he’s big and bad-ass looking. Read: Russian terrorist, military commando, you get the picure) sent me my favorite book in the world The Little Prince in the Thai language. His thoughtful gesture was so sweet and appreciated. I was so very happy to receive not only the book but to hear from him and to know he was thinking of me. Mein liebling, danke dir! Wenn kommst du nach Tanzania?

5 December 2012

I don’t know why all of the sudden, my mama is cooking with firewood. Perhaps she has run out with charcoal and kerosene? The smoke from the firewood indoor is making my eyes red and irritated.  There is no open air to allow the smoke to travel. The jiko is in front of my room and the smoke travels into it, as the walls don’t meet the ceiling. If this was back in USA, the smoke alarm inside the house would have gone off like crazy and the fire department would be dispatched immediately…total health hazard living under these conditions.


Part Three: Site Visit in Njombe or Checked Out My Future Bachelorette Pad



Part Three: Site Visit in Njombe or Checked Out My Future Bachelorette Pad

18 November 2012

I have returned from a week of shadowing a current Peace Corps volunteer in her village and visiting my site at Image village in the region of Njombe. From Iringa to Njombe, I experienced my first third world country bus accident. Our bus clipped an oil rig tank coming from the opposite side of the road thus our bus was forced off the road to the side where luckily the unpaved messy dirt was able to prevent the bus from rolling and flipping over. By the grace and mercy of Lord Buddha, we, the passengers, were not hurt or injured. Somewhat freaked, yes, you bet! God forbid that we flipped over because my face would be smashed against the window as I was sitting on the side where the bus would hit the ground first. Not to mention the people and their belongings on the other side of the bus crushing me to my demise…

I am back in my mosquito net covered bed at homestay in Lusanga A and have resorted back to my sticky perspiration complimented with the usual miserable bodily itch that feels like welts when I touch them. Aside from scratching my body with one hand, the other tries to quickly catch flying bugs with the other. I will become sufficiently ambidextrous at the end of my 2 years of service. Good thing I’m in the dark with no electricity because what is on my body may be a frightening sight. There is definite value in living in the dark with no electricity and not owning a mirror in the house when you know with a high degree of certainty that your appearance would be better off unacknowledged. I have never liked cold weather and would prefer warm over cold any day…but now I am changing my tune. Or body temperature preference, in this case.

David Lettermen’s
Top 10 List of Wendy’s Jackpot in Peace Corps Housing and Site

10. Higher altitude in the mountainous and hilly Njombe region has chillier climate which means lower risk of malaria and other ailments induced by heat and humidity.
          Translation: no more chronic sweaty, grimy and itchy body from bugs and mosquitoes along with a lesser probability in chance encounter with creepy crawlers.
9. Cheese Country and food is cheaper.
           Translation: the money I save from produce, I can buy cheese…and lots of it!
8. A big brick house with finished wooden ceiling, different colored rooms and a fireplace to enjoy a mini library of 40 popular and excellent books left by a former volunteer.
           Translation: A cool crib to chill in! Thanks Peace Corps!
7. A perfect house for hosting holiday parties as there are a big indoor and outdoor kitchen and many furniture including several huge tables (can you say ‘buffet’?) and 2 queen size beds
Translation: I don’t have to spend money to buy furniture and worry about transporting it back home strapped on the roof top of a dangerous bus speeding up the winding road. More money to buy cheese! Read again translation #3.
6. The house has electricity from hydropower; thus electricity is available everyday during rainy season and some days of the week if no rain.
Translation: some electricity is still better than no electricity or read #3 again.
5. A water project is currently underway in which tap water with a faucet will be placed very near my house.
Translation: I don’t have to pay someone to fetch water. Money saved will subsidize more cheese purchases. Students will be fetching my water until the construction of the tap water system is completed.
4. 2 primary schools and 1 dispensary/clinic with a village population of 3,700 with nearly 700 students.
Translation: Big student body and residents to work with to keep me continuously active so I don’t become insane from living in a rural village with nothing to do.
3.The costa, mini bus, stops in front of my house to Njombe town.
Translation: Front door service means I can sleep in more to catch the morning bus to town and walk less back to home with a backpack full of cheese, I mean food, from town.
2.Outdoor choo inside my enclosed backyard. My toilet is basically “doing it outdoors” but with a semblance of 4 walls and a roof. Think of fancy camping.
Translation: no more stale stinky stench indoors.
1.     Next to my house is a duka, a tiny store, selling black powder hair dye!
Translation: At my whim or in an “emergency”, I can go from “old to gold”, anytime!

Extra Credit: the kind lady whom I’ve hired to clean my house, tend the garden, and wash my clothes is a seamstress.
             Translation: One stop service!