A Bug’s Life

A Bug’s Life

Possibly due to the colder climate now and near daily sweeping of my house, it appears that I have fewer bugs at home….that, or I am in the insect world known as the Hitler with a reputation of being the bug exterminator. They are still wholeheartedly unwelcome in their visits to my abode, but what I have noticed is that living in the country and seeing these creatures for 7 months have trained me to become emotionally and visually immune to them. Initially, their sight absolutely disturbed me and there was a point where I experience anxiety when I’d be caught off guard. Now, with 7 months of this “experiential therapy”, I’m confident to say I’m somewhat “cured”. I no longer shriek and the real test is I no longer bother to even be their Grim Reaper. Not really. I let them be, for the most part. It’s probable that I’m just a lazy mofo, but now I let them hang on my walls, floor, or wherever they like to rest is fine by me, unless they are getting into food, my clothes or somewhere they shouldn’t be…like one time I found them inside my shampoo bottle. Yes, shampoo fortified with bug protein for that strong silky feel.

Geckos are the worst for me, but I think again…whatever. I wish they weren’t there, but I refuse to give them the power over me. I’m big and a human and they are little nothings. I can’t let these little nothings control big me, the human.

None of these creepy crawlers are technically dangerous. At least I’ve not yet encountered poisonous kinds. This particular animal kingdom is just a disgusting nuisance to me. I don’t find them beautiful or cool. Admittedly, they are interesting in their own perverted alien kind of way. I’m just not a sci-fi kind of chick, so sorry.

When I see them, I’m not happy but at least I’m not genuinely troubled where I’m having a mini panic attack. They are akin to spilling something on your clothes. The reaction is “oh crap, whatever…not the end of the world.” These lower life forms are exactly just that…they are puny and they lie low. Technically, they are not doing anything to me…they are just unwanted and unloved by me and the majority of the human species. The sight of them elicit apprehension, disgust, and to the rare few, fascination with oohs and aahs.

It’s great that we have a defense mechanism. My defense to these bugs, insects, creepy crawlers, and mofos are just to not let them "bug"me anymore. 

My First Birthday in Tanzania: The Bash That was Almost a Bust

May 6, 2013 

I was stoked, big times when I turned the big 40. Honestly, I wanted to get to the point and stop lollygagging with the late 30’s. Come on 40’s…bring it on! I’m definitely happier as each year passes and moreover, with each decade. Frankly, I don’t want to be in my 20’s again; although, I had fuller lips, my legs were beautiful and shapely back then and I had no telltale signs of having given birth to a human. Like the genie in Aladdin, freedom is all what I want. When you’re in your 20’s… you’re broke, have pressure about future, and worse is not knowing what the hell you want to be and do… let alone knowing who you truly are.  Oh and the worse is “why doesn’t he call me?” I’m still not rich; clueless about my future, and still figuring out what I want to do, but at least I know who the hell I am…and it’s usually me who doesn’t call. The difference in my psyche is that now, I truly don’t give a hoot about any of that. I’m free from it. I’m just happy to get up from my bed in the morning and still have my memory and can pee and walk by myself.

Turning 45 is no big rip. I feel good and am young at heart. The realization I am having is that I’m now approaching the next decade, the big 50. Okay, honestly, I don’t know if I’m totally cool with this. I’m now slowly but surely walking down the path of Depends, Medicare, buying hair dye by the crate, and God forbid I shop at Chico’s. No offense, Chico fans. All of my friends are a bit older than me, so I apologize friends if I have offended your sensibility on your ages…I may be a grandma in no time. My mother became a grandmother at the age of 46! I told my kid, get prego now and don’t look at me as your granny babysitter ‘cause I’ve just begun to live and I ain’t lettin’ no pet and no baby tie me down, thank you very much!

Last year I spent my birthday in Goa, India where I chilled at this beach town for 6 weeks just doing what you do at beach towns…nothing. Actually, that’s not entirely true. At an Indian hospital is where I completed my exams for Peace Corps medical clearance. I read all books written by Chetan Begat, overdosed on sugar cane juice which it’s just a matter of time before I’m diagnosed with diabetes type 1 and 2 combined, ate lots of seafood and drank lots of tiny cups of chai and Signature whiskey and smoked shitty Indian cigarettes when offered. The actual day, May 6, was uneventful; although, I wore my expensive saree to a friend’s house where his wife cooked chicken curry and chapatti and I was given the only chair, white and plastic, while everyone sat on the floor.

This year, I decided to do something just for the sake of doing something ‘cause I can and it’s my damn birthday so why the heck not? I’ve drawn and made invitation to invite some people over to my village crib for some birthday action. I’ve invited all the teachers at the 2 primary schools, 3 medical personnel at the dispensary, some young dudes and ladies are who are my closest friends, and some village leaders and other figures who I deem appropriate. Over 30 some guests invited. Due to the recent soccer ball soap opera fiasco, I’ve decided to be kosher and invite *Machiavelli and *The Muppet Show as a sign of friendship and that all is good in my hood. “Look, I’m not angry. I’m inviting you to my birthday gig, so I can’t be angry, right?”

*Characters in a future blog currently in production. And what a story it is! Stayed tuned, folks.

I gave money to my house girl and asked her to travel into town on Friday, May 3 to buy the provisions necessary for the partaaay. Originally, we would go together but I plan to go to town to work and run some errands so instead of doing the dreaded ride again, I’ll let her shop for me and I’ll go in couple days later. Also, I hate missing to teach class. I’m doing “malaria month” and I want to finish up the lessons.

I ended up not teaching that day as a friend and I had to walk the village to hand deliver invitations that haven’t been given out yet. I have no clue who lives where and needed a guide. I also had to find the owner of the shack store to order 2 crates of sodas because no partaaay in Tanzania is complete without sodas, and lastly to arrange some furniture and place some colorful kanga over tables just to make my crib more festive and attractive. Trust me, there is nothing attractive in houses situated in a farming community in Africa. My house is probably deluxe, primo, top drawer, and awesome compared to other houses in a rural village. Huge heavy bags of tomatoes, potatoes, rice, meat, and other food items were delivered first. (she over bought, big times) I don’t know where my house girl was, but I supposed she asked a lorry who was coming into my village to drop off the stuff while she attended to a cake I’ve asked if she can try to either bake or buy.

My birthday party was at 2PM on a Saturday, May 4. My house girl didn’t return into our village until Saturday at 12:30PM! Holy crap, who’s going to cook?! I have a very keen and sensitive intuition that before an event happens, I can already feel nervousness, as a prediction of something not smooth will happen. I woke up feeling very okay and I thought, worse come to worse if there is no food on time, nobody in my village expect I can cook Tanzanian food for a small crowd by myself. Plus, this is Tanzania where everything and everybody is LATE!

Make a long story short, at 10:30AM, a friend had to call the help of other friends to come cook. This was my house girl’s job to gather cooks. Obviously, she didn’t arrange that before her departure into town. Finally 3 friends came to my rescue. Meanwhile I am peeling potatoes, grating carrots, dicing tomatoes while developing Carpel Tunnel Syndrome. More people came to help. Thank God for these ladies who know how to cook for a crowd. Cooking in Tanzania is punishment, if you ask me. Firewood is used and it’s a matter of years before you develop some kind of respiratory tract infection, lung cancer or blindness from the wood smoke. These ladies huddled in a log cabin cooking for me. You see them grimace as the smoke is overwhelming but they are strong to be able to withstand hours of being in a smoke filled room.

It’s 2 PM and food is not ready. Thank Mungu, (God) that Tanzanians are late for everything. I’m not German but I might as well be as I’m consistently punctual and even minutes early. One friend arrived earlier but he bicycled from a nearby village, which is an hour away. Few arrived an hour later at 3PM and still food is not ready.

People started to come at around 4PM, I suppose. Out of 30 something guests I invited, only 10 came. I had a total of 14 at my party. Aside from giving out the invites last minute where some people had prior obligation of family emergency and needing to go into town, here is what happened:

*Without divulging too much as this deserves its own story, as it’s something interesting, pathetic, ridiculous, and totally unnecessary…but mostly, it’s a study in human nature. There is an “issue” in my village involving myself and the village leaders, which comprise of government leaders and those in the higher position in a village setting. The community is divided between supporting them or me. To be politically correct and absolutely kosher, I invited these figures…or characters as a sign of friendship and camaraderie with no hard feelings. When I personally handed my handmade party invitation to them, they were smiling and friendly, so outwardly, we are fine as we still greet one another. Truth is, I don’t care if they come or not because I don’t “hang” with them anyway, but again, in life, one must do what is appropriate and not what one always wants. Aside from the village leaders not showing, others did not attend for fear of appearing to be “on my side” even if they think I’m right and do support me but again, people rather be in the majority and not rock the cradle and be a rebel. The villagers are easily persuaded and think their leaders are right since that is what they are being told. A teacher told me that the uneducated villagers have “low vision and don’t know how to think”, hence they are easily led to believe whatever the government tells them. The founder of my village and the longest running chairman was invited to my party. He asked if the current chairman was coming to my party. He said that he would attend only if the other comes. When I heard this from a friend who shared this with me, my thought was “Holy Batman, are you serious? He’s 85 years old and he can’t come on his own?” This is a prime example of not strapping on your big boy balls and deciding for yourself. People can still come to celebrate a birthday and put aside their differences.

Things happen for a reason and being the ultimate optimist, I had an absolutely wonderful time at my own birthday gig with exactly the people who I wanted to spend time with. Life and association with people should be about quality not quantity. I had so much fun and felt really loved by those who came. I was sad that a female teacher and especially a young male friend couldn’t make it due to his punctured bicycle tires. This young lad is my young Dalai Lama in that I am his western tutor and eyes to the outside world.

Oh, she was late returning home because of the birthday cake. I basically told her, go get a cake, go ask someone to make a cake, it would be great to have a cake...just make it happen! But I did tell her that if it’s too complicated, dump it! Being the obedient and trustworthy house girl and now friend that she is…she went to a bakery in a different village and since there was no pre ordering, she stayed to wait for the cake to be made and baked. She had to spend the night in town to wait for the cake the next morning. Being this is village life, she had to wait for a while for either a motorbike or car to hitch a ride back home. All this effort because I told her I wanted a cake. Damn, that’s loyalty, reliability and dependability…you’re hired!

Tons of food was prepared: beef stew, potatoes, cabbages, pilau with potatoes and meat, and rice. The next day, kids and friends came over to eat more food as I invited all to return; it’s like a 2 days birthday party. I blew my wad feeding a village…I’m happy to do this.

I spent a lot of money on food, drinks and whatever incidentals to make it happen

(half of my monthly living allowance)…but the memory of the joyful time I spent with these folks was priceless. A friend, unbeknownst to me, took my Iphone and camera and snapped and videoed away. I’m grateful he documented my day. Birthdays are no big deal as everyone has it, but it was a space and time when I was truly happy. My 7 months in country, I can only think of 2 incidents when I can claim happiness and having fun”. My little birthday party was the second event.

My Eddy Murphy look-alike friend brought his loudspeaker and stereo system so we fortunately had music to boogie to…and dancing we did a lot of. Another friend acted as the bartender as he was in charge of opening soda bottles and the photographer was also the DJ as music was played from his phone.

I’m truly touched by my girl friends who cooked for me, my young dudes who brought music and my house girl who bought the food and all the effort just to produce a cake, my birthday cake, so pretty with pink and white frosting and lovingly wrapped. Honestly, I was very surprised to see this. Where did you get this? This looks American or western. It’s too fancy for Africa!

If I repeat this gig again next year, I’ll be sure to find a mama in the village who can bake a cake, send our invitations earlier, organize a small army of cooks and oh, I wouldn’t change my principles or ethics even if it means being unpopular and nobody comes to my party because in life, I believe one should stand for what is fair and right. Good will always prevail and you will gain the respect of those who truly gets the drift. For those who are unable to see the light, help them understand. If that’s not possible, let it be.

Today is my actual birthday and I came into town to run errands on a gloomy Monday: bank, post office, buy phone vouchers, print photos for friends, buy food, send documents to Peace Corps, communicate with my family via Skype, and treating myself to a toilet, electricity, hot shower, and hopefully some stable internet so I may enjoy doing what I love most…reading friend and family’s birthday wishes via e-mail and Facebook and spending time by myself writing down my thoughts and ramblings.

My little friend died

21 April 2013

Today I was asking a friend about a certain gentleman whose lorry I will be riding to a nearby village to speak to the head master about teaching health topics to his secondary students.  I wanted to know how he was doing being that his son passed away 2 months ago from a sudden illness whose funeral I attended. It was a big event as the father and son were well respected as they have contributed much to their respective communities.

My friend told me that recently there was another funeral…another member of this gentleman’s family had passed away. Sad to learn that not only did he buried his son not long ago, but whom else did he have to bury again? I was told it was his granddaughter. My eyes widened and I gasped in disbelief, “Christa?!!?!?” My friend didn’t know the child’s name but I gave every description about Christa hoping my friend would adamantly respond “NO”. After confirming my answers, my heart sunk when I learned it was indeed she. Here is the story of how I met Christa.

One late afternoon after finished teaching, I was walking on the end of my street to go hunt for food as a friend told me that cabbages could be found in that direction in a shack store. If I don’t find food, then I really had not much to eat for dinner so I was on a mission not to starve that evening. As I am walking, I see no cabbages or really anything for sale at shack stores except tomatoes and onions. I continued walking and at the same time, I wanted to find and visit Pesa Mbili’s store. He is a “well known” old man who has a lorry where people pay him to take them into town to buy bulk sodas, dried goods and whatever mumbo jumbo they can sell back at our village. He has a timber production and a shack store selling petrol in addition so I’d venture to say he probably has money according to the villagers’ standard. I entered his store, not knowing it was the store I wanted to visit, and discovered there was nothing special but a lot of kangas for sale. I asked him, at the time not knowing he is Pesa Mbili, where I can buy cabbages as I was told there was some for sale in his area. He directed me to the house in front of his store. I thanked him but doubtful, because I saw nothing. I entered a house and a young man tells me there is no cabbage for sale. Frustrated and confused, I returned to the old man and asked again where these cabbages are. He took me to the same young man and we were told again that he had none to sell. This old man, feeling sorry for me and knowing that the white person has no farm to live off of, has a heart and asked his wife to go fetch me some pumpkin leaves. I was grateful for his kindness and I followed his wife and a young girl tagged along. As we walked together to their field, I am making chitchat. The young girl confidently said to me, “ If you want, you can speak English”. Surprised, I turned around to look down at the child. My thought was “why yes, my Swahili sucks ….and who are you?

It was right there and then I first took noticed of this young girl as I was speaking to her grandmother and hadn’t paid attention to her following us. So we began to talk and shortly I discovered it was her father who had died. With empathy, I told her my father passed away too when I was 12 years old just like her. Instantly, I saw her eyes light up and with delight, as there was comfort in her dark eyes suggesting that she is not alone. Certainly, it made her feel good to know a complete stranger, maybe a foreigner, could relate to her. We immediately bonded once we shared this common tragedy. We exchanged names and I will always remember her telling me that she liked my name, Wendy. What was remarkable about Christa was her maturity and strength. She was in my village to attend her father’s funeral, she was resilient and in a million years, one would never have guessed that this child just buried a parent. She spoke in a very matter-of-fact fashion and was wise beyond her 12 years of life. She spoke highly of her father and given that this kid had a very good command of the English language, her father did a wonderful job raising her, as he was the one who taught her English. The father had a good profession and understood the importance of education and speaking English well. I told Christa that her father must have been a good man and father. Christa revealed that she did see me at her father’s funeral. That is when I found out that her grandfather is Pesa Mbili.

I was impressed with this young girl’s confidence and knew she would go far in life if she chose to. I invited her to my home. Moreover, I think she needed a friend in this time of mourning. The next morning, 3 visitors woke me up from my sleep: Pesa Mbili, his grandson, and granddaughter, Christa. They briefly stopped inside my house to inform me that Christa will visit me alone in the afternoon after grandpa takes his grandkids to the next village to eat meat.

Mid afternoon, Christa came and coincidently another friend arrived at the same time for a visit. I was hoping to be alone with Christa because my friend does not speak English and for her to sit in our conversation may be boring …but whatever, welcome to my house everyone. When in Tanzania…karibu! As I am conversing with Christa, I discovered how ambitious she was. I dare say it’s not everyday in Tanzania I will meet a 12 years old girl who thinks of becoming a lawyer of international law. Her English was better than the teachers in my two primary schools or the secondary schools I’ve visited. I can totally imagine that her father must have been extremely proud of his daughter for she was a smart cookie who was articulate and precocious. I offered her every snack food that existed in my home ie little bags of popcorn and cookies and gave her whatever I could scrounge…box of new crayons and pens as souvenirs of our acquaintance.

We met again the next day because I rode in her grandfather’s lorry to go into town. I sat next to Christa in front of the lorry and as we stopped at the next village, I see a teenage girl who came unexpectedly to my home the week before. I called the girl over who was standing on the street. “Christa, ask this girl who she is and why she came to my house. I didn’t understand what she was saying to me when she came over.” I was not happy that this teenager who now sees me pretended not to know me. Christa translated my question and this teenager’s answers were totally illogical. I think she’s a mental case: a hungry 14 years old that knows a foreigner lives in the house and just wanted to check her out, the house out, and especially the kitchen out! Karibu, I guess…I did offer her popcorn as the beans I was cooking was not ready. She must have wanted food as she kept inquiring the whereabouts of my kitchen and asked couple times to see it and wanted to know what I was cooking.

That was the last I saw of Christa…arriving into town. I had even thought of inviting her to join me in my running of errands. I needed to go to bank, post office, and buy food…these chores are easier done alone and wouldn’t be terribly exciting for a kid so I never bothered asking. Although, why did she come into town? She knew I was going to ride the lorry and maybe this was her way to indirectly hang with me again? She would have to also run errands with the driver and my errands are more interesting than his…surely. At least she could practice speaking English with a foreigner, which may be somewhat fun for her.  I went my way and thought we would ride together again on our way back to my village. I knew she would be returning to her town in northern Tanzania in couple days. She missed a week of school to come to my village to bury her father who didn’t live in my village either. His body was transported from his town. When my plan changed that I didn’t take the lorry back into town, I missed the opportunity to see Christa again.

It is sad that Christa is no longer around…for I believe her family, friends, community and perhaps even Tanzania have lost a potentially shining star. I’m confident she would have been a successful person where she would be an inspiration to young women in Tanzania as gender equality is still not up to par.

Tomorrow I may or may not see Pesa Mbili. I truly don’t know what to say to this man. He has lost his son and granddaughter in a span of only 2 months.

The good die young.

Oh, you may be wondering what Christa died from. She suffered tuberculosis. Yes, it is amazing that we are in the 21^st century and people can still die from this disease. Well, I am a Peace Corps Health Extension Worker stationed in Africa to teach health and prevention. I will dedicate my teaching of health topics to Christa…Rest in peace, little angel.

22 April 2013

This morning I boarded the lorry and soon shortly, Christa’s grandfather sat next to me. He was holding a little girl, his other granddaughter, I am assuming.  I asked him how he was and how was Christa…hoping he would either lie to me or tell me someone else died. His reply to me while giving me a big wide smile was “alikufa!” (She died) I looked into his eyes for a while to see if there was real happiness behind that wide grin or him pretending not to be sad just to appease me since he knew I was fond of his granddaughter. I saw peaceful acceptance. I asked him how. He spoke and what I took away from his explanation was that she missed her father too much.

Rest in Peace, little angel…you are now with your beloved father. 

Malaria World Day is April 25

As a Peace Corps Health Extension Worker in Tanzania, to educate on the topic of Malaria is of utmost importance given that it is endemic in this country and to some extent, the continent of Africa, namely Sub-Sahara. Malaria is curable if treated promptly; but mostly, it is preventable…and this is where we come in to educate the host national communities the gravity of the consequence if precautions are not properly exercised.

In 2008, there were 247 million cases of malaria and nearly one million deaths – mostly among children living in Africa. In Africa a child dies every 45 seconds of Malaria, the disease accounts for 20% of all childhood death.

Malaria statistics in Tanzania:

•       Malaria kills 750,000 people annually.

•        90% of those deaths are in Africa.

•        Most of those are children. (80% under the age of 5)

•       1 in 12 children die before their 5^th birthday

•       14 to 18 million cases of malaria are reported each year

•       This accounts for over 40% of all outpatient cases

First and foremost, what is malaria? For those living in countries with temperate climates where this problem is less prevalent or virtually a non-issue, malaria like other tropical diseases: leprosy, cholera, scabies, Dengue and other hard to pronounce names ending with either –asis or -osis may be completely unfamiliar and a total mystery to many. To some, the word malaria may conjure exotic images of daring adventurers on expeditions wearing khaki colored safari clothes glistening in sweat on the verge of death in a tent staked out next to a river by a jungle in a tropical locale. There may be a romantic notion only because you’ve probably seen the leading man or woman in an epic movie heroically dying of malaria. In truth, there is nothing sexy about malaria because it can kill and mostly it happens in Sub-Sahara Africa. Let’s get the boring dry stuff out of the way. Malaria is a tropical disease where the infected female pregnant Anopheles mosquito injects its saliva containing the parasite, Plasmodium Falciparum. Five species of Plasmodium can infect and be transmitted by humans. The vast majority of deaths are caused by P. falciparum and P. vivax, while P. ovale and P. malariae cause a generally milder form of malaria that is rarely fatal. The zoonotic species P. knowlesi, prevalent in Southeast Asia, causes malaria in Macque monkeys but can also cause severe infections in humans. The deadliest is the Falciparum and this strain is of concern in Tanzania. This infected pregnant female Anopheles mosquito bites a human and feed off its blood. Malaria has a complex life cycle. Infected female mosquitoes inject malaria sporozoites when they bite, and the sporozoites are carried quickly through the bloodstream to the liver where they rapidly infect liver cells. Without causing symptoms, these sporozoites undergo a radical change and multiply furiously for the next 4-5 days. Tens of thousands of asexual stage merozoites are released from each infected liver cell, each of which rapidly target and invade a red blood cell. Every few days, the merozoites multiply ten-fold and burst out to infect other red blood cells. This cyclic and massive increase in parasite burden gives rise to the clinical disease we recognize as malaria. Because of their large numbers, these parasites can cause particular damage to the nervous system, liver, and kidney. Death may result if not treated. In the absence of immunity or drug treatment, death can occur within hours of noticeable symptoms. If death does not occur and infection continues, some of the parasites further differentiate into a form that is infectious for mosquitoes, thus permitting the life cycle to continue. Inside the mosquito, the parasite matures until it reaches the sexual stage where it can again infect a human host when the mosquito takes her next blood meal, 10 to 14 or more days later.

At the village level, the scientific process of transmission is not so much discussed as its biology is complicated and moreover, awareness and education is primarily focused on prevention, testing and treatment. Stomping Out Malaria in Africa is a Peace Corps initiative that uses strategic partnerships, targeted training Volunteers and intelligent use of information technology to support the local malaria prevention efforts of over 3,000 Volunteers in sub-Saharan Africa. As Health Extension Volunteers, we have a responsibility to get the information to the community not because the locals are ignorant of malaria, but we are to remind them of all the necessary ways of prevention, the importance of proper testing at a medical facility and not self diagnosis which results in self treatment which is dangerous and irresponsible, inform pregnant mothers the need to be on malaria prevention drugs, and equally important is dispelling myths and misconception of how malaria is contracted. In a culture that is heavily ingrained in beliefs, it can be challenging to suddenly inform people that sleeping under a mosquito net does not cause impotence, skin infection or slow death and consumption of green mangoes, the change of environment, sun, sorcerers, and dirty water does not cause malaria.

People tend to be attached to their beliefs and behavioral change can be difficult. One simple and effective way of malaria prevention is to sleep under a treated mosquito net since the infected mosquito feeds from evening until dusk. The change of attitude to take action may take a while, but at least they are informed, aware, and educated. The rest is the motivation that they have witnessed loved ones die from this disease that can be prevented with honest effort. Malaria also has dire economical consequences as students are absent from school, employees missing work, and productivity and production in jobs are down hence finances suffer greatly. Malaria can decrease gross domestic product by as much as 1.3% in countries with high disease rates.

In my village located in the cool Southern Highlands where malaria cases are low, it is not to be discounted that malaria education is not necessary or there is no urgency to educate. Contrary, education should be immediate as they may be less aware than those living in areas where malaria is prevalent.  Additionally, they may be less immune which is another danger. If a villager starts to display symptoms of malaria, but due to the lack of malaria knowledge, he may not know he has contracted malaria and will bypass testing and will self treat with inappropriate drugs. I teach school students, pregnant mothers at the village health dispensary and train teachers and other community members about malaria awareness so they will continue to spread the gospel of effective prevention and testing of malaria. April 25 is World Malaria Day and I will be concentrating my efforts on malaria education for the entire month with a weekly plan of different activities using interactive games for participation, sharing a children’s educational radio program with characters telling stores about malaria, and hands on activities. Getting kids to understand malaria and creating excitement about what they have learn can impact not only themselves but their families and peers as hopefully the students will proudly share what they have learned with others.

For more information go to: stompoutmalaria.org

 Students have a base knowledge on malaria; nevertheless, further education is needed to dispel myths, explain transmission process, remind them the importance of various prevention methods and the need to test if one suspects having contracted malaria

 Teaching secondary school students about malaria transmission, prevention, testing and treatment

The 6 Months Mark

April 3, 2013

Time passes like sand through fingers and an obvious milestone has been remarked. Already, half a year has passed since I left my family, my home, and the comfort of easy living. I have no problem temporarily forgoing all the easily accessible amenities to live in a developing country where poverty abounds and more intensified in rural villages. The following are 13 things that continue to still either fascinate or challenge me.

1.     My first notable positive experience is the honesty of the Tanzanians. Although they are economically challenged; from my experience, they are trustworthy people. Relationship between people is an important aspect of Tanzanian life and culture; therefore, they strive for smooth relationship dynamic. Unlike the developed world, individuality and ego are not concepts one aspires or is even in the radar of their conscious awareness. Needless to say, crime and bad-intentioned people exist in every corner of the globe and some Peace Corps Volunteers may disagree given the fact in the past month, there have been numerous accounts of thievery and robbing. These acts of crime have been boldly committed in broad daylight, among a big group of people and even in hotel rooms. Even being in the presence of a crowd, being out in the daytime and locking your hotel room is still not bullet proof guarantee that you are safe from crime of opportunities. I am almost always alone, I travel alone, I like being alone, I want to be alone and I need to be alone. I would be the perfect target given I am a single woman… alone. I’ve positioned myself in situations where “technically” one would consider it a bad idea; but my unfailing intuition has thus far served me well as my encounters with strangers in said questionable scenarios have only been godsends to me. I am in daily gratitude for my safety and well-being. Time and time again, regardless of which continent I am in, human beings are inherently good. People for the most part do what is right and kindness usually prevails. What I find noteworthy is that they are in no great hurry to be paid for their services or goods. It is always they who remind me of my due change and even money has been returned or questioned when I have either overpaid or have already paid.

2.     I hesitate to shake people’s hands as they are usually always moist and it feels somewhat greasy and sweaty. I will assume the perpetual griminess of the right hand because they eat with their hands instead of utensils and hand washing with soap is not readily practiced. There is no hot running water in villages because there is no plumbing and sometimes no electricity. Before eating, a jug of water is slowly poured over the hands. In truth, this is just wetting the hands. Soap is not common to use when washing hands. I recall back during Peace Corps Pre-Service Training, our first hands-on practice was teaching primary school students the importance of hand washing with soap. I understand why. A common practice we take for granted in developing nations is something here in Africa that still needs to be taught and reminded. In Tanzania, many health problems amongst children and adults are all related to the lack of proper personal hygiene practice causing diarrhea, parasitic worm, skin and eye infection, and respiratory tract infection.

3.     I find it extremely heartwarming that a stranger will always welcome you to their home with the greeting of “karibu” which means welcome. There is no sense of needing privacy or is making appointments necessary prior to a guest’s arrival. Their hospitality is truly genuine. If you happen to visit during meal times, food will be offered. The hospitality of the Tanzanians is admirable. I am always touched when I hear karibu from Tanzanians. This is their welcoming you to their country, region, village, home, shop, restaurant, and etc.

4.     An unsavory sight is watching men and women pick their noses. A finger is shoved in the nostril and the digging commences. This act should be reserved in private and not performed in public; however, the locals have no qualms picking their noses in front of people, as this is culturally acceptable and commonly seen.

5.     The villagers appear content and satisfy with their life and hard work. I have yet to hear complaint, woes, sob stories, and emotional guilt trips to the perceived rich white person for solicitation of sympathy and monetary aid. I would even say they might seem more at peace than their white counterpart in that they seem to be completely accepting of their situation. When there is no attachment or expectation to anything, usually one does not suffer.

6.     I am fascinated by the harmonious evenness of their skin color. Unlike their pale counterparts with facial discoloring of redness, brown/age spots, dark bags, and other skin issues…the African skin looks like a canvas of perfectly coated paint of dark chocolate or black coffee. At night or in photographs, their darkness recedes and only the white of their eyes and teeth glimmer.

7.     I am even more fascinated with their hair capillary. The African hair is a “S” type of hair. If you take a strand of their hair and put it under a microscope, the shape of the capillary is a “S” shape. This is type #4: kinky hair. The African population who has not been intermixed with other races all has the same hair texture. There is no variety like Caucasian hair where colors and textures come in an assortment. If you let the natural African hair grow out, it becomes an Afro. This Afro can become big like a helmet because of the tight curls, as there is no weight so there is no length to be weighed down. The hairstyles that one can create from this hair texture are amazing. The braiding and the patterns created are visually interesting. Sometimes, hair extensions are added for thickness and length. I have also seen pieces of sisal in different shapes, colors and patterns being sewed into the hair for further ornamentation. The creativity of the hair plaiting is fun to look at.

8.     The body odor of people, regardless of race and culture, is something I struggle to overcome. Like the hassle of hand washing, it’s an assessment of the living condition of an undeveloped area where hygiene and sanitation is still in the dark ages. If I were to analyze why unpleasant body odor is prevalent, here would be my take. Africa is hot and the majority of people are laborers and farmers, which means physical activity to the max under the harsh sun. Sweat translates to eventual bacteria growth, which produces stench as an assault to the nose. There is no plumbing in villages and water need to be obtained from wells, stream, river or if the village is fortunate enough to have a tap water system where you can collect water from a running spigot. Regardless of the water source, you need to fetch the water in a bucket and carry it back home. It’s labor intensive. In “colder areas”, bathing is not that appealing given the perceived unnecessary need to bathe daily. To buy soap costs money and if you bathe everyday, the soap runs out quickly. Shampoo is not readily available for purchase. If you find it in a big town, it’s expensive. Tanzanians wash their hair with bar soap, the same soap they use to wash the body. I’ve asked a teacher in my village approximately on average, how often do people bathe. He answered not everyday. He said once a week or when you know you’ll be meeting someone important the next day. Given that almost every single person farms in my village, I’m baffled with the idea of the once a week bathing routine. When I enter a church, a classroom, a public transportation or even an individual coming to my home... I am greeted with obnoxious body odor that makes me want to start a mass distribution of soap as a community service even if it’s self serving…namely to spare my own nose. In the seldom occasion I smell perfume or cologne on someone, I become indebted and want to thank them for making me smell something pretty and feel that there is hope. I suppose if I carry Tiger Balm everywhere I go, I could somehow manage this problem by swiping a glop under my nose whenever I’m attacked by foul body odor. I write a lot about body odor because I fortunately or unfortunately, have a keen sense of smell where the living and working condition of the population exacerbates this “problem”. My problem.

9.     I am visually disturbed when I see tons of flies swarming around food market, food stalls, and street eateries. Even in my own house, I don’t understand why but I have tons of fruit flies in my kitchen. I struggle to find a safe good place to store my food, as I have no refrigerator.  I am fastidious with cleanliness, yet these sons of the bitches won’t go away.

10. My body is constantly in a perpetual state of itchiness. I scratch daily and have scabs and red bumps from insect bites and God knows what else is eating me alive. I’ve yet been “itch free” since I have been in country. This unrelenting bodily itch problem is enough at times to make me want to leave the damn country and return to my sterile home in America.

11. I am most fascinated by the booty of the African women. Their fanny is famous and for good reason. When I was living in Paris, France, I designed and made a wedding gown for a client. This bride-to-be was of African ethnicity. I will never forget figuring out how to cut and sew the dress so that it would fit her very high and protruded posterior. Fortunately, I was successful but I recall the fear of the dress not properly fitted being the style was very form fitting. The African booty is magnificent. It rivals Mt. Kilimanjaro in its grandiosity. For men who like big butts…karibu Tanzania! For those with a penchant for daintier bottoms, I would suggest Southeast Asia where women are like lotus flowers…petite and delicate as are their butts.

12. If I can learn to shake my booty like a Tanzanian woman, I feel that my 27 months of Peace Corps service would have been completely worthwhile and mission successfully accomplished. Being of Asian descent with a voluptuously challenged butt, I don’t know if I will ever shake my flat fanny like the Tanzanians. I’ve yet to inquire and research if it’s actually a technique of dancing and specific movements or their muscle power enabling them to perform such a feat. Or both. Their Gluteus Maximus are designed to shake, rattle and roll. I am convinced it is in their genes. I have witnessed very small girls dance where their little child butts are merely a miniature version of an adult woman. I was blown away and nothing will persuade me to believe that they do not have the “DNA Dance” gene in their booty.

13. Lastly, although I am living without conveniences…(okay, I have a hotplate I cook on if I have electricity and sketchy internet), living condition is unattractive, simple tasks and chores can be arduous, unpleasant sensation of constant physical discomfort from the environment, traveling from point A to point B is unquestionably tiresome, and the pressure to successfully teach and train people and complete community development projects can feel heavy…but despite all obstacles, I feel very much as peace. I take each day one day at a time. Each morning upon waking, I start to give all my energy and dedication to what I am doing. When you live alone and in isolation, experiences feel more intense, thus one is more present and aware of him/herself. I relish my solitude, which enables me to concentrate on work. To be useful in life and have the privilege to work is a gift bestowed on us.