"Hello Darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again because a vision softly creeping left it's seeds while I was sleeping and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains, within the sound of silence." -Simon and Garfunkel
November 20, 2009
A cow watched me pee today- it's head stuck through my outhouse window. I only felt slightly violated, it is "My Cow" after all.
One of God's worst creations is enjoying entering my house these days- no it is not the siyafu, those were a bad idea too. It is like a cochroach, but smaller and lighter colored and great! (sarcasm here) it can fly! Now all it need to do is transmit AIDS and it becomes my worst nightmare. They make a horrible clicking/buzzing sound when they fly, not like a bee, like something gross. For someone who is outdoorsy, lives in Africa and likes animals- I still hate bugs. Luckily, my cats have decided that this bugs extinction is up to them. They make flying leaps into the air knocking them stunned to the ground and then crunch, crunch crunch... gone. Yuck.
Is your life pathetic if you dream about food every night? What is you dream about silly foods? Last night it was Toby's Tofu Pate. I could see the container, I opened it, salivated and then woke up. I could almost taste it. Lately, every morning the second before I am completely conscious, I think I am in America. This is weird because I have slept in this room for over a year. The worst was the morning that I thought I could hear my Dad making breakfast and I jumped up to go eat with him, before realizing where I was.
I can barely move today. Yesterday I dug with a hoe for five straight hours. I told Mama Max that i would help her on the farm, but when my alarm went off at 5.30 am and I awoke to drizzle and gray skies, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed. But can Mama Max do that? Can any Tanzanian woman just sleep in? No, this is about what we are going to eat. With that I got up and braved the elements and physical labor. I actually enjoyed being on the farm. What a great female bonding experience. Every women slightly related to Mama Max was there with their hoe. We lined up shoulder to sholder like a small female army and truged forward, turning the soil. My hands were bleeding almost immediately but I forced them on, even thought the women tried to make me stop. However, since I am Image's full idea of what an American is, I force myself often through painful or uncomfortable situations just to prove what Americans are made of. I might be a woman who is used to a dishwasher, washing machine, shower and sitting at a desk in front of a computer, but i refuse to let them believe that I am weak or can't. Sometimes i wonder what would happen if I always lived like this- with a "can-do" attitude- "I can do it," "I am not afraid," "I am not hurt," "I can eat it," " I can wear it," "I can sit in the dirt," "I can... I can... I can..." What could I possibly accomplished that I previously thought I couldn't? What if we all lived like this? What if we all always tried our hardest and didn't complain because we were representing an entire country and culture? What would the world be like?
Anyways, it pours rain off and on but I laugh with the women as the rain runs down our faces and makes my hair stick out at every angle possible. I pretend I am going to take a hot shower when this is all over. My favorite part is being with the little girls- they are care-free and lugh, but are hard workers, they will have to work like this for the rest of their lives. Maxillia, Mama Max's second child who is 11 years old, tells me story after story. Grace, a five year old distant cousin, hoes and hoes, until I am pretty sure that she is stronger than I am. My whole body hurts and my hands are raw, but there is some satisfaction there, sometimes it feels good to serve others and be part of something.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Riding in Cars With Boys
"If these are life's lessons she'll take this test. She needs wide open spaces, room to make a big mistake, she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes, she knows the high stakes..." - Dixie Chicks
Novemeber 18, 2009
Now that Image is used to me, my appearence at village things hardly surprises them. So I do things to "up my profile"- this is my chance to be famous after all, for once in my life no one looks like me. I do things that people will least expect. For example: I learned how to cook pombe (home brewed alcohol that looks and tastes like vomit) with a bunch of bibis (grandmothers). I learned how to play some game that all the babus (grandfathers) play that makes no sense and people told me that only old people can play it... well, Brie now can too. I kiss little dirty village kids, hold their hands and tell them that I love them. At the meeting with all the vijana (young men) about how they are supposed to stay away from my house, I tell them that if any of them come through my window again, I will go "Lorena Bobitt" on them. They laugh but they believe me. It was a good threat. I find jobs at two mgahawas (cafes/beer shacks) and one duka (shop) where i surprise people by working when I feel like it (I work for free after all!) I take the guys to visit my owl and crack up when they are terrified. The fuuny thing is these stories follow me around, I even get to hear the third or fourth hand. "I heard you threw 200 condoms ar the guys in the bar today and then walked out." Yep- true story.
Anyways, my antics keep me interesting and while I am interesting, people want my ideas, adivce and company. Today I decide I am going to paint the checker board at Mama Max's Mgahawa, because the red squares are entirely impossible to see from too much use. I take my red acrylic paint and go to work. Then I write around the edge "Use Condoms" in swahili, surrounded my hearts. This makes all the guys laugh. Osmond shows up and I ask him what he is going to do today. "We are going to work." "Work?" I say, like I have never heard the word, which from village men, I pretty much never do. He has just bought the worst Land Rover in human history. It is a Flintstone car, you can see the ground as you go because there is no floor. None of the doors fully close and only the windsheild still has gas. You have to push it to get it to start. So when he invites me to come along, the prospect of riding in it is fully awesome! "Great!'" I respond. The guys are out of money for beer, so we need to cut some trees. This is not really like deforestation- timber is our main livlihood, so we are constantly replanting pines.
Unfortunately for this little outting, I am Tanzanian woman dressed, complete with a long tight skirt and heels. I get into the front seat (if you can call it that) and hold my feet up so they don't drag. Puce, Joeseph and Stanly all effortlessly sit on nothing or stand on the back bumper. Nicky rides on the roof. We go complete bush four-bying over old cornfeilds, between banana trees and into the forest. What cracks me up about the whole event is how suddenly my rough, rural TZ guys are all super concerned about me. Osmond asks me, "Are you scared? You can get out if you want," as we plow over a ridge. "No", I reply, smiling. I am not sure how to translate, "Hell no! This is my African Indiana Jones adventure!" (He wouldn't get the reference anyways.) I ditch the heels when we park, so everyone offers to carry me, I refuse that, so then everyone's shoes are offered, which I also refuse, preferring like always to go barefoot. Tanzanians and their hospitality though, geez. I lay on my back in the grass surrounded by wildflowers. Puce comes over with the equivillant of "bush grapes" and another "fruit" I have never seen before. I'll question Tanzanians about a lot of things but what is safe to eat in the bush is not one of them. After an hour, they declare that is enough. We load back into (or out of) the "car" but all the guys have to jump in when it is actually moving, because first they have to push us out of the ravine.
Back in the village, my bush story arrives before I do- was I afraid? How did Osmond drive? Why would I go into the woods ? The guys brag- she even went barefoot, she wasn't scared at all. My villagers look surprised, Americans sure are weird people.
Novemeber 18, 2009
Now that Image is used to me, my appearence at village things hardly surprises them. So I do things to "up my profile"- this is my chance to be famous after all, for once in my life no one looks like me. I do things that people will least expect. For example: I learned how to cook pombe (home brewed alcohol that looks and tastes like vomit) with a bunch of bibis (grandmothers). I learned how to play some game that all the babus (grandfathers) play that makes no sense and people told me that only old people can play it... well, Brie now can too. I kiss little dirty village kids, hold their hands and tell them that I love them. At the meeting with all the vijana (young men) about how they are supposed to stay away from my house, I tell them that if any of them come through my window again, I will go "Lorena Bobitt" on them. They laugh but they believe me. It was a good threat. I find jobs at two mgahawas (cafes/beer shacks) and one duka (shop) where i surprise people by working when I feel like it (I work for free after all!) I take the guys to visit my owl and crack up when they are terrified. The fuuny thing is these stories follow me around, I even get to hear the third or fourth hand. "I heard you threw 200 condoms ar the guys in the bar today and then walked out." Yep- true story.
Anyways, my antics keep me interesting and while I am interesting, people want my ideas, adivce and company. Today I decide I am going to paint the checker board at Mama Max's Mgahawa, because the red squares are entirely impossible to see from too much use. I take my red acrylic paint and go to work. Then I write around the edge "Use Condoms" in swahili, surrounded my hearts. This makes all the guys laugh. Osmond shows up and I ask him what he is going to do today. "We are going to work." "Work?" I say, like I have never heard the word, which from village men, I pretty much never do. He has just bought the worst Land Rover in human history. It is a Flintstone car, you can see the ground as you go because there is no floor. None of the doors fully close and only the windsheild still has gas. You have to push it to get it to start. So when he invites me to come along, the prospect of riding in it is fully awesome! "Great!'" I respond. The guys are out of money for beer, so we need to cut some trees. This is not really like deforestation- timber is our main livlihood, so we are constantly replanting pines.
Unfortunately for this little outting, I am Tanzanian woman dressed, complete with a long tight skirt and heels. I get into the front seat (if you can call it that) and hold my feet up so they don't drag. Puce, Joeseph and Stanly all effortlessly sit on nothing or stand on the back bumper. Nicky rides on the roof. We go complete bush four-bying over old cornfeilds, between banana trees and into the forest. What cracks me up about the whole event is how suddenly my rough, rural TZ guys are all super concerned about me. Osmond asks me, "Are you scared? You can get out if you want," as we plow over a ridge. "No", I reply, smiling. I am not sure how to translate, "Hell no! This is my African Indiana Jones adventure!" (He wouldn't get the reference anyways.) I ditch the heels when we park, so everyone offers to carry me, I refuse that, so then everyone's shoes are offered, which I also refuse, preferring like always to go barefoot. Tanzanians and their hospitality though, geez. I lay on my back in the grass surrounded by wildflowers. Puce comes over with the equivillant of "bush grapes" and another "fruit" I have never seen before. I'll question Tanzanians about a lot of things but what is safe to eat in the bush is not one of them. After an hour, they declare that is enough. We load back into (or out of) the "car" but all the guys have to jump in when it is actually moving, because first they have to push us out of the ravine.
Back in the village, my bush story arrives before I do- was I afraid? How did Osmond drive? Why would I go into the woods ? The guys brag- she even went barefoot, she wasn't scared at all. My villagers look surprised, Americans sure are weird people.
Jen's Village
* So I am about a month behind in blog entries. Don't freak out they are all hand written, but it is going to take me a while to catch this thing up. And since I am a person who likes to tell stories from the beginning, I will not jump ahead, so bear with me.
"...The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love." - Margaret Atwood
11/13- 11/15
I have a weird affliction. Everyone in my group of PCVs are sick of their villages, they are tired of being here, and feeling like they cannot make enough changes. My affliction is- I am not. Sure I get frustrated a few moments, but my villagers? They could not be any better. Next to the state of Oregon, this is my favorite place in the world. This small area in Africa houses people I love immensely, beauty I have found no where else. If anything, Image Village has only assisted in my romance with Africa- which is interesting because my love of this country has been tested and tried but somehow remains. I hate leaving Image, even for the day. I have this anxious feeling- what is happening there? I wonder if he is sick? If she is better? What did Mama Max cook? Did Felix open his shop on time? Did puce get in another (!) motorcycle accident? Who is holding Anna? Did Mama Suze have her baby yet? Are Giza and Kimulimuli still being fed? Did anyone remember to bathe Lau? You get the idea- as minor as these things may seem they now make up my life and not knowing the answers is weird.
I love Jen though. She calls me daily- lonely and missing Image (I understand) she begs me to visit the village she has been relocated to, so I finally agree to step out of Image. I am actually nervous about spending so much time non-stop with a Tanzanian, even one who is my best friend. I have always been allowed private space from them, a door to close. Jen meets me in Njombe- she is thrilled. Her village is near Makambako, a town north of Njombe.
The good thing about the whole visit is it reminds me of how far I have come in Image. Her village has never had a volunteer. Everyone yells, "mzungu", no one would day call me that today in Image. People talk about me in front of me like I am not there and do not understand. everyone stares non-stop, today in Image, I have to do crazy things to get people to even look twice at me. I get pestered with questions about Americans that people in my own village have known the answer to for over a year. Her teachers try to tell me, "Wouldn't you rather live here? We have regular bus service, water pumps and cell service. We are 'developed'." I think to myself- sure that would be easier. Then I look around at the lack of my people, my friends, the Image villagers who have given me everything especially their hearts. I look around at the lack of tall pine trees, deep ravines and pristine Image air. The missing rustic, rural, Tanzanian, bush- no roads, no other villages, nothing for as far as the eye can see. This is not Image. "Nope", I respond confidently. Easier is not necessarily better. In fact, one could argue that it is worse, it is certainly less exciting. So just like my heart resides on five acres outside of Oregon City, it also stay bush-bound, which to me means Image.
My days with Jen are unfortunately non-stop eating, the primary way of showing love to a guest is to cook good food, and Jen knows all the food I like. So I eat my body weight in food everyday. It is like home stay and once again I become some one's Barbie. She braids my hair, tells me what to wear, sprays me with perfume, tells me when it is time to bathe, and tucks me in at night.
However, I like it. I think there is such a thing as being on your own so long, looking out for yourself so much that it is nice to have someone care for you. Nice to have someone hold your hand and love you, nice to feel dependant. Jen cries when I leave, but secretly Image calls- I have to go home.
"...The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love." - Margaret Atwood
11/13- 11/15
I have a weird affliction. Everyone in my group of PCVs are sick of their villages, they are tired of being here, and feeling like they cannot make enough changes. My affliction is- I am not. Sure I get frustrated a few moments, but my villagers? They could not be any better. Next to the state of Oregon, this is my favorite place in the world. This small area in Africa houses people I love immensely, beauty I have found no where else. If anything, Image Village has only assisted in my romance with Africa- which is interesting because my love of this country has been tested and tried but somehow remains. I hate leaving Image, even for the day. I have this anxious feeling- what is happening there? I wonder if he is sick? If she is better? What did Mama Max cook? Did Felix open his shop on time? Did puce get in another (!) motorcycle accident? Who is holding Anna? Did Mama Suze have her baby yet? Are Giza and Kimulimuli still being fed? Did anyone remember to bathe Lau? You get the idea- as minor as these things may seem they now make up my life and not knowing the answers is weird.
I love Jen though. She calls me daily- lonely and missing Image (I understand) she begs me to visit the village she has been relocated to, so I finally agree to step out of Image. I am actually nervous about spending so much time non-stop with a Tanzanian, even one who is my best friend. I have always been allowed private space from them, a door to close. Jen meets me in Njombe- she is thrilled. Her village is near Makambako, a town north of Njombe.
The good thing about the whole visit is it reminds me of how far I have come in Image. Her village has never had a volunteer. Everyone yells, "mzungu", no one would day call me that today in Image. People talk about me in front of me like I am not there and do not understand. everyone stares non-stop, today in Image, I have to do crazy things to get people to even look twice at me. I get pestered with questions about Americans that people in my own village have known the answer to for over a year. Her teachers try to tell me, "Wouldn't you rather live here? We have regular bus service, water pumps and cell service. We are 'developed'." I think to myself- sure that would be easier. Then I look around at the lack of my people, my friends, the Image villagers who have given me everything especially their hearts. I look around at the lack of tall pine trees, deep ravines and pristine Image air. The missing rustic, rural, Tanzanian, bush- no roads, no other villages, nothing for as far as the eye can see. This is not Image. "Nope", I respond confidently. Easier is not necessarily better. In fact, one could argue that it is worse, it is certainly less exciting. So just like my heart resides on five acres outside of Oregon City, it also stay bush-bound, which to me means Image.
My days with Jen are unfortunately non-stop eating, the primary way of showing love to a guest is to cook good food, and Jen knows all the food I like. So I eat my body weight in food everyday. It is like home stay and once again I become some one's Barbie. She braids my hair, tells me what to wear, sprays me with perfume, tells me when it is time to bathe, and tucks me in at night.
However, I like it. I think there is such a thing as being on your own so long, looking out for yourself so much that it is nice to have someone care for you. Nice to have someone hold your hand and love you, nice to feel dependant. Jen cries when I leave, but secretly Image calls- I have to go home.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Giza
"She's out on the highway She's got a homemade sign it says Go ahead try to figure out What my future looks like I don't want to live my life like a story Always thinkin I could've been something Don't run along side and control me Just film away and let me be At ease I, I feel fine I'll go on, I move on There's something so divided Don't worry about me I'll be fine Don't live your life for me or for anyone Live your life as if you're one Live your life as if you're one And find quiet, it's awful quiet " -Tegan and Sara
November 9, 2009
My loneliness led me into the trap that is Giza. I love my villagers but in many ways they are a poor replacement for who I used to be. I used to be the oldest sibling of a big American family with amazing parents. Beautiful is a word that often gets thrown in with my name. "Beautiful Brie", people don't care if it is factual as long as they like the alliteration. I have been teaching William English and even he has picked up putting the two words together, although to be fair Juster has always done it, so he probably just picked it up from her. We have a sad conversation though (in Swahili, his english sucks), "What will happen when you leave?" He asks. "Someone else will come." I say. "But they will not be you." "No, they won't be." I agree. "What am I supposed to do?" "The same thing you always did." I answer. "Africa will call you back." He confidently says. "I know." I say equally as confidently. (I think Africa has it's own way of making phone calls to those who feel it within themselves.) "But you cannot leave, because we love you." "I know." I say (I can't say anything else.) But I wonder if Peace Corps really brings cultures together or rips them apart. I wonder about who I used to be, who I will never be again. I remember the beautiful, charismatic, funny, elite group of six people that somehow I got randomly added to. That I get the privilege to call my family, how I have no idea, but I got extremely lucky. I remember that I used to have best friends I spoke English with. I used to look forward to the acadamy awards and a hot shower. For the last decade, I used to have some sort of boyfriend. I used to think I was scholarly, I loved Art History and Shakespeare. I used to be a Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority sister and wear black high heels and red lipstick, I used to revise grants to provide aid to Sudan, I drove a car, I drank wine, I used to sit in Powell's Books and dream about all the places I might go... I used to have a million terms to define myself. I am not sure that there are any anymore.
I thought I liked the company of myself, which I guess I have grown tired of- turns out I am no as cool/interesting/fun as I thought. That is where Kimulimuli comes in and I get a bit insane believing that he is fluent in both Kiswahili and English (which funnily enough he sort of is). In Tanzania, he is my family and like all animals he loves me unconditionally. I guess that is why I fell for Giza. I needed to feel a bit more love in my life.
I was visiting my Bibi (grandmother) whose cat has just had kittens. "Five!" I exclaimed. "Yes, but that one will die." She said matter of factly pointing to the little mostly black one with one orange toe and and orange stripe down her nose. "Why?" I asked looking at the healthy kitten. She looked at me like this was a stupid question, "Because everybody knows that black cats are inhabited by witches." Oh yeah, right. I forgot. I beg her to keep the little black one for me, but first Mzee Ngoda must come and do some sort of exorcism on it, so we are sure that it is safe. (Now that she lives with my I am not sure that the exorcism was entirely effective...) But she is allowed to go live with me. If there is an animal more pathetic than Kimulimuli, it has to be Giza. Unlike Muli, she is beautiful, but she drives us both crazy. She is too eager, constantly meowing, and much to both Muli and my dismay is afraid of thunderstorms. She takes turns following one of us around like we are both gods. Muli has zero patience for her and as I trip over her for the 28th time that day I have minimal patience. But some how as I cuddle her and she mews so pathetically, I love her. My Buddhist principle reminds me you must have the darkness to have the light. Kimulimuli literally means firefly, but also to light up or illuminate. Giza means darkness, obscurity or gloom. Now I am stuck with them- my African cat family. At least Kimulimuli earns his keep with his exceptional hunting skills. We shall see if Giz ever amounts to anything besides being small and obsessed with me. Muli and Giz try to make me feel less alone, but what can you really expect from two scrawny African cats?
November 9, 2009
My loneliness led me into the trap that is Giza. I love my villagers but in many ways they are a poor replacement for who I used to be. I used to be the oldest sibling of a big American family with amazing parents. Beautiful is a word that often gets thrown in with my name. "Beautiful Brie", people don't care if it is factual as long as they like the alliteration. I have been teaching William English and even he has picked up putting the two words together, although to be fair Juster has always done it, so he probably just picked it up from her. We have a sad conversation though (in Swahili, his english sucks), "What will happen when you leave?" He asks. "Someone else will come." I say. "But they will not be you." "No, they won't be." I agree. "What am I supposed to do?" "The same thing you always did." I answer. "Africa will call you back." He confidently says. "I know." I say equally as confidently. (I think Africa has it's own way of making phone calls to those who feel it within themselves.) "But you cannot leave, because we love you." "I know." I say (I can't say anything else.) But I wonder if Peace Corps really brings cultures together or rips them apart. I wonder about who I used to be, who I will never be again. I remember the beautiful, charismatic, funny, elite group of six people that somehow I got randomly added to. That I get the privilege to call my family, how I have no idea, but I got extremely lucky. I remember that I used to have best friends I spoke English with. I used to look forward to the acadamy awards and a hot shower. For the last decade, I used to have some sort of boyfriend. I used to think I was scholarly, I loved Art History and Shakespeare. I used to be a Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority sister and wear black high heels and red lipstick, I used to revise grants to provide aid to Sudan, I drove a car, I drank wine, I used to sit in Powell's Books and dream about all the places I might go... I used to have a million terms to define myself. I am not sure that there are any anymore.
I thought I liked the company of myself, which I guess I have grown tired of- turns out I am no as cool/interesting/fun as I thought. That is where Kimulimuli comes in and I get a bit insane believing that he is fluent in both Kiswahili and English (which funnily enough he sort of is). In Tanzania, he is my family and like all animals he loves me unconditionally. I guess that is why I fell for Giza. I needed to feel a bit more love in my life.
I was visiting my Bibi (grandmother) whose cat has just had kittens. "Five!" I exclaimed. "Yes, but that one will die." She said matter of factly pointing to the little mostly black one with one orange toe and and orange stripe down her nose. "Why?" I asked looking at the healthy kitten. She looked at me like this was a stupid question, "Because everybody knows that black cats are inhabited by witches." Oh yeah, right. I forgot. I beg her to keep the little black one for me, but first Mzee Ngoda must come and do some sort of exorcism on it, so we are sure that it is safe. (Now that she lives with my I am not sure that the exorcism was entirely effective...) But she is allowed to go live with me. If there is an animal more pathetic than Kimulimuli, it has to be Giza. Unlike Muli, she is beautiful, but she drives us both crazy. She is too eager, constantly meowing, and much to both Muli and my dismay is afraid of thunderstorms. She takes turns following one of us around like we are both gods. Muli has zero patience for her and as I trip over her for the 28th time that day I have minimal patience. But some how as I cuddle her and she mews so pathetically, I love her. My Buddhist principle reminds me you must have the darkness to have the light. Kimulimuli literally means firefly, but also to light up or illuminate. Giza means darkness, obscurity or gloom. Now I am stuck with them- my African cat family. At least Kimulimuli earns his keep with his exceptional hunting skills. We shall see if Giz ever amounts to anything besides being small and obsessed with me. Muli and Giz try to make me feel less alone, but what can you really expect from two scrawny African cats?
First Rains
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware." -Henry Miller
November 7, 2009
I have kept pretty quiet about this but we ran out of water here in Image Village. Our ravines dried up- the students went down with shovels to dig for water but found minimal supplies. So the men got on their motorcycles and hauled back water from other villages, women walked for miles in search of our most precious resource. It turned out that cooking and drinking were the only things we still did with water. No one bathed, no one washed clothes- let's just say everyone smelled great... Brie is not someone who enjoys being dirty and likes to smell good. My parents love to tell the story of when I was little and would fall down, then waddle over to them and say "dirty" as I held out my hand for it to be cleaned. I would like to think that I am a little less "princess-y" now, but I have perfected the art of bathing all the "stinky parts" in about an inch of water. A dry season is normal in Tanzania. It hasn't rained since April or May and usually this is fine. I am not sure what the problem was this year but it was a problem.
In the Southern Highlands, the rain comes like nothing you have ever seen before. It was a sunny morning and around 3 pm it got so dark it was like night. Clouds rolled in black and menacing. First I heard thunder that rocked the hills then off over the rolling landscape, I saw the jagged lightning reach it's fingers down for the earth. I love lightning, I always have, I get some sort of high from it. Apparently Kimulimuli, my little firefly cat, was aptly named because he ran around house looking like an owl. I stood outside and watched it come. Suddenly the sky opened up- RAIN. Maybe because I am an Oregonian, maybe because I am a fire sign and need something to balance me out, but I need the rain. I let it wash over me, watched it trail through the dust, leaving white snail trails on my skin. I bathed in it, I opened my mouth and drank it, I danced in it. I put my dishes outside that have not been washed in forever but i just keep using. I brushed my teeth. I did everything you can possibly do with unlimited water. I could only focus on the rain and the deafening sound of it on my tin roof- nothing else could be heard until the thunder would unleash it's anger from above. Kimulimuli took advantage of the storm to go on a killing spree. Anything escaping into the house was fair game to him- including two huge rats, a lizard, many spiders, centipedes and other unknown bugs. I just twirled around finally clean- and thanked nature for its beauty, for providing for us, for its unknowable plan, for its magic.
November 7, 2009
I have kept pretty quiet about this but we ran out of water here in Image Village. Our ravines dried up- the students went down with shovels to dig for water but found minimal supplies. So the men got on their motorcycles and hauled back water from other villages, women walked for miles in search of our most precious resource. It turned out that cooking and drinking were the only things we still did with water. No one bathed, no one washed clothes- let's just say everyone smelled great... Brie is not someone who enjoys being dirty and likes to smell good. My parents love to tell the story of when I was little and would fall down, then waddle over to them and say "dirty" as I held out my hand for it to be cleaned. I would like to think that I am a little less "princess-y" now, but I have perfected the art of bathing all the "stinky parts" in about an inch of water. A dry season is normal in Tanzania. It hasn't rained since April or May and usually this is fine. I am not sure what the problem was this year but it was a problem.
In the Southern Highlands, the rain comes like nothing you have ever seen before. It was a sunny morning and around 3 pm it got so dark it was like night. Clouds rolled in black and menacing. First I heard thunder that rocked the hills then off over the rolling landscape, I saw the jagged lightning reach it's fingers down for the earth. I love lightning, I always have, I get some sort of high from it. Apparently Kimulimuli, my little firefly cat, was aptly named because he ran around house looking like an owl. I stood outside and watched it come. Suddenly the sky opened up- RAIN. Maybe because I am an Oregonian, maybe because I am a fire sign and need something to balance me out, but I need the rain. I let it wash over me, watched it trail through the dust, leaving white snail trails on my skin. I bathed in it, I opened my mouth and drank it, I danced in it. I put my dishes outside that have not been washed in forever but i just keep using. I brushed my teeth. I did everything you can possibly do with unlimited water. I could only focus on the rain and the deafening sound of it on my tin roof- nothing else could be heard until the thunder would unleash it's anger from above. Kimulimuli took advantage of the storm to go on a killing spree. Anything escaping into the house was fair game to him- including two huge rats, a lizard, many spiders, centipedes and other unknown bugs. I just twirled around finally clean- and thanked nature for its beauty, for providing for us, for its unknowable plan, for its magic.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Halloween and other Random Moments that Make up my Life
October 31, 2009
Halloween- the end of the Pagan year. So much to let go of, so much to be thankful for. This was one of my weirdest ones yet and there wasn't even any costumes involved.
Jen came to visit Image for the weekend and I could not have been more happy to see her. It has only been a little more than a month since she left but her presence is like a breath of fresh air. She is so easy to love. Almost everyone in Image is sick right now, I don't know how I have escaped the plague. Margaret has aptly called it "The season of death." So because mama Latifah (Mwalimu Monika) is sick right now, Jen and I ended up walk hours to her farm to burn it for her. The corn has all dies, so all Tanzanians burn their farms around this time- they do it at dusk. It is sort of unreal being in a burning cornfield, under an almost full moon in Africa on Halloween.
Eventually we realize that it is very dark and we are nearer to a "neighboring" village than we are to our own. We walk the mile or so there in the dark, William is there drinking beer with some guys and is surprised to see us stumble out of the bush in the dark. I am just relieved I did not see any snakes. Jen and William both think that we should haggle for a ride to get back to Image. The ride negotiations commence and I decide that I am worthless in this negotiation process and I am exhausted, so lie down in the grass. I piss William off because he tells me to get up but I pretend I don't understand him (This is like day one Kiswahili training), so he ignores me and I actually drift into snooze mode. (Geez, I must trust these two.) Luckily, I wake up for the funniest part of the whole conversation. They are debating about price.
Potential Driver: You can pay it. She is white. Tell her it is more and we can split her money later.
William: She is fluent in Swahili, so she understands you. Plus she is not white.
Driver: Yes, she is. She is white! We can make some money.
William: You have made a big mistake. She is my best friend and she is not white.
Driver: You're her best friend?
William: Yeah, Jen and I. (Adamantly) She is not white!
Driver: Okay, okay.
I am cracking up. My whiteness is the last thing I thought that could be debated. I finally get home. Mjemah shows up at my house with Anna in his arms (flanked by my two guards...geez). It is turning into a huge problem because Anna prefers to sleep at my house and won't go to sleep at home anymore. She is asleep within minutes of entering my arms. I make a fire in the fireplace, pop popcorn, drink pumpkin spice tea, and start "Twilight", the vampire series that all the Njombe girls are addicted to. There are no pumpkins, no trick-or-treaters, no candy, no orange lights, no big harvest celebration. But I am here and I celebrate alone which I have learned is the way that some things should be celebrated.
I crawl into bed next to Anna, who awakes at 2 am crying. I somehow remember how to ask her in Swahili if she had a bad dream. She nods and I hold her against me and tell her that "her Brie" is here and sing her the words that I can remember from the songs my parents sang to me when I was little. Soon she is back asleep, using my chest as a pillow- probably the cushiest part- one of her arms grips around me, and the other reaches up, fingers intertwined in my hair- I can only miss my mom, and the way I used to sleep. The weight of her body is strangely comforting. And i hold her small dark body against my large white one- so different, but so the same.
Halloween- the end of the Pagan year. So much to let go of, so much to be thankful for. This was one of my weirdest ones yet and there wasn't even any costumes involved.
Jen came to visit Image for the weekend and I could not have been more happy to see her. It has only been a little more than a month since she left but her presence is like a breath of fresh air. She is so easy to love. Almost everyone in Image is sick right now, I don't know how I have escaped the plague. Margaret has aptly called it "The season of death." So because mama Latifah (Mwalimu Monika) is sick right now, Jen and I ended up walk hours to her farm to burn it for her. The corn has all dies, so all Tanzanians burn their farms around this time- they do it at dusk. It is sort of unreal being in a burning cornfield, under an almost full moon in Africa on Halloween.
Eventually we realize that it is very dark and we are nearer to a "neighboring" village than we are to our own. We walk the mile or so there in the dark, William is there drinking beer with some guys and is surprised to see us stumble out of the bush in the dark. I am just relieved I did not see any snakes. Jen and William both think that we should haggle for a ride to get back to Image. The ride negotiations commence and I decide that I am worthless in this negotiation process and I am exhausted, so lie down in the grass. I piss William off because he tells me to get up but I pretend I don't understand him (This is like day one Kiswahili training), so he ignores me and I actually drift into snooze mode. (Geez, I must trust these two.) Luckily, I wake up for the funniest part of the whole conversation. They are debating about price.
Potential Driver: You can pay it. She is white. Tell her it is more and we can split her money later.
William: She is fluent in Swahili, so she understands you. Plus she is not white.
Driver: Yes, she is. She is white! We can make some money.
William: You have made a big mistake. She is my best friend and she is not white.
Driver: You're her best friend?
William: Yeah, Jen and I. (Adamantly) She is not white!
Driver: Okay, okay.
I am cracking up. My whiteness is the last thing I thought that could be debated. I finally get home. Mjemah shows up at my house with Anna in his arms (flanked by my two guards...geez). It is turning into a huge problem because Anna prefers to sleep at my house and won't go to sleep at home anymore. She is asleep within minutes of entering my arms. I make a fire in the fireplace, pop popcorn, drink pumpkin spice tea, and start "Twilight", the vampire series that all the Njombe girls are addicted to. There are no pumpkins, no trick-or-treaters, no candy, no orange lights, no big harvest celebration. But I am here and I celebrate alone which I have learned is the way that some things should be celebrated.
I crawl into bed next to Anna, who awakes at 2 am crying. I somehow remember how to ask her in Swahili if she had a bad dream. She nods and I hold her against me and tell her that "her Brie" is here and sing her the words that I can remember from the songs my parents sang to me when I was little. Soon she is back asleep, using my chest as a pillow- probably the cushiest part- one of her arms grips around me, and the other reaches up, fingers intertwined in my hair- I can only miss my mom, and the way I used to sleep. The weight of her body is strangely comforting. And i hold her small dark body against my large white one- so different, but so the same.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Book of the Month: November
November's Book is :
"Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" By Jonathan Safran Foer (He's the one who wrote "Everything is Illuminated" which was also a great book.)
Through the eyes of an incredibly precocious and extremely funny nine-year-old narrator, Jonathan Safran Foer tells a story of the effects of death on Oskar Schell and his family. Oskar's father was killed in the Twin Towers terrorist attack. Oskar's grandparents witnessed similar terrorists' attacks during World War II. The consequences of these horrid deaths have marked the psyches of the main characters in Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in different, but equally painful ways.
Totally uniquely and beautifully written. Don't let the 9/11 stuff fool you, this book has a lot more substance to it. I loved loved it. It is eye opening and not depressing like it sounds.
Dad- You have to read this book. It talks about the things we always think about...
Other books I really liked this month:
"Eyes, Breathe, Memory" By Eldwidge Danticat. Super intense, but detailed novel about the lives of Haitian women.
"My Sister's Keeper" By Jodi Picoult. Think a lot of people have probably read this, but I had not. Tear-jerker. Made me realize that I would give any part of my body if it meant saving either of my sisters' lives, and hopefully will never have to.
"Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" By Jonathan Safran Foer (He's the one who wrote "Everything is Illuminated" which was also a great book.)
Through the eyes of an incredibly precocious and extremely funny nine-year-old narrator, Jonathan Safran Foer tells a story of the effects of death on Oskar Schell and his family. Oskar's father was killed in the Twin Towers terrorist attack. Oskar's grandparents witnessed similar terrorists' attacks during World War II. The consequences of these horrid deaths have marked the psyches of the main characters in Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in different, but equally painful ways.
Totally uniquely and beautifully written. Don't let the 9/11 stuff fool you, this book has a lot more substance to it. I loved loved it. It is eye opening and not depressing like it sounds.
Dad- You have to read this book. It talks about the things we always think about...
Other books I really liked this month:
"Eyes, Breathe, Memory" By Eldwidge Danticat. Super intense, but detailed novel about the lives of Haitian women.
"My Sister's Keeper" By Jodi Picoult. Think a lot of people have probably read this, but I had not. Tear-jerker. Made me realize that I would give any part of my body if it meant saving either of my sisters' lives, and hopefully will never have to.
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