Teaching in Tanga

"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours."

Henry David Thoreau

July 26, 2010

I am on the bus. I have refrained from speaking much about the long cross-country bus trips that must be taken from Njombe to Dar, mostly because I didn’t want to scare my mom. I have seen many disturbing things in this country, things I am not sure that I will ever be able to talk about, most of those were on Tanzanian highways. According to Peace Corps, Tanzania has more fatality accidents than any other country in Africa, but maybe this is the only country that keeps track of anything like that, I can’t be sure. Our main road from Njombe up to Dar is paved, windy, with many of it climbing mountains with steep drop offs on either side. Cars and buses in Tanzania are very poorly maintained leading to many malfunctions. There are no hard and fast rules for driving. Basically go as fast as your car will take you is the main rule. This bus rides terrify my friends and I. We choose what we believe will be the safest area of the bus, put in our iPods, emotional eat, and attempt to distract each other for 11+ hours.

The ride to Tanga and back, I have to do alone. It is eleven hours from Njombe to Dar and then another six from Dar to Tanga town. I have been chosen as Peace Corps Volunteer of the week, which means I go up to Tanga (the training site) to teach 45 fresh, newly arrived PCVs about my service and life in Tanzania. I am excited about this opportunity to share my service. I am not excited about the ride. On the way, I reflect on how did I really come to accept this culture as normal? A man carrying logs on the back of his bicycle has encountered a problem, in the middle of the road the have become unattached and now are laying on the roadway. He attempts to gather them up, not get hit by a car and move his bicycle to the side of the road. The bus stops and about five men jump off and help him resituate until he can go on. I knew this would happen. I don’t question if this added time onto our trip, because even though I am still an American, Tanzania has also done its best job to rub off on me, so what is good for one person is good for us all. I snack on fresh cashews, which I offer to my neighbors like a good Tanzanian. It is not rude to eat in front of others as long as you offer what you are eating. I wonder if anyone in America offers and accepts food when they don’t know each other? No, Americans are too worried about poison, about annoying ones neighbors, about making a connection… I am squeezed between two young guys one in a shirt with a huge bald eagle that proclaims in big letters “Proud to be an American,” and I am sure he would be if he were. The other one is in a pink Old Navy shirt that could have only once been placed in the women’s section. Pinky asks me if I am married and I tell both he and “the American” an elaborate story of love, intrigue and heartbreak between my husband and I. This eats up some of the bus time. Eventually the woman behind me taps me and throws her, maybe two-year-old, child forward. The little girl casually looks at me, as I pass her to Pinky (he is closest to the exit) he asks the driver to stop, gets off with the girl and pulls her pants down. She squats on the side of the road; he pulls up her pants and carries her back onto the bus where she is passed back to her mother. Pinky and this girl are not related. If fact, they have never seen each other until that moment. This happens all over this country because this child is everyone’s child. This is a collectivist society. “All for one, one for all.”

In Tanga, I have to convey this cultural message. The new PCVs must adapt to a life like this instead of the individualistic attitude that we have always known and valued. I meet the new PCVs, eager and clean, cute in their new “Africa clothes”, they look of people who have recently eaten sour cream, blueberries, sweet and sour tofu. Dust has not entered every crease of their bodies. They talk about music, movies and TV shows that I have never heard of. They miss America… Have I forgotten? Instead of missing America though, I miss my friends. Other people that have never held an iphone, do not know what music is in, are only able to wash their feet every few days. The people I belong with- Kate, Sarah, Katalina, Margaret, Greta- the Njombe girls. On a very conceited level it is sort of enjoyable to be in the process of finishing something that 45 people are on the precipice of beginning. I have just done what is these people’s dream to do. They ask me cute, concerned questions and I so remember being there. Was it really two years ago?

New Life

Baby Gare Bear, an hour old


"Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it."
-Anais Nin

I am dozing on my couch when at 10.15 pm my phone rings, it is William. He says, "you have to go to my house right now, my wife is having a baby. I am in Njombe and the car is broken." I sleepily answer, "why didn't you call Jessica (our village nurse)?" He did, but she is traveling. uh no.

Some background: William is one of my closest friends in my village, he is 29 and married. He grew up in Image and we mainly became good friends because he was my old village executive officer's motorcycle driver. Then it turned out that his primary school level education makes his kiswahili perfect for me to understand. Plus he is just a generally nice guy. He lives way far into one of my sub-villages, so I have actually never visited him at his house. I am sure that I have greeted his wife very nicely at various times, but I have no idea which village woman she is, mostly because Tanzanian men generally only spend time with their wives in private and no one has ever pointed her out to me in the context of her being his wife. I know that they have one physically handicapped child and that she has carried two more babies to full term to have them arrive already dead. I also know how badly they want children, all in all, I am pretty freaked out. Especially that he has so much faith in my ability to make sure that this child arrives alive. So I do the only thing that I can do... I throw on a pair of jeans and go running like a mad woman to William's mother's house.

Luckily, Tanzanians almost never sleep, so I am able to get her out the door in a matter of minutes. She and I, at a quick, let's say, gallop fly over the rutted dirt road in the dark. It takes us about half an hour to arrive. The scene that I am met with leaves me shaking. The house is a one room, dirt floor, thatched roof number that is so typical of Tanzanian homes. There is one candle burning and through the flicker I see a woman curled up in the corner moaning quietly. When I reach her I can see that her eyes are as big as saucers, she is sweaty, but freezing cold. Is she in shock? Is she going to die? I feel like Prissy in Gone With The Wind as I think to myself, "Aw Miz Scarlett, I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies." I have been at many many Tanzanian births, but never one that I felt was so high risk or that I felt so alone for. Mama William ran out to get a neighbor woman who brought some warm water, some of her fire, and some fabric. I figured coordinating help was all that I could really do, so I began to make an exit. William's wife looked terrified at me and asked in Swahili "your leaving?!? but I need you. You are my husband's best friend and you are good luck." What was I supposed to do? I would feel horrible if the baby died and they believed that it was because I wasn't there, but what if it died and I was there? That thought terrified me.

It was a long night. One of my longest ever. I mostly just held her hand and kept talking, trying to calm her (and honestly, myself). At some point, before light, she gave birth in a squatting position, she sort of half caught the baby herself, and then it lay there on the compacted dirt. I quickly wiped it and looked at it and miraculously, it cried. I cried. Mama William squealed with delight. His wife smiled, satisfied, tired. I quickly looked over the tiny visitor. All limbs- perfect. Face- beautiful. A head of soft black hair. A strong, beautiful baby boy, which, culturally, is the best thing that can happen to any Tanzanian family. I looked up through the thatched roof to the fading stars and thanked the universe.

After cooking chai with Mama William and bathing the new baby, I set off toward my home to get some much needed sleep. Feeling a warmth in my heart and missing the small weight in my arms of the child a few moments old.

That afternoon, William returned absolutely thrilled. It is customary in Tanzania for the father to name the baby, when I asked why he said because the mother gives birth to it. Especially if it is a boy the father always gets to name it. This seems a little unjust which, of course, I pointed out. Also in Tanzanian villages, children in the womb are not talked about until they are born. There is no baby shower, designing the nursery, buying baby clothes, picking out names, talking about that a baby is coming at all. When I asked why, the answer was because the baby could die. Can you imagine living in an environment when the chance of a baby dying was so great that you didn't plan for it at all? Anyways, I walked back to the house to visit the family that afternoon. William demanded to know what my father's name was. "Gary", I said. He and his wife looked at each other and smiled. William then tells me, "That is this baby's name. Gary." "What?" I ask. He says, "Well it really is too short of a name (Tanzanians hate short names, they always have long names which they shorten.) His real name will be Garrion, but he is called Gary." This is somewhat hilarious because Tanzanians can barely say the r sound and constantly switch it with an l sound. I tell them that they really don't need to name the baby after my dad and should name it what they want. But they are both insistent. I walk home laughing. In a small village in East Africa there is a child named after my father, I am not sure what could be funnier.

I love America!

"She's got everything she needs, she's an artist and she don't look back." -Dylan

July 1, 2010

After spending months in denial it is time to face the fact that my days on the African continent are limited. I have successfully procrastinated in knowing this for quite sometime. Only on occassion does that knowledge creep up on me, when I get infected with what I call the "last- syndrome", ex- this is the last time I'll go to Iringa, this is the last time I will hear a bush baby scream in the night, this is the last time that I will see you... The thought of no return ticket to Tanzania is unbelievably depressing to me. The sense of loss I feel is overwhelming.

I am nervous about moving back to a country where stories don't start with, "The last time I was on Zanzibar..." or "Today we only got stuck in the mud twice and ran out of gas four times..." Outfits don't always include a slip under a below the knee skirt, and on a long bus ride no one sits down next to you and wants to hear your life story... in Swahili. It is funny, there are so many downright annoying things about being an mzungu in TZ, but once you get used to it, it becomes a pretty fun life.

I will be on an airplane in August. Leaving a country filled with smiling faces, rolling hills, bright fabric, rough roads, white beaches, a snow capped mountain- adventure.

Christmas came in July today as it rained and was freezing at the same time- something is it generally not supposed to do here. I curled up in front of my fire, roasted peanuts from the farm and read a Tom Robbins book. As I sit next to the fire, in my little house in East Africa it occurs to my that the number one lesson that I have learned in my time here is that everything is about attitude. I am moving back to America- I need an attitude adjustment. All things come to an end, whether good or bad and whether I ignore it or not PC is ending. Change is the only constant, best to embrace it. I've decided to make a list about all the things I am excited about to return to in America- friends and family obviously, but what else? Who knows, maybe you will find something that you take advantage of?

I am excited for:
-hot showers
-the cheese isle of the grocery store
-driving a car on paved roads
-tofu
-when calling a meeting at noon, people showing up at noon, maybe even a little before. Not coming any time between 3 and 6 pm.
-ice cubes
-gyms and yoga classes
-red wine that is not from South Africa
-drinkable water
-a house with minimal spiders, not the maximum amount that can cram in.
-Hollywood Video and movie theatres
-people who understand the concept of standing in line without cutting
-swimming in a lake and not wondering whether or not you have shisto
-not having to follow up everything you say with "Are you understanding me?"
-American efficiency and customer service
-concerts, theatre, dance, art- culture that is not African
-not having to bargain for the price of everything
-not having every negative event attributed to witchcraft
-when ordering something at a restaurant, knowing just what is coming
-sickness that you know is not something crazy/weird
-machines- laundry, dishwasher, mop, vacuum, fridge, freezer...
-being anonymous- not having everyone talk about me constantly
-the absence of the near daily funeral
-a library with books that haven't just been discarded by PCVs
-unlimited internet and TV access
-things that make sense (to me)
-fat cats and dogs and the absence of rats
-not being alone unless desired
-western toilets and provided toilet paper
-Trader Joes
-Having clean, stylish, hole-less clothing
-Oregon seasons
-Implementing PC's third goal (Teaching Americans about Tanzanians)
-New challenges, new experiences, new dreams---

I feel better already...

PC says that the hardest time in a volunteer's service is the re-adjustment to America. This is probably true, but it certainly doesn't have to be. I choose to focus on what I am going toward, not what I am giving up. Life goes on and Peace Corps is only part of the adventure. On to the next one!

"Adventure is worthwhile in itself." -Amelia Earhart

I Choose Love

"The full life is filled with vulnerability, not defense... You face whatever feeling there is." -Virginia Satir

End of June

My village is crazy right now. So a lot of people in my friend, Osmond's family have died recently. Turns out that my villagers have decided that his uncle is dabbling in witchcraft. This has caused Osmond's baby to die, his mother to die, one of his uncles and two of his siblings, all in not very much time. By the time I got back to the village from some travels, they had already searched his house and found some "witching devices". When I pressed what exactly these were, I didn't get a real answer but I have an idea because when William and Nicki were at my house recently William accused me of witchcraft jokingly because I have shells laying around and Crystal Light in a water bottle. (So knick-knacks and colored water=witchcraft). Anyways, then they called some creepy people who took Osmond's old uncle out into the bush and killed him. Or Image villagers think that they killed him, we cannot be sure, but I have been told ominously, "that we will not hear from him again." My villagers seem very okay with this. It will be odd to live in a country very soon that does not explain everything by the occult. When Jane, my house girl, started working for me, multiple people told me to clean out my hair brush. In response to my question of why, I was told because she could steal my hair and give it to someone who could curse me. Really?

About the time of all this Osmond's-uncle-witch-business, I get really sick. I woke up with a fever, weak, and then threw up for four days straight. What I called the stomach flu, they call witchcraft, poison...blah, blah, blah. Many Tanzanians open drinks in front of who is going to drink it, so they can be assured that it does not contain poison. This week I have taken up my own self-taught Rwanda course, where I have read together "We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families," about the genocide, and "Gorillas in the Mist" of course, by Dian Fossey. (I figured that it was time for me to expand upon my obsession of young women who live alone in Africa with great apes. I would like to say that I relate to them, but Kimulimuli is a pretty pathetic ape.) I highly, highly recommend both of these fascinating books, however, read at the same time "Me Talk Pretty One Day," by David Sedaris, not because it has anything to do with Rwanda but because when you are tired of balling your eyes out, this will crack you up. I had nightmares for a week straight about decapitated gorillas and people. Anyways, my point is these books both really seemed to illustrate the concept of fear.

Fear makes people do funny things. I can laugh all I want about witchcraft in my village but there are examples from all over the world, America included, of people acting in weird and rash ways out of fear. I read somewhere once that fear gets in the way of love, or something to that extent, and I wonder about that statement. I am pretty sure that every problem in the world goes back to someone's, or a group's fear, whether real or imagined. When I think about the genocide in Rwanda, what is going on now in Sudan, in Iraq, in many places... isn't that about someone's fear of someone else? What happened during the holocaust, to Black Americans, Native Americans, gay Americans... was that not related to someone's own trepidation? How much more effective would we be as a world population if fear was not a driving force in most people's lives? Would there be a lot more love? I think probably yes.

Anyways, I did recover from "my curse", but the interesting thing about being sick in your African Village is how much love there is. From the first moment that I was sick, someone was always at my house, I didn't ask for this but to Tanzanians sickness equals death and it was important to them that I was not alone. Someone spent the night on my couch every night, water was constantly being heated for me to bathe, wood added to the fire, lemon ginger tea made... One evening everyone was busy. I was feeling better but my village guys insisted on putting a mattress in the front of the TV in my village bar because my Mama had to work so that we could all watch the world cup together. (Side note: Next to South Africa, my village must be the next best place to watch the World Cup.) So I curled up with dusty, ring-wormy kids, while my mama cooked dinner, my friends gathered round, and felt loved.

Close Of Service Conference

"It is precisely the possibility of realizing a dream that makes life interesting." -Paulo Coeh

Beginning of May

A few months before Peace Corps service officially ends, they have what remains of the group that you came in with go to a conference. The purpose is a last time together, information about how to leave your village, medical issues, etc. and how to adapt back to America. I had greatly anticipated the fun part of Close of Service (COS), being at a resort outside of Dar with all my friends, but not really thought about that it actually means that my time in Peace Corps is coming to an end. It is safe to say that I had a bit of a panic attack when they began to talk about resumes, health insurance, saying goodbye to your village, interview skills, how many stool samples they need, buying your plane ticket to your home of record, that Michael Jackson died this year, that nothing in your life as you know it is going to be the same in a few months...

Without realizing it, I had succeeded in completely becoming wrapped up in being a Peace Corps Volunteer in East Africa, my foresight being where I should get water or charcoal, how to say "such and such" in Swahili, when I should go to Njombe next... Suddenly, everything seems to be crashing down. For the passed two years, I have had the identity of "The American", "An Image Villager", "A PCV"... who am I if I am no longer different because of those things? How do I go through the day without texts from Kate, Sarah, Mags, Greta and Kat? Did two years really go that quickly? Furthermore, I actually LOVE Tanzania. How does one say goodbye to a country? A Village?

There is also an overwhelming sense of pride. It probably looks small to anyone reading this, but in 26 years, finishing the Peace Corps was the most challenging, most rewarding, coolest thing that I have ever done. It is my biggest accomplishment, which makes it hard to let go of. I really lived for two years in an African Village. But it is over. Wow.

Adventures in the West Part 2

The MV Liemba- The German World War One Ship that I spent three days living on. My own African Queen!
Looking off the edge of the ship where the Tanzanians are loading and unloading cargo.
Me, taking an opportunity to go for a swim... off the side of the ship.


"And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything than you risk even more." -Erica Jung

From Kigoma we boarded the M.V. Liemba... Taken from Wikipedia.com:

"The MV Liemba, formerly the Graf von Götzen, is a passenger cargo ferry that runs along the eastern shore of Lake Tanganyika. The ship was built in 1913 in Germany, and was one of three vessels operated by the Germans to control Lake Tanganyika during the early part of World War I. It was scuttled by its captain on 26 July 1916 off the mouth of the Malagarasi river, during the German retreat from the town of Kigoma. In 1924 the ship was salvaged by a British Royal Navy salvage team and recommissioned in 1927 as the Liemba. The vessel is now owned by the Tanzania Railways Corporation and runs between the ports of Bujumbura, Burundi, Kigoma, Tanzania and Mpulungu, Zambia with numerous stops to pick up and set down passengers in between.

The ship was the inspiration for the German gunboat Luisa in C.S. Forester's 1935 novel The African Queen, and the subsequent film version."

So we had a cozy first class cabin on that boat for two nights and three days. Honestly, there was not a lot to do during that time except read, look at the DRC on one side and Tanzania on the other, and talk to the other passengers. In true Peace Corps form, we enjoyed conversations in Swahili with Africans from all over the place, we made friends with everyone including the cooks in the kitchen, the bartender, and an old man we called Baba Boat. There were also a few backpackers from various European countries on board. We were interested in hearing about their travels and exchanged stories for awhile, until one evening they all got on a bit of a high horse. Where a major debate went on where many of them were convinced that the entire problem with African society is American volunteers. We defended the PC to no end, not because we think that we are saving the world, but for sure because we are not doing any damage to it. They felt like what they were doing, back packing through and putting in a lot of money to Tanzania was more beneficial than what we were doing. They didn't even just think that we were useless, but that we were actually damaging to Tanzania. So let's just say that these people were never going to be our close friends. However, it was interesting that in our final time on the boat, it seemed that these Europeans, who were so much better than us destructive volunteers, seemed to be leaning on us a lot when anything involved any Swahili, since they couldn't understand a word of it.

The ship would stop often and wait for smaller wooden boats to motor in to us from distant shoreline villages. Men would climb up the side of the boat from these smaller dinghys loading and unloading cargo but in their ripped clothes and acrobatic skills they definitely gave the appearance of pirates commandeering our ship. At one of these points, I decided that it was absolutely necessary that I jump off the top of the ship, despite the fact that I am afraid of heights. It was just one of those things that I knew I would always regret if I didn't have the experience of jumping into the clear depths of Lake Tanganyika. Estimated to be about thirty feet above the water, I jumped. What a rush! And in one of the clearest lakes in the world, my shirt and bra ended up around my neck with who knows how many Tanzanian men all right there, think some of them might have gotten more of a show then they bargained for on a normal days work. Once I made sure that I was re-clothed and had both contacts in, I floated on my back and contemplated the blue of the sky, the blue of the water and how, in the last two years, I have done so many things that terrify me, yet also, in my opinion, make my life infinitely more fun. Eventually, I swam to one of the small boats, where I resembled a beached whale as Tanzanian men pulled me in, and then resembling a drowned rat, scurried over piles of cargo until I could climb the stairs, beaming, back to first class.

When we finally docked at the last stop before getting to Zambia, we got out. Cargo trucks waited to load people and things into the back, and one man yelled in Swahili, "Hey White People, I have space in the cab!" Kate and I looked and each other, knowing perfectly well that we are the only two white people that could understand such a declaration and because those Europeans were apparently so much better than we were, we took the guy up on the offer and had a cozy, sunless, cushioned ride. Five hours later we reached Sumbawanga, which must be one of the weirdest towns that I have ever been to. In the middle of nowhere, but oddly nice, we felt like we were in some secret drug town. We didn't like it in the least. Our guest house felt haunted because the light turned on and off all night, and while I was in the shower I looked in the mirror and saw someone's eyes watching me through the high up window, which left me naked and shrieking in our room. We rigged a towel over the window for Kate. Ewww... Peeping toms.

The next morning we boarded a bus to Mbeya- almost home. The road was incredibly rough and the ride would be long, however, we were in good spirits and eager to see our friends. Tanzanians generally do not travel very much, so they tend to get motion sickness, anyways, the bus was packed with people standing in the aisle, when I felt something wet splash on my arm and Kate let out a little yelp. Someone in the aisle had puked on her head which then splashed onto me. We tried to keep our own gag reflexes under control, as we decided that the ride could not get any worse. And then... the wheels fell off the bus. I don't mean that we got a flat tire. I mean that the back wheels literally fell off the back axle and while the bus fishtailed and drug in the gravel the wheels kept going until they passed the dragging bus and ended up in a ditch somewhere. Meanwhile, we were in the middle of nowhere. The Tanzanians told us that another bus would surely come in 6 hours or so.... right. So while the other Tanzanians walked toward our destination, we figured that if we walked the other way, we would be more likely to find room on any vehicle going our direction then waiting with sixty or so Tanzanians. We refused to lose hope that some land rover or something wouldn't pass by and see some oddly out of place American ladies in need of a lift... and sure enough... the ride came. It took us to some hole in the wall town near the southern boarder, where we got on another small bus thing and eventually, through our intelligence, beauty and wit... actually our positive attitude, made it to Mbeya. Where we bedded down at our friend Katie's house, with the Mbeya crowd- Katie, Meesh, Teri and Monkey Baby- ate an obscene amount of homemade ravioli, guac, tortillas, garlic bread, popcorn, blondies, salad, etc. in front of Sex and the City. Oh, life as a Peace Corps lady.

Adventures in the West Part #1

Lookin' good in Gombe Stream
Gombe Hills
Looking down at the lake from the park
Jessi, Brie and Kate- Foreground. Chimps- Background.
Thinking deep thoughts...
Fleas, again.
Boat Taxi to Gombe
Baby Chimp
Baby Chimp checking us out

"It's a long long road, it's a big big world, we are wise wise women, we are giggling girls, we both carry a smile to show when we're pleased. We both carry a switchblade in our sleeves." -Ani DiFranco

March 28- April 11, 2010

The night before my birthday and the day before we had planned to head up to Dar, was spent in the company of friends at the one and only Njombe Standi Bar (Standi- meaning it is literally inside the bus stand.) The next day Kate and I boarded a bus for the 10-12 hour ride to the Port of Peace. We decided that my official birthday would start at sundown because no one wants to spend their real birthday doing the Njombe to Dar bus ride. So Kate told me that my birthday would start at sundown and continue for as long as I wanted. That is what real friends are for. :-) My birthday involved trivia, a swimming pool, the stars, fajitas, some of my favorite people in TZ, a giant inflatable octopus... There were even Masai there! Great day to turn 26.

The reason why we were in Dar to begin with was to attempt to buy plane tickets from Dar to Kigoma (look at a map- It is all the way on the West side of the country on Lake Tanganyika). Our friend, Jessi, who is a first year education volunteer, was supposed to be going to Zambia but when she got to the border she realized that her passport had been stolen. So we invited her to Kigoma with us. The plane tickets proved to be a huge problem. Everything is possible in Tanzania but there always has to be big problems before anything can happen. We were told everything from that there were no tickets, to that there were no flights, to expensive prices... Kate was ready to give up. I was not. I have wanted to go to Kigoma and Gombe Stream for most of my life. This trip was going to happen. I was even willing to take a bus for days across the country to get there. Luckily, Kate was not and talked some sense into me. So with perseverance and patience we finally got three tickets booked over the phone. However, when we went in to pay for them, they had three tickets booked on the wrong day to Tabora, not Kigoma. UGH! Suddenly, magically, three seats appeared on the Kigoma flight on the right day at the right price. Wonders never cease. Sometimes I just shake my head and wonder how anything ever happens in this country at all.

Flight: It is a plane that holds about 50 people. We actually know the pilot, who is white Tanzanian and we have talked to him at the Irish Pub in Dar. The flight was three hours and then suddenly sparkling in the distance appeared the world's longest, second clearest and one of the oldest lakes: Lake Tanganyika. We landed on a mud runway. Mud spattered the windows until I couldn't even see the actual landing, but it was smooth and somewhat exciting, just because it was my first ever no runway landing. Out into Kigoma!

Kigoma is hot! It is green and tropical. There are beautiful green hill covered in palms, banana, and other tropical trees that roll into the lake. The hills of the Congo rise up tall on the other side of the lake and give the feeling of really being in the heart of Africa. Kigoma town is fairly quaint. There is electricity and cell service. Almost all the cars are aid vehicles- all landrovers marked with: UNDP, UNHCR, UNICEF, Pride Africa, Catholic relief services, International Crisis Relief, Refugee this and that....Kigoma town itself feels safe. I was talking to a Tanzanian guy yesterday who was telling me that the town is Tanzanians but the outskirts are the camps are are not as safe because the people from Burundi, Rwanda, DR Congo, and Uganda live there. But Tanzanians like to think of themselves as better than other Africans because their country is at peace, so I am not sure that the camps are really that dangerous. Kigoma town does have the most beggars that I have ever seen in Tanzania though. I can't really figure out why this is, they don't really seem poorer than people in Njombe. I loved Kigoma though. It is beautiful and people are very friendly and helpful. There are a few tribes that live here and they are very beautiful people.

There was one huge expensive resort on the lake, we went there right before sundown, and had a glass of wine on a bar that was floating on the lake. The Tanzanian staff were so pleased that we could talk with them in Swahili they said nothing as we went swimming in the resort's pool that looked on to the lake and the blue hills of the Congo as the sun set over them. I felt for minute that I was living the life of luxury until we got out of the pool and went back to our 4 dollar a night guest house... hehe.

We were trying to take the ferry from Kigoma all the way to the last stop before Zambia. But we wanted to book tickets before we left for Gombe. People keep telling us it might not go, it is full, etc. etc. lies... We thought we might be stuck in Kigoma for the rest of our lives. I asked a random guy on the street where the ferry dock is for ticket buying. He said- oh, I work there. We don't work today because of Easter, but let me give you the manager's number. Kate called him and he booked us for first class tickets leaving Kigoma on Wednesday... sweet. First class sounds really fancy probably to you Americans, but the other classes are the equivalent of steerage on a slave ship. And we thought we might die in the depths of the boat packed in with Africans. And we wanted a bed because the trip lasts for about three days.

One night we went out in Kigoma looking for some night life. We found none. We sat outside at a bar eating chipsi and drinking Safari and talking loudly in English. Then we walked home and went to bed. The next morning we got ready to head to Gombe. The only way to get there is by boat. It is about a three hour boat ride. We were warned that food at the hostel in the park is out of our price range so we stocked up on essentials: peanut butter, bananas, bread, popcorn, avocados... And we headed to the port.

The port was busy and bustling. We met three Norwegians at the port who are studying abroad in Dar. So the six of us together boarded the wooden boat. About this time we realized how much harder it would have been to do this trip without Swahili and how much more money we would have had to pay. The boat gradually began to fill up with Tanzanians and their goods/supplies as they headed from Kigoma back to their respective villages. The guys who worked on the boat were heavily using us for marketing yelling out to the Tanzanians on the shore, "Hey, the white people use this boat! You should too!" Eventually we were underway. There was a lot of people crammed onto that boat with a lot of stuff. It was hot, someone threw up, a small child fell asleep on my backpack, a few chickens were on board... making it basically normal Tanzanian transportation. The villages we passed on the shore line were beautiful. So remote, with no road access. When the boat would pull up to the shore of a village a bunch of little boys would run toward the water, strip down naked and wade out selling chapatti to those aboard the boat. I tried to picture what it would have been like to grow up in one of those villages. What a different life. It was interesting to see how the livelihoods in the west are so tied to the lake. Tanzanians, resourceful as ever.

Finally we stopped at a beach without a village and only a sign that it was Gombe. Lush green hills towered over the lake and like Corcovado National Park in Costa Rica, it felt to me like somewhere special. For some reason, I think because of my parents, I have always been attracted to the remote. The harder to get to, the less visitors, the farther into the bush equals in my mind the bigger adventure. Kate was convinced that I absolutely could not live in Kigoma because there was nothing to do. I was thinking it would be kinda nice for a bit, as long as I had one companion with me. That is probably why Image village and I get along so well. It doesn't really bother me that it is further away from everything than everyone else's villages. Anyways, Gombe fit the bill for me. I have wanted to visit Gombe since I was a child. Always fascinated with Jane Goodall, a young woman able to live alone and research chimpanzees in the wild, I wanted to see her research site and her chimps. As a senior in high school, I was lucky enough to meet her in person. But going to Gombe was always a distant dream until I was placed in Peace Corps Tanzania and it became more of a possibility. Out of the boat and into the hostel which was right on the banks of the lake. We were told immediately by the Tanzanian staff to keep the door of the hostel closed because the baboons like to steal. Shortly after our arrival this had been forgotten and a large male baboon ran into the hotel and stole part of a pineapple out of the trash. The Tanzanians scared him out where he was met by another younger baboon and a mama baboon with a baby in tow. They waited patiently for the alpha baboon's handouts.

We sat at a picnic table in front of the hostel by the lake and played cards with the Norwegians. They taught us a game called, "The American" fittingly enough. The American is basically about making and breaking alliances, we now call it "The Norwegian." Then a Tanzanian guy came up and said in perfect English, "Oh, good you guys made it." We replied with "What? Do we know you." Turns out when we were at the bar speaking loud English about Kigoma's lack of nightlife and our plans to go to Gombe the next day, Gombe's Park Warden was sitting right behind us. He said , "Yeah I thought about offering you guys a ride on my boat, but I didn't. I can give you a ride back to Kigoma though." As much as an adventure as the boat ride was to the park and we were glad for the experience we were eager to take up the Park Warden for a speedy return trip. A mama came over who introduced herself as the Park Manager and asked where we were from. She is Mbena so we greeted her in Kibena which thrilled her to no end. We had discovered meals in the park were 20,000 shillings or about $18... whoa! So there was some talk in Swahili until both them agreed that we could pay only 5,000 shillings for the meals. The poor Norwegians, however, were not aware of this since they had no Swahili, so the discount and the boat ride were only extended to us.

The next morning we woke up to start hiking around Gombe in search of the chimps. There is only ever 36 visitors in the park at any given time and it was the low season, so it was actually just us and the Norwegians visiting. Our guide stated us climbing up a steep trail through the woods. It was like Oregon-green, damp, mossy... beautiful. Everyday there are researchers with the chimps. They record what they eat, where they go, what they do, etc. It is nice because then the researchers can walkie-talkie to the guides and tell them where a chimp family is located for the tourists to see. However, some days the researchers can't even find the chimps, or the chimps are too far into the forest for visitors to find them. So there is no guarantee that a sighting will even happen. Our guide suggested that we climb up to Jane's Peak, where Jane Goodall used to hike up to be able to find the chimps in the valleys below. Sometimes she would camp up there all alone so that she could be with them when they would rise early in the morning. After the steep climb we could see Lake Tanganyika glittering below and misty green hills with trees reaching for the blue sky. But most excitingly, we were able to hear the chimps, who were making calls that are called pant-hoots, which they use to locate other families. Our walkie-talkie buzzed to life and we heard a researcher tell our guide in Swahili that the chimps were just a bit further down the trail. We were actually going to see them!

We just came around a corner and there they were. Just like that. We were told to crouch down and basically act like chimps. We weren't supposed to make eye contact or fast movements as they see it as threatening. If a chimp came toward us we were supposed to grab onto a near by tree to keep them from dragging us away. There were four adults present- the alpha male of the family group, two other males and a female. The female had a baby in tow which we were told was about five months old. The alpha male had apparently been violent toward people in the past, so we were told to exercise caution. The adults mainly sat and groomed each other. The baby did what all children do and you could almost hear him yelling "Watch this, guys!" As he swung on branches, climbed on the grown-ups and was all-around annoyingly adorable. And we were so so close to them. You are not allowed to enter the park if you are sick because they share so much of our genetic code that it is easy for them to catch our illnesses. They were so human-like. Their expressions and behavior was very easy to relate to, you knew exactly what they were feeling. They were not fully interested in us besides the baby who enjoyed an audience. We just squatted down a few feet from them and tried to blend in with the group. At one point the alpha male made a quite movement toward us, we had been told never to run and just get out of his way while holding tight to a tree. Surprisingly, when a large chimpanzee is headed toward you, all you want to do is get away quick! We all immediately started backing up at a fast pace when our guide reminded us to stay calm. Turns out he was just switching positions to groom a different friend, so all in all it was a false alarm, but even me who loves wild animals, had my heart pounding after all the warnings. One is only allowed to spend an hour with the chimps before they have to move on, but our hour was spent in the beauty of the park watching an endangered species in the wild. It was certainly one of the most memorable hours of my life. We hiked back down, ate dinner and played cards. The next morning we got the Norwegians in on our free boat ride with the park warden and sped back to Kigoma.

Kigoma and Gombe Stream

March 31- April10, 2010

I don’t have time to write about the trip today, but thought that I would post some pictures as a teaser. It was a phenomenal trip. Now back safely and headed to the village. Xoxo- Brie

Entrance to Gombe Stream National Park

Chimp Baby

Gombe Waterfall

Chimp Family

Me in Gombe. Notice the chimps right behind me.

Me on Jane's Peak

In Gombe

Gombe Stream- Jane Goodall's Chimpanzee research place

Looking out from Jane's Peak

Baboon Family

Beach at Gombe Stream National Park

Village on the way to Gombe

Looking down into the boat at the littboy who fell asleep on my backpack

Boats How very Jackie O. of me

Kate and I

Port in Kigoma

Boy fetching water

Inside the boat before it was packed with people

Kigoma at sunset Sunset over the Democratic Republic of Congo Kate hoping to pay our taxi driver with Crystal Light Jessi and Kate Lake T Swimming pool overlooking Lake Tanganyika Looking out toward the Congo Kate and Jessi in Kigoma Town Kigoma Lake Tanganyika and Kigoma Arriving at the Kigoma airport