New Livingroom Furniture complete with Safari bottle candle holder
Tanzanian Furniture is not complete without doilies
Barack, my Gecko, hanging out on his fav windowFirst of all I would like to say Congratulations to My friend, (and Reed's Sister) Kari, who gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Welcome Denver, and Congrats Kari and Boyd!
October 8, 2008
Last night I would say that the rainy season officially began. I heard that one day it would start raining and then continue every day after. It is a different type of rain though- you can set your watch to it, as it rains at the same time every day. (I wonder if the chickens mind that they are no longer the time keepers?) In Oregon- arguably a state that gets more rain than any other- we joke about how you need about 18 speeds for your windshield wipers to deal with all sorts of types of rain. In Tanzania, there is just one type: hard. I hadn't seen rain here before. I had heard that roads would be impassable and we learned permiculture during training so that we could channel the large amount of water that would eventually be running through our gardens. I must admit, I had a hard time picturing these scenes while being surrounded in dust.
But last night- the rain pounded on the tin roof and it drowned out every other sound- the sound was like what it must be like to drown in the ocean: waves crashing overhead. I built a fire and heated water for tea and read my book. The wind blew outside and the rain fell and it felt good. It felt like home. It is funny- joining the Peace Corps most people see as sort of a selfless act- it is only those who are serving who realize how selfish we are. Being here is maybe the most selfish I have ever been. When I email people I feel like I only talk about myself, when they call me I really only discuss what I have been doing, how hard my life is, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I feel like this person was born four months ago, in an adult body with no past. But then something will pull me back and remind me that there was life before Africa- that I have faced other struggles. It is amazing how used to anything a person can get. There are still times I have this revelation, "Oh, I know- I will just heat this up in the microwave-" Only a second later to realize- "Microwave? What am I talking about? I don't even have electricity or running water much less modern appliances. Did I really ever put anything in a microwave? Was life really ever that easy?" I try to forget things before Africa- generally it is just easier to accept what life here offers. But last night I was taken home- it was the rain.
Back in Oregon, I remembered it is actually October, one of my favorite months. The fire I had built was no longer there- I hadn't built it. My dad had. I could see him adding wood to our large stone fireplace at our Pattulo house, while singing "Bad Moon Rising." I am sitting on the couch petting my white cat, Angel Baby. Maybe I am 17 or so and still in high school, but not really because Reed and Erik are there drinking apple cider at the table with my sisters. My mom is in the kitchen making pickles. I can hear the jars clinking and smell the dill. My brothers are running up and down the hallway yelling. They are already in their Halloween costumes, even though they will be made to eat "real food" before we set out for trick-or-treating. The fire crackles and the rain pounds and I tell myself- "Come away from here". And there I am- sitting in my living room under the ocean- just me and my gecko, Baraka, on the "dark continent". And I am reminded of a few lines from an Ani DiFranco song that applies more and more often to my life here: " When I look around, I think this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings. When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things." So I look forward.
(Side Note: I have a gecko. I don't really own him- he owns himself. He lives on one window in my house. He is there everyday- at first we would surprise each other when I flung open the curtins- now I expect him. He is tiny, about 2 inches long and he sings in the evening. He is named partly for our furture president: Barack comes from the Kiswahili name Baraka a common male name in this part of Africa meaning: lucky- let us hope so for Obama's sake! At first I was worried he was stuck inside, I expressed this concern to Josh, who reminded me that we can see the sky through my roof and feel the wind through my windows- Baraka is hardly trapped.)
The next day I asked Juster to be my counterpart. I don't know why I was so nervous, I felt like I was proposing. She tells me all the time that she loves me and we are best friends. She feeds me and visits me- but I was still afraid she would say no. Maybe first I should explain what being a counterpart is. Each PCV is supposed to pick a Tanzanian in their village who we trust, who will help us on our projects and go with us to a two week long conference in January. Basically it is supposed to be our Tanzanian helper. The first project we are to do with them is to do a Village Situation Analysis, which involves interviewing our villagers in-depth and then writing up a report with our recommendations for what we can help with. The report is written in English and Kiswahili and then presented by us at the conference. I need Juster for this- she is honest, sweet and speaks English. It is not that I can't ask the villagers the questions, but what if I can't understand their answers? I feared Juster would be too busy, wouldn't want to help- it is a lot of work with nothing in it for her. But I shouldn't have been worried. She was so flattered. She smiled at me, laughed and promised to do the best she could for me. So we begin work.
October 8, 2008
Last night I would say that the rainy season officially began. I heard that one day it would start raining and then continue every day after. It is a different type of rain though- you can set your watch to it, as it rains at the same time every day. (I wonder if the chickens mind that they are no longer the time keepers?) In Oregon- arguably a state that gets more rain than any other- we joke about how you need about 18 speeds for your windshield wipers to deal with all sorts of types of rain. In Tanzania, there is just one type: hard. I hadn't seen rain here before. I had heard that roads would be impassable and we learned permiculture during training so that we could channel the large amount of water that would eventually be running through our gardens. I must admit, I had a hard time picturing these scenes while being surrounded in dust.
But last night- the rain pounded on the tin roof and it drowned out every other sound- the sound was like what it must be like to drown in the ocean: waves crashing overhead. I built a fire and heated water for tea and read my book. The wind blew outside and the rain fell and it felt good. It felt like home. It is funny- joining the Peace Corps most people see as sort of a selfless act- it is only those who are serving who realize how selfish we are. Being here is maybe the most selfish I have ever been. When I email people I feel like I only talk about myself, when they call me I really only discuss what I have been doing, how hard my life is, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I feel like this person was born four months ago, in an adult body with no past. But then something will pull me back and remind me that there was life before Africa- that I have faced other struggles. It is amazing how used to anything a person can get. There are still times I have this revelation, "Oh, I know- I will just heat this up in the microwave-" Only a second later to realize- "Microwave? What am I talking about? I don't even have electricity or running water much less modern appliances. Did I really ever put anything in a microwave? Was life really ever that easy?" I try to forget things before Africa- generally it is just easier to accept what life here offers. But last night I was taken home- it was the rain.
Back in Oregon, I remembered it is actually October, one of my favorite months. The fire I had built was no longer there- I hadn't built it. My dad had. I could see him adding wood to our large stone fireplace at our Pattulo house, while singing "Bad Moon Rising." I am sitting on the couch petting my white cat, Angel Baby. Maybe I am 17 or so and still in high school, but not really because Reed and Erik are there drinking apple cider at the table with my sisters. My mom is in the kitchen making pickles. I can hear the jars clinking and smell the dill. My brothers are running up and down the hallway yelling. They are already in their Halloween costumes, even though they will be made to eat "real food" before we set out for trick-or-treating. The fire crackles and the rain pounds and I tell myself- "Come away from here". And there I am- sitting in my living room under the ocean- just me and my gecko, Baraka, on the "dark continent". And I am reminded of a few lines from an Ani DiFranco song that applies more and more often to my life here: " When I look around, I think this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings. When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things." So I look forward.
(Side Note: I have a gecko. I don't really own him- he owns himself. He lives on one window in my house. He is there everyday- at first we would surprise each other when I flung open the curtins- now I expect him. He is tiny, about 2 inches long and he sings in the evening. He is named partly for our furture president: Barack comes from the Kiswahili name Baraka a common male name in this part of Africa meaning: lucky- let us hope so for Obama's sake! At first I was worried he was stuck inside, I expressed this concern to Josh, who reminded me that we can see the sky through my roof and feel the wind through my windows- Baraka is hardly trapped.)
The next day I asked Juster to be my counterpart. I don't know why I was so nervous, I felt like I was proposing. She tells me all the time that she loves me and we are best friends. She feeds me and visits me- but I was still afraid she would say no. Maybe first I should explain what being a counterpart is. Each PCV is supposed to pick a Tanzanian in their village who we trust, who will help us on our projects and go with us to a two week long conference in January. Basically it is supposed to be our Tanzanian helper. The first project we are to do with them is to do a Village Situation Analysis, which involves interviewing our villagers in-depth and then writing up a report with our recommendations for what we can help with. The report is written in English and Kiswahili and then presented by us at the conference. I need Juster for this- she is honest, sweet and speaks English. It is not that I can't ask the villagers the questions, but what if I can't understand their answers? I feared Juster would be too busy, wouldn't want to help- it is a lot of work with nothing in it for her. But I shouldn't have been worried. She was so flattered. She smiled at me, laughed and promised to do the best she could for me. So we begin work.
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