Image: Home Sweet Home

"I found God in myself and I loved her. I loved her fiercely." -Ntozake Shange

March 2010


Teaching

Mama Glad at her shop

Mama Samweli and Sam

Mzee Ngoda and Titu playing a game

Puce

My Mama- Mama Max

Asha and Suze

My little Sis, Maxillia

My little bro, Maxsensius

Franchesca and Catherine

Asha cooking in our disgusting bar kitchen

Asha

Suze, Asha's Daughter, eating Chipsi (fried potatoes)

Kimulimuli cooking crepes

It's raining, it's pouring...

My water system... Kimulimuli- trying to become Tanzanian by coloring his face with charcoal

Me- getting married with a bouquet of mushrooms

Kiddos

Anna getting jealous because I am playing with other kids

Playing ball Osmonda, age one and a half Titu's Daughters and Anna. Starting left- Maria age: 9, Baby Os, Anna age: 3, Suze age: 5

At the Shop The Inspiration Room. I can't believe that I could explain to a Tanzanian how to build an easel. My tree in the inspiration room Looking out of Image Village Image's Main Road

View out of Image- Nothing for as far as the eye can see.

I love Anna!

Anna, age 3 Playing With Live Doll

Hope

Primary School Girls Dish Washing Girls Mopping My House

Car Spirits, House Girls, and Other Thoughts From the Bush

"I am not afriad of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." -Louisa May Alcott



March 17, 2010


I am wandering through a cornfield. It is dusk. On my wrist hangs a bag of raw meat that I am trying not to think about. That hand grasps the hand of a child. My cell phone is in my other hand where a Tanzanian man is telling me about the evil spirit that is living under the hood of his car. I pause a minute in my brain, like so many times here, I think- "What?!? How did I possibly end up here?"


It is no wonder cornfeilds are in so many horror movies. I am coming back from one of my subvillages, they have butchered a pig. Meat is a rare luxury in Image village which completely agrees with my diet. Mama Glad has been working hard at her shop and has asked me to bring back a kilo of pig guts (guts is my word) for her family. Ewwww... Really? Toughen up, Brie, you are not the one going to eat it. Incidently, on the way back through a cornfeild I find Mama Glad's three year old daughter. Is she lost in the corn? I have no idea. I offer her my hand which she accepts. My phone rings- it is William. By some miracle I have phone service in a cornfield...

William: Brie, Vipi? (slang: how? as in "how is it going?") I took the car to the mechanic but he can't fix it.
Me: Why? He doesn't have the right parts?
William: No, a bad spirit is in there.
Me: (calmly, because nothing surprises me anymore) Really? You think this or this is what the mechanic has told you?
William: That is what he told me.
Me: (In English) wow, how lovely to be a mechanic in Tanzania.
William: Why are you speaking English?
Me: Never mind. So what do we do about evil car spirits?
William: I have never seen one before, maybe Mzee Ngoda can get rid of it.
Me: Right. But don't you think we should just take it to another mechanic? I mean the car is junk, a spirit really isn't the problem.
William: Brie, spirits can be everywhere.
Me: What does a spirit want with a piece of junk?
William: (laughing) There must just be more spirits here than in America, because you don't really understand. We have to draw the evil out, then the car can work again.
Me: Okay. Just don't forget to come and get me before we draw it out.

A voodoo car ceremony is something that I have gotta see. Then I will recommend taking it to another mechanic.

My best text of the week came from my friend, Kate, at about 6.30 pm. "Well, I don't have a book that I feel like reading, so I am just going to stare into space until it is an acceptable hour to get into bed." (For PCVs this is about 8 pm)

The best book I have read in a long time is: The Glass Castle By Jeannette Walls.

I read somewhere that the Chinese symbol for "crisis" is the same as the symbol for "opportunity". I wonder if we lived our lives like they were one in the same, what opportunities we could create for ourselves.

My life has suddenly gotten immensely better with the addition of a 23 year old village girl named Jane. It is common knowledge among my friends and family, that I am an incredibly messy and disorganized person. I was once told my a friend that it is amazing that I come off so put together when I come from that (gesture toward my room). In Tanzania, I was doing all my own housework. Only feeling vaguely jealous when my PCV friends would complain, "My house girl stretches out my clothes when she washes them." or "I called my house girl and told her to start heating water for bathing." Eventually- I caved. My house just got messier and messier until I realized that this is probably the only time in my life where I will be able to afford house help. I actually like washing my clothes by hand, but now Jane does everything else. And let me tell you, Tanzanians can clean! I wish that I could import Jane to America so she can clean up my messes for the rest of my life. Jane dish-washes, floor-mops, bed-makes, table-wipes, spider-removes, trash-gathers, window-washes, etc. I don't know how I ever lived without her. Plus she washed my sheets. I should not admit this, but the last time I remember washing my sheets was 5.5 months ago. (You try fitting them into a bucket, scrubbing them, and then getting them to air dry.) Anyways, she might be the love of my life. I pay her about nine dollars a month. All of my villagers claim that I am grossly overpaying her. Even she told me that it was too much. So they think that I am an idiot, but little do they know I would pay her three times that for the same work- she is just that valuable to my survival. I came home from a meeting the other day and she had cooked lunch- I almost proposed right there.

And the boys run away...

"I wish that I was born a man, so I could learn how to stand up for myself, like those guys with guitars, I've been watchin' in bars, who are stampin' their feet to a different beat, to a different beat. I will not pretend, I will not put on a smile, I will not say I'm alright for you. When all I wanted was to be good, to do everything in true, to do everything in true." - Martha Wainwright


March 14, 2010



Morning. A knock at my door. I open it to find one of my standard seven girls standing there alone. She is terrified and visably shaking. I invite her in and she comes to sit tenitively on my couch. I wait only a minute for her to speak when she blurts out, "Brie, I am pregnant." I try unsuccessfully to hide my shock. So I say, "What?" Maybe I am not understanding her. She says the exact same sentince again... nope not a mistake. Her big brown eyes search mine for answers, then she eyes the crayons left over from Catherine yesterday. I look at her small hands, her child's body, her ripped primary school uniform and I offer her the crayons because I have no idea what to say. Come on, Brienne. Finally, I say, "Umm... do you know how far along you are?" "I think about four months."I can't believe that she is coloring. "Do you have parents?" She lives with her mother and grandmother, her father lives in Makambako with his other wife. "Do they know?" No. "Does the head teacher know?" No. "Does anyone know?" Just the father. "Where is the father now?" When I told him, he said that I was a liar and it wasn't his. Then he ran away to another village. Of course he did, I think. I am about to ask her if she has thought about her choices when I realize that she doesn't have any choices. She is an African child. So I promise to try to help her, but explain that this does not mean that I will take her baby. I ask her what her name and age are- Loveness, about 13.



Turns out, she will be kicked out of primary school in about 2 months. Jessica does a priliminary exam, things look fine health wise. Felix is aware of who the father is and is prepared to have some sort of plan to find him. Loveness' mother and grandmother have minimal reaction. I am surprised, until I think about my village and how many young women have children with no fathers. I realize how how many female friends I have with babies on their backs, but where have all the babas gone? So in another informal "Brie-vey" I start asking that very question.


First stop is Felix and his wife, Mama Glad. They run the shop across the street from my house. Felix is my new village chairman, making him Image's Barak Obama. He is almost as cool. I love talking about issues with he and Mama Glad. Even though Felix is a 36 year old man, he is really open with me. We discuss gender roles, sex, AIDS, domestic abuse, etc. and he is honest with me, even if he know that I will not like the result. Mama Glad is tough and will say exactly what she thinks even in front of her husband. They are both incredibly good natured, even compared to other Tanzanians who are good natured as a rule. In the shop, after greeting, I say"What is up with all the single mothers here?" Felix gives me his smile that says he is going to answer my question, but that I am not going to like the answer.

Felix: Well, a lot of women are trying to find a husband and they think that if they get pregnant that the man might marry them. Or they just feel so lonely that they want to have a kid.
Me: Okay, but don't you think that they are lonely because their husband and lovers are never home, they are always at the bar with their friends?
Felix (laughing): Maybe. Sometimes, women are just foolish and they believe that a man will stay with them.
Mama Glad (in full tongue-clicking dismay): Ah! You know that is not true! Brie, they lie to us! They tell us that they love us that they will marry us if we give them a good child. But then they just run away! Or they are already married with another family- they are cowards and liars!
Felix (laughing at her outburst): She is right, but women must be tougher.
(We go on like this for awhile...)

In Tanzania, it is not rude to ask people personal questions. So I ask Mama Jonas, Mama Poli, Mama Samweli, Mama Umi, Mama Johnson, Mama Aggy.... and more... I get varying answers: he already had another family, he raped me, he told me he would marry me, he ran away... I ask some guys too (all are married and deny ever getting a woman pregnant and leaving): Os, Nicky, Fredrick, Puce, Stan, Bon, Titu, even Mzee Ngoda. Their main response is: The women lie, they want to have a lover then they get pregnant and expect the guy to stay. They all want kids and we don't have to have just one wife. Then I ask Mwalango, one of my young male primary school teachers. Shortly after I got to Image, he got one of my village ladies, Tao, pregnant. Today they are married and have a beautiful son named Ima. Mwalango tells me, "I love her. I told her I did. When she was pregnant I stayed by her. I did what I said I would do." Wow- It is just that easy.

Then there is Asha. I love Asha. She is from Songea (town to the south), we are the same age and she is my village barmaid. She is not married and has a daughter, Suze, who is five. As a rule, Tanzanian barmaids almost always double as prostitutes. The going village price is about two dollars, (it is less if the girl insists on using a condom). When Asha first came to Image, I watched how she dealt with the men- with humor, with toughness, as an equal. One day I came in to buy eggs, before she saw me, I saw one of the village guys hitting on her- then I heard her use one of my lines! She laughed and said strongly, "Ha! Why would I do anything with you? Don't you have a wife? I am too good to be part of that." That is my line! I taught the women to respond like that! I came up, glared the guy down and smiled at Asha. Since that moment, when Asha picked up my female empowerment teaching we have been close. I watch her strongly and sweetly reject money and guy after guy. Finally, I convinced Mama Max that Asha should get paid more, so that she never feels the pressure to accept. Mama Max, being as awesome as she is, sees the benefit for all women and agrees to the raise.

Once when I was teaching about AIDS testing at the bar, Asha excitedly ran to her room and came back proudly brandishing her testing card which indicated that she had been tested three times- all negative. The guys all start in with questions about her testing and she said, "There is no way that I can let myself get AIDS because who would take care of Suze?" As I mentioned, I LOVE Asha.

So I ask her: Where is Baba Suze?
Asha: He told me that he loved me, but when I got pregnant he chose another lover and ran away from me. Suze has never met him. He hurt me, I will not let Suze be hurt.

I reminded her to teach her daughter to be strong too.

It is odd, but because I am so close with Felix and Romanus (my top government people), I am sort of an honorary village government person. We were hanging out for office hours listening to peoples complaints- so and so stole some of my corn or I want to open a bar here but need some money to start off. Blah blah. Eventually thirteen people come in all fired up. X is sleeping with Y but they should be sleeping with Z but he is with A. I never could get it all straight, especially because it was always three plus people talking at once. Felix and Romanus both listen carefully in Tanzanian style- not rushing, going around and around in circles, enjoying the drama of it all. After about two hours of this, I interrupt, "Hey, I have a thought. How about we all think to ourselves for a minute: Am I married? If we are than maybe we should think about just sleeping with that person. If we aren't we should pick just one person that we want to sleep with, see if they want to sleep with us tooand go to Brie's house to pick up some condoms." Romanus and Felix smile at me. Everyone else stares like I have just turned water to Safari Lager. An hour later, all thirteen people are at my house collecting condoms. Can these little pieces of rubber solve all of Tanzania's problems?

"I have got to get someone to look at all this fungus!"

Recently

Ahh, fungus on my arms, a constant sore throat, ringworm, fleas... yep, you guessed it... I am spending a lot of time with Image Village's children. And believe me there is no shortage of them. I think probably 75% of women at child bearing age will have or already have had a child while I have lived there. Mama Lau is pregnant, William's wife is pregnant, Osmond's wife is pregnant, Stan's wife is pregnant... The list goes on. Anyways, I play with kids that are already born. I hold their grubby hands, they sneeze on me, they wipe their noses on my shirt... and I take it all. I ignore that clothes smell like pee and don't think about what I might be catching. I pick up kids who are crying, spin kids by their arms, have huge coloring parties, have skipping races down our main street. Since I am the only adult that gives any child an iota of positive attention, I have gotten pretty popular in Image. Shouts of "Brieeeee!" follow me everywhere.

Kimulimuli seems to being doing better. He is now subsisting on a diet composed of avocados (his wishes, not mine.) We had a huge party because Puce butchered a pig. Image villagers get meat so rarely that it calls for a party. Anyways, I brought Muli some of it and he wanted none of it. Probably making him the most spoiled cat in Africa. I can't believe that I was even able to turn my cat into being a vegetarian!!!!

A noise in the night... not animal, not just the house shifting, distinct footsteps.... Really? Again? I reach the bedside table and curl my fingers around my huge Tanzanian machete. I am prepared this time. The footfalls in the grass pass under my window, from the sound of the crickets and where the moon is I would guess that it is about two am. The footsteps continue on. I begin to breathe again. I giggle a little bit at myself. What is a girl like me doing prepared to use a machete? Would I actually be able to use it on a person? I maybe have changed more than I thought in Tanzania. Still, because I am a wimp, I take the machete and a blanket to my living room couch where I sleep for the next week. Almost two years in and I still let myself be afraid here, I hate that I am not tougher. I try to do the math of the hundreds of nights I have spent in my village and the fact that I have only had an incident once. What is the probability it will ever happen again? I don't know because I have never been good at math. :-) I admit to William that I am scared again. Has he heard anyone talk about breaking in? He assures me, "Brie you are safe here. Everyone is respecting you. If something happens we will just do what we did before. You scare him away and call me." Which is true, everyone is "respecting" me. I tell Felix, my village chairperson who I LOVE, that I am scared again. He says, "Hamnashida, Brie, Usijali." Literally: Not a problem, Brie, don't mind. Felix calls a meeting with my guards and asks them to be extra vigilant. Turns out one of my guards went on a pee break on that side of my house and just took the back way to walk around. I was afraid of my own guards. I am an idiot.

I spent a good part of one day watching a soap opera with half my village on our tv. It was originally in Spanish and then dubbed in English. Then I translated where need be into Swahili. It was maybe the stupidest show I have ever seen, however, I love watching tv with my villagers. They are so shocked and surprised by anything that happens. They find the wrong things hilarious and because Tanzanians have a verbal sound for every reaction, tv watching is never a quiet or individual type thing.

I read one of the best books that I have ever read this week (actually it all took place from Friday evening to Saturday evening). It is called "Twenty Chickens for a Saddle: Story of an African Childhood" by Robyn Scott. It is about a family from New Zealand, where the parents decide to move to Botswana. The oldest child writes the story of her family's adventures. It was brilliant. Read it and let me know if you do! I actually cried at the end, not because it was sad, but because I didn't want it to end. On a side note, if you know my parents you are bound to see similarities between her parents and my own. They are vegetarian. The dad is always giving his kids little pieces of wisdom, trying to get them interested in whatever project he is working on, and the part where he is dissecting a puff adder, I couldn't help but think about my Dad and the koi. The mom is a jack of all trades type, with knowledge about everything. She home schools her kids and sees everything as a learning experience. She is very into natural medicine and healing. (Mom- she even uses Rescue Remedy on all their pets like you do!) At the end of the book, I missed my family more than ever. If you know my family than give my parents, sisters and brothers all a big huge from me!

My Skin Might Be White, But Obama Still Belongs To Me

“Learn from yesterday. Live for today. Hope for tomorrow.” –Albert Einstein

February 17, 2010

My primary school has asked me to teach five days a week there this year. The dispensary wants me to be there two days a week. I am supposed to teach two nights a week at the bar and do infinite other things- at that schedule I have no idea how I would ever bathe, wash any clothes or eat anything. Suddenly, it has occurred to my villagers that August 2010 is practically right on top of us and Brie is leaving soon. I am literally begged to stay here. I have no idea what I have done that was so dramatic where the need me to live here forever more, but I must admit that sometimes it is a tempting offer.

Life here in Image is often splendid. I have my little dirty house, my village friends, reading in the evening and playing during the day. Who knew that I would ever view Image as an easy place to be? As opposed to reintegrating into fast-paced, materialistic America, Tanzania seems blissful. The Njombe girls and I often joke about how we dress, our habits (particularly in personal hygiene), the way that we talk… etc. would never fly in American culture. Yet it is so easy when you have four different outfits to wear and all of your friends do too so there is never any judgment. I try to picture living completely in America and mostly it seems really boring. I can’t wait to see my family- extended and immediate, but beyond that- America for years and years and years… Going to an office, watching television, cooking Trader Joe’s pasta over an electric stove, a warm shower at the turn of a faucet- where is the unknown? The adventure? It still amazes me that I was ever able to get used to no running water, lighting a fire if I want something to eat, and living with a million spiders- but I guess people are very good at adapting. About the spiders (this part is dedicated to you, Shanny), They are on everything that I pick up, so therefore, they are constantly on me. I can now ignore them. Although there are huge (I really mean huge), brightly colored ones that build their webs into tunnels under the eaves of my house. As long as they stay in their tunnels, I can ignore that they are there, it is when they come out of their tunnels that my skin crawls. This is basically my (and most of my girlfriends) rule of living in Tanzania- if you can’t see it than it doesn’t exist. So all those noises in my ceiling boards? I can’t see anything, so nothing is actually there. This works until you are my friend, Kate, and a rat runs through your hair while you are trying to sleep…

However, all that said, I will always be an American, some values and beliefs just run too deep. For instance, Tanzanians pay a lot of attention to skin color. In my opinion, way too much attention. The lighter you are, than the more beautiful you are. Every shop sells a million lightening products, which I don’t think could possibly work. Anyways, a man came to Image village to visit some extended family, and naturally was interested in what I was doing there. Of course, he had to start the conversation off with Obama. For some reason Tanzanians taking credit for Obama really pisses me off. They can be proud of him, but he is a full-fledged American product. This guy starts to insist that America has a Kenyan as president. I tell him, like I have to let all Tanzanians know, that he has barely been to Kenya, he doesn’t speak Swahili, he was born in America and even has a law degree- all of this adding up to someone who is definitely not an East African. Mama Max even adds, “His mom looks like Brie, so he is an American.” (All white people look the same to Tanzanians- don’t even get me started on this.) In Tanzania, tribal lines get passed down paternally- so you are automatically the tribe that your father is. By this reasoning, I understand the Tanzanian confusion, but this is not this guy’s reasoning. Instead he goes on to say, “No, he is black, so he will never be an American.” This makes me incredibly angry for some reason, but I try to stay calm because this is a stupid argument to have with someone who has next to no schooling and probably cannot find America on a map. Although, I am thinking take credit for Bush if you must, Obama is ours. So I take a deep breath and explain that a lot of black people live in America, they are either born there or marry an American citizen, both of which, make them an American. Color doesn’t have anything to do with it. The villagers who have gathered around to listen, look skeptical. So I go on with that I could still be white and a Tanzanian, if I had been born here. This just floors them, and the man says, “There is absolutely no way a white person could ever be a Tanzanian.”

For a white girl growing up in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, I have never been a minority. In fact, you were probably the child of a professional basketball player if you went to high school anywhere in my district and were black. Today, I feel like that I can argue that I know what it feels like to be a minority. Now that I am used to living in Africa, it is generally really easy to ignore and sometimes even to forget about altogether. But sometimes being a minority is on the forefront of everything. I think that I could even argue that I have experience some racism and some reverse-racism or being favored because I am an American. Certainly, I could argue that my mugging over a year ago had everything to do with me being white. Probably also whatever village guy tried to come through my bedroom window had everything to do with my skin color. My PC friends and I are cheated on everything if we are not careful- we get offered bad prices on everything, fake bus tickets, broken cell phones, etc. because apparently dollar signs swirl around us like smoke. I hate being called a Mzungu (white person), I would never yell “black person!” at some person across the street in America. I hate being told that I am pretty because of how white my skin is. I hate that it takes a really long time to know if a Tanzanian is your friend or just using you. I hate that I am talked about like I am not there or too stupid to understand what is going on. That is why Image Village is usually my saving grace, because these days no one dares do any of that to me. I certainly believe that African Americans have a long way to go until they are perceived as equal in America- it was never more obvious than in the last election. (“Is America ready to have a black president?” I can’t even count the number of times in the media I heard that question and I still cannot believe how the average American thinks black and white people are any different. I have spent almost two years surrounded by black people- they themselves are not any different, Tanzanian culture is.) Tanzanians need to learn that white people are people too, not just a walking dollar sign. People are just people. It angers me that we have spent centuries trying to define and confine what is different and fear what we perceive is unknown.

Death Lives in Africa

Watching Kimulimuli attempt to die is one of the hardest moments of my time so far in Tanzania. When he came home, it only took me about a day to realize that he had ticks all over his body (13 in total). The idea of removing fully engorged ticks fully grosses me out, so it is lucky that I live in a Tanzanian village because not much grosses them out. So I go to get Juster, but unfortunately she is just a bit too “Brie” and she is afraid to remove them also. So my besti, Mary, can always be relied upon, she is a teacher too but still able to be a tick-remover. Kimulimuli fights us for all he is worth and end up scratching both of us and running away before we can even remove one. I despair. I can’t remove them alone and still be Brienne, but I also can’t let a cat suffer and still be me either. So it occurs to be to ask Swela. I mentioned him in an earlier blog- he is our agricultural extension officer from Mbeya. He is doing his fieldwork in Image for his college degree. He is living here for nine months with his wife and child (he looks about 12, but of course, being Tanzanian he needs a wife and child.) Unfortunately, I cannot find him until the next day. By this time Kimulimuli is having what can only be described as explosive diarrhea, that he seems not to be able to control. He is lethargic and his eyes look weird. I don’t know much about anything, but I do know that explosive diarrhea is not a good sign in Africa. It is the number one killer in Tanzanian children under five.

Swela comes over and I explain the situation and that Kimulimuli is a good fighter. Swela leaves and comes back with a de-worming shot that he uses on the Image livestock and two more Tanzanians to help me hold Muli down. My firefly cat fights but eventually gives up as Swela methodically removes all the ticks and administers the shot. Now, days later, Kimulimuli is just as bad. He still eats and drinks, but he has diarrhea everywhere, he cries constantly and rubs on my legs nonstop. It makes me feel a bit better that he is still affectionate, but then I remember that the cat I grew up with, Bodhi, purred and rubbed until his final moment of life. It hurts me to watch him. I feel like a horrible person, but I have no idea what is wrong with him. My mom, is usually my go to person on all issues I don’t know about, but she is with my dad in Mexico. There is nothing that I can think to do, it is not like there is a vet around the corner. We live in the middle of the bush. So I have to do what all Tanzanian do- wait, hope and pray that death is not coming to my family. I have been so close to death here, holding a dying baby for her last breath, going to burial after burial, witnessing the ends of so many lives. I have watched death here in Image and it makes its rounds and seems to be busier than anywhere else that I have ever been.

My Best Valentine's Day Ever!

“In this life one cannot do great things. One can do small things with great love.” –Mother Teresa

February 14, 2010

In Tanzania, it is difficult to know the date, or even the month. None of that really matters. What is important is- is it the dry or rainy season? What do we plant now? But a few days ago, I realized that it was almost Valentine’s Day. I thought about Valentine’s Day in America: how when I was little my Dad used to bring me home a box of chocolates, about nice dinners at fancy restaurants, about jewelry and flowers and Hallmark cards, about single women who prepare themselves to eat a carton of Ben and Jerry’s and feel bad for themselves. I thought about that latter group and how that is what socially I should fit into, but because in a Tanzanian village there is no Ben and Jerry’s and because I have decided that 2010 is my year of strength and overall awesomeness- I thought forget that! This is going to be my best Valentine’s Day ever!

What to do? What is Valentine’s Day really about? Well, love for sure, usually romantic love, but I think it could be a more fulfilling holiday if instead of waiting for someone to make you feel that way, you make yourself an instrument of love. To do this, I think, one must first love themselves and then spread it to others, and not just those that one is romantically interested in. Oscar Wilde said “ To love oneself is the beginning of a life long romance.” I decided on this Valentine’s Day to be gentle and loving toward myself and then seep it outward to a few hundred Tanzanians that are my neighbors and family. First things first, this is all about attitude. No feeling bad for myself, no feeling lonely, my life is full. I woke up to the rain. I was happy instead of sad. Our corn is getting watered, I can bathe today, it feels like Oregon… I accepted the rain, because I cannot change it, only how I feel about it. I did yoga and appreciated what my body could do, and was pleased that I could not do everything, because a challenge is good. I lit a fire and made a fabulous breakfast- full pot of black coffee and an egg scramble with every veggie and spice I could find. I tried to appreciate instead of regret the calories that were going in. I got dressed in nice Tanzanian clothes, I fixed my hair and made myself look nice, after all this was my day, no reason to sit around in my pjs. Plus being told that you are beautiful by a Tanzanian village feels good.

The day was special. I told and showed people in a million ways how much I loved them. I gave gifts, I was physically affectionate, I completed acts of service for those I love, I used words to tell them what they meant. I showed love to all ages and genders. I did not discriminate between people I knew or didn’t know, or whether they were dirty, poor, sick or not. Everyone I came into contact with received some form of love. And the funniest thing happened… I received it back! I guess I should have predicted that by loving myself and giving that love to others they would want to send it right back, but I received it ten fold! I am usually given gifts and told nice things by Image villagers, but today was deeper, more intense, and bigger than ever before.

I had a coloring party with about 30 primary school students. We drew on my porch on the subject “Love begins with me”. Suddenly, I had a ton of cards that were better than any Hallmark card I have ever received.

That afternoon I cooked kande with a bunch of mamas. Kande is one of my favorite Tanzanian foods it is beans and maize cooked together with a bit of salt and ginger. Then we gathered around in a circle and ate out of the big pot with our hands. We joked and told stories and played with the little kids.

At the bar that evening, I explained the concept of Valentine’s Day to the guys and told them that they should do something nice for their wives. I told them what American men do: cook dinner, help out more with chores, bring home a gift… etc. They laughed a bit, Tanzanian men think American men are totally whipped, but I try to show them that isn’t a bad thing. That night there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find about a dozen of my young guy friends with a hand picked bouquet of flowers (straight from our primary school flower bed- oops!). I almost cried because I was so in shock. “For you,” they told me, “because it is your country’s holiday and you are alone.” I laughed and thanked them, but then said, “You know, I am not really alone.” There is a lot of love in this world. If one cares to put some love out there, it will find you right back.

Late that night I heard meow-ing in the distance. I flung open the door and Kimulimuli ran right in. I have no idea where he had been and Giza is still gone, but a little piece of my heart was put back into place.