Update At the End

Weeks have gone by.

Miles have gone by with their villages and town centers, and the faces of communities and their leaders remain with me.

I’m in the unfortunate position that I am somewhat dissatisfied with the quality of data my research team has brought back to me. I think I'll get something out of it, though I will have to pick and choose. This is pretty much entirely because of time. Even the sharpest need a couple of dry runs to get the bugs worked out, and these fellows are no different. I don’t hold them responsible. 

I hold myself responsible, for not figuring out faster that I needed to get more permits/ducks in a row.

I hold my Master’s program responsible for not using their many connections to better provide support and guidance for me – especially when I’ve had only one year to complete this. However, this is the inaugural class. And I knew coming into this that there would be bumps in the road, and that our bumps would benefit the classes to follow.

I hold my students and their collaborators responsible for not knowing their own permitting regulations… sort of. I mean, can I really blame them for just telling me the status quo, and not realizing that having a foreign researcher who wasn’t originally under their umbrella would be different than foreign students who are under their umbrella? 

But regardless. We’ve learned bunches! Figured out how to do proportional piling reasonably well (though a little late), refined the focus group strategies, and learned a lot about connecting the dots between district, subcounty, parish, and village. 

There was also random knowledge gained. Greetings and thank you's in three languages, ate way more bananas than anyone ever should (in my opinion), and learned about bacterial banana wilt – probably one of the most serious threats to the food supply here.

And now I leave in two days.

And submit the first draft of my case study tomorrow.

Which begs the question: why am I writing a blog post?

Answer: to get my creative juices flowing.

Here goes nothing!

Hard Work and a Day Off

So, I should probably update on what I’m actually here for. And what I’ve done to distract myself from it. I’ve avoided it because it’s not going very well. I’m tied up in paperwork six ways to Sunday, actually. This is, I suppose what happens when you try to coordinate a project between two nonprofits, to universities, and a government agency. Interestingly, it’s the US university that is making this truly difficult.

I’ll not go into details (it’s boring and probably best left to private conversation anyway), but suffice to say that ethical board approval is tedious, extensive, and exacting. Add to that a healthy dose of international misunderstanding and miscommunication, plus a sprinkling of “it’ll happen when it happens” attitude, and you have yourself a pretty good idea of what I’ve been dealing with for the past two weeks.

Progress has been made, but time is tick tick ticking away. I now have less than 4 weeks left here, and have barely started a 2.5 week application process. This is seriously concerning. People are starting to push me to extend my time here, something I REALLY don’t want to do.

So, last weekend, to distract myself from the endless trips to various offices, waiting, talking, and shuffling papers, I went white-water rafting! The White Nile has been dammed, which is too bad, but there are still lots of great rapids! Two rapids that our guides referred to as class VI, which I’m told is unusual. One of which we had to portage around, the other of which we went down on the lower class side. The one we portaged was... enormous, in every sense of the word: height dropped, volume of water, length of the whitewater section(s), size of the obstacles, lack of any calm patches… I wish I had had my camera to take a little video of! It was humbling to sit there and imagine going down.

I’ve included a couple pictures:

This one is our first rapid of the day, a good one!

Above water…

Soon to be very much underwater… 

                            

The last picture is immediately before I spent a bit longer underwater than I had hoped. I got stuck under the boat, and couldn’t get above water. Fortunately, it was probably only a few seconds. It sure felt like longer, though! All in all, it was a really great day. A perfect distraction!

A Saxy Lady's Memories

Sometimes I think I should have gone into music instead of science. I went to a Goat Rodeo Sessions concert (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAPM6EueWXY) and just about fell to pieces with joy. (I hope that's a good link, I can't listen to it here, or use up all of my data!). It’s been 5 long years since I played music seriously, let alone with other people seriously. I mean, I can’t keep away from most musical instruments for too long, eventually they just call me over. Especially my parents’ piano. My piano, I hope, someday. It’s from my mother’s side of the family, an unpainted baby grand of unusual make (I can’t remember). It has a good touch, no sticky keys and – best of all – a mellow rich timbre full of resonance, harmonics, and depth.

But even playing that piano (or even the loveliest concert grand I’ve been privileged to touch) is nothing, nothing! compared to playing in a group that is dedicated, practiced, and locked into each other. I miss the Saxy Ladies. We were four, we were women, we were in college, we played a saxophone or two a piece. Sarah-with-an-H, Sara-without-an-H, E. Penn, and me. Oh what fun! Laughing about “The Office” and practicing 3-4 times a week. The occasional gig. We swung, we rocked, we soared, we always performed in bare feet. And a handful of times, we touched something very special.

One evening, in our second year playing together, we were working on a delightful classical piece whose name I don’t even remember (I need to develop a better memory for names… this is sad), but that we all loved. We were on the second level of the now destroyed Mac music building, and we had been playing for 40 minutes or so. And we started this piece, and half way through something it became clear this wasn’t a usual run through. We played with one mind, breathing ebbing flowing… waiting… moving, soaring. And we realized it, and we let it keep flowing. And when we arrived at the last note we let it end, together, and stopped. Amazed. Looked at each other, with eyes wide and grins growing. “That was good!” E. Penn  said. I could only nod. “Really good,” Sara-without-an-H said. We laughed and shivered. It was a little scary to pick up our horns again after that… sometimes, it’s hard to follow your own act.

Which brings me back to science, which I love for its methodical care and dedicated search for understanding. It’s the other side of me, the intellectual. Good music, though, is and has always been pure emotion for me. Expression and sharing, the best and sometimes only way I can communicate what I feel. I have to be careful, because if I spend too much time with my head buried in the words of intellect and not enough time with my spirit soaring or dancing or resting on a string of sound… I will not be whole. Perhaps the same could have been said if I had pursued music. If you’re wondering, I do remember why I didn’t try to turn my love for music professional. I didn’t want to kill such love with too much practice. And I felt (and feel!) called to biology, with it’s secrets and patterns and webs of living and dying. Still, sometimes I think I'd have been better off 

A Familiar New Place

Kampala.
Uganda.
How are you so familiar to me? I know almost nothing about you, and have certainly never been here. And yet... the taxis, the trees, the air, the food, the helpful people, the annoying people, the pace of life, the energy... are all as familiar as an old pair of jeans. A dusty pair of jeans, with a patch, that you can't quite give up! Except that I never wear jeans here.

I came in part because of the connections of my advisors, in part because they have the right elements for me to put together the research I'm really interested in, and in part because I wanted practice Swahili. Too bad they don't so much speak it here... irony! I keep trying to get back to a place where I can use that delightful language and I keep getting detoured to other (wonderful) places. I guess I'm very lucky.

I've come to the conclusion that this place is the Boston of East Africa. Hilly! This city is very hilly, the buildings old and full of their own history, or new and shiny. The roads are twisty, the intersections complicated and often one way this way, one way that way. The traffic is terrible, the drivers concerning, yet it moves most of the time. But when it jams... boy howdy does it jam! Then you'd bed pick a boda bada, a motorbike... but that's as good a way as any to die. So I try to avoid it.

Ugandans are quite friendly! And maybe it's that I give off the air of someone who knows where she's going (which is complete pretense half the time... good acting skills?), but the "lizards" on the streets here aren't so bad so far. Though the boda bodas will charge a mzungu (white person) price if they can.

The new things are mostly in the levels of society I'm working with. Meeting folks in the ministries, staying with expats, going to a concert -- they have a music school, and a good one! A symphony orchestra, too. Plenty of Africans in it, which was cool. This experience has thus far been a bit like Peace Corps, but the institutions behind me have different motivations and a different sort of cache, a different power... but I'm still the low budget traveller, just I try to dress a little better. Keep my clothes as clean as I can, since I know these professors and deans, these coordinators, CEOs, etc. will give me short shrift if I don't.

I need to take my camera and take some photos... to show the little shops and taxis and potholes that are so familiar, the big mango tree by Jinja Road that soars a hundred plus feet into the air! To show the seven hills, and the red-tiles roofs that climb up and over them, the humid air softening the contrast between the red roofs and the green trees and vines climbing everywhere. To show the little chickies, the proud rooster, and the baby black mamba that visited my hosts home tonight. It is all much the same, Kampala, as many of the other cities in Africa that I have seen. Prettier, but still it's a different flavor of the same ice cream.

School. I am back in school! So much so that I haven't had time to think of my blog, nor write in it, nor indeed read anyone else's. In fact, I should not be typing this now.

But, a short update.

I'm a Masters student, candidate, in Conservation Medicine, at a school in my new city-of-residence in Massachusetts. My first time ever living inside the US and outside of the Midwest. Yes, there is a different culture out here. For example, driving feels like a video game with very high stakes. Secondly, people are literally surprised when I wish them a good day after a transaction. Apparently these niceties aren't observed here.

I have mostly adjusted. By some miracle, I still speak Tamazight. I called my friends for L3id--Eid AlFtur. And we talked. And it was good. Always they ask me when I'm coming back. I tell them "isul lHal", because the time for a visit it DEFINITELY not now...

I miss my mountains. I MISS them. Their craggy heights, their cliffs of gold and orange and grey, and the small patches of green marking the irrigated areas. I miss the tiny, brave oak trees that yet hang on to existence on the edges of the mountains, like hair on a monks head in days of old. I miss dancing across the river on rocks with polished edges, grateful for the yoga that made my ankles strong enough for such difficult terrain.

I miss speaking in other languages. I'm trying to remember spanish, talking to L and P, the girls in my program who are bilingual.

I also miss my piano at my parents' house. Beautiful brown baby grand, with the perfect touch to the keys, and that lovely resonance... I can't believe I didn't play it every single day for hours. I played it most days, but how could I have not??? It's hard to find a practice room free, or the time to get to one.

So, I escaped the city to New Hampshire, and climbed one and a half of the White Mountains with a friend. Quiet. Fresh air. Pine trees frosted in snow. I can SEE for more than a mile. God, thank you thank you thank you thank you for wild spaces that yet exist. I should have brought my guitar, but didn't think of it.

I feel absurdly lucky to be in this program. Which is one of the reasons I'm working so hard in it. I will explain it in another posting, but for now... if you want an example of cultural readjustment, see this link to my friend's blog: http://innocentablogged.blogspot.com/2011/10/101211-on-public-display-of.html

I've had similar sticky situations with friends who have babies. I just want to hang with them while they take care of their little one, and appreciate them as a mother as fully as possible. After all, what could be more miraculous than feeding ones baby from ones own body? And yet the taboo... Sad.

The 3rd and 4th months back

I look back on March and April, and the colors that come to mind are grey, black and white, brown. March is perhaps the hardest month because it is cold and starting to be humid. Except when April is the same only rainy instead of sleet.

I look back on the middle of the semester, and it was a long, hard pull. Constant, compiling knowledge to be gained. Assignments to be completed, tests to study for and take. Friends and boyfriend far, and no one coming to visit any time soon. Work exciting in it's developments but overwhelming in it's demands. Every hurdle you clear is followed by another either already in view or waiting sneakily around a bend. So you set your jaw, rally your discipline, buy a bar of chocolate and just go.

I have infinitely more respect for the people who pull off a full time job and an education at the same time now. Infinitely. They are amazing.

I look back on March in Morocco and longed for the early green of the winter wheat and the unashamed beauty of the almond trees blooming. I remember how it was distinctly warmer, and I began to wear only 4 layers instead of 7. Which, of course, makes me appreciate central heating, real woodstoves and the wonder that is modern insulation and plumbing. :)

So, yeah, there were bright spots scattered around. A friend from Peace Corps randomly shows up on my doorstep. A skype date with my family in Morocco is arranged, and wonder of wonders I can still hold a conversation. Of course, extra women show up. Even my cat makes an appearance! Oh, how I have missed you, Trouble. This week, I'm sleeping on the floor again, in a folded sheet, and you are not here to crawl in beside me along my side. Share your warmth and your dirt with me. I didn't care. Not even when I got ring worm (besides, I got my revenge when I rubbed fungicidal cream on you twice a day every day). I miss you much like I miss most of my life in Morocco, without having yet forgotten the bad spots. They were mostly only annoying then, and now, they seem like vinegar in lentils; bringing out the flavor.

It's been just over a year since I finished my service, and became an RPCV. Many things have changed in Morocco since I left. The very program I worked for has been discontinued, in the face of bureaucracy and misfortune. My village will not get another volunteer after my replacement leaves next year. This is hard to accept, because it is unlikely that the associations will be ready to fly on their own by that time. They will have to try. The government is much the same. I hear reports of the protests and I am hopeful and nervous at the same time. I hope the king and his government look at their neighbors and think carefully as to how to maintain the peace. I hope the people look carefully at their neighbors as they decide how to push for growth and change. I hope no more bombs go off in cafes anywhere in the country.

I look back on this year since I left Morocco, and one thing is sure: it's been quite the ride... life goes on, but it seems to only grow in complexity. Simplify, many Americans put on their walls, their bumpers, their shirts. I'd like to, but... speed allows for greater complexity. And we hurtle on, we Americans, multi-tasking and scheduling and flying and driving and typing... I am doing my best to keep up!

First Two months back, long overdue

Well, I was hoping to write faithfully about what reentry is like, since it seems to be just as hard as going away and far sneakier. Alas, I have not done so. Regardless, I will try to write a bit on what it's been like thus far.

To clarify, this is about reverse culture-shock from an American perspective.

Month one: Disorientation. Thank goodness I've been traveling for 5 months, successfully getting used to being disoriented. How can it take only 30 minutes to travel 30 miles? How can I just choose the time I leave, and go? How come we don't all carpool everywhere? Why are the roads so clean, so wide, so smooth? And, I cannot believe, CANNOT BELIEVE how much stuff I have. How much stuff everyone has. I begin going through my room, something I haven't properly done since high school. I set a goal to clean out my whole room, and my whole closet (holy terror...), and get rid of as close to half of this stuff as I can. The flip side is that I am enjoying rediscovering my clothes. It's like going shopping for free, and I like everything!

After two weeks of being home, restlessness is already setting in. Not that I want to move on again, no, I just want to DO something useful! I've been traveling and vacationing for months (well, we worked where we could, and I feel a few months off after 27 months straight on is only fair). Regardless of the rationalization in the parentheses, I reallyreallyreally want to do something useful with myself!! Get a job... take classes... volunteer... something. I'm also overwhelmed by living with people, and lonely because I can't just walk up to a neighbor and join them for tea. I'm wishing for my own home and missing having a community at the same time. Weird.

I go to wedding number one, and enjoy Portland greatly! I see many, many Macalester alumnus. So good to see old friends, catching up, and (best of all) seeing my closest neighbor in Morocco in her new, delightful apartment. We reminisce, and eat Moroccan food, and talk about finding a job and getting used to the US. She (now back in the states for some 6 months, reminds me of the best thing I can do for myself: give myself the gift of patience. I just need to wait and let myself adjust slowly. As always, I find her practical sanity grounding.

When I get home I make a few phone calls... a few emails... and an interview... and get a job on contract... hooray!!! Sadly, my paycheck is not forthcoming for several weeks. This is both my fault and theirs. I buy a computer with the very, very last of my money from Peace Corps and my savings from the summer after college. It's fast. My old computer was over 10 yrs old, and still going strong... at a slow, slow pace. I say a prayer in hopes that my new computer lasts so long! I start in on work, and quickly quickly learn something: I HAVE to get my life organized in some type of planner or calendar. No longer will the "list of to do's for the week" suffice. I need to micro-manage my time again. I've not done this since... three years ago. It's frustrating and hard to do. I want to rebel, and just live and let live like I used to, but that means letting opportunities slip by. And seizing opportunity is one of the most valuable lessons I learned in Peace Corps. So I open Google Calendar, and start in on it.

Month 2: New Years, and the Bachelorette Party, and a I get used to driving long distances alone again. It used to be empowering, and it is again. The party is amazing, and even better is seeing my housemates again! L I saw in Morocco. A I haven't seen since I left, though, and she's the one getting married. I meet J, her fiance. One of the... 4 friends who has met someone and gotten engaged while I've been away. I approve of him. I have (so far) approved of all of my friends choices. :) Smart chicas! I bring my friend L home with me, and we relax a bit talk A LOT, waiting to return to KC for the actual wedding. During that week my first paycheck arrives! L heads north to catch up with family, and I head south to see my boyfriend. It's warmish and rainy, but it's lovely to see him after months apart. He's been traveling through some of the dangerous parts of Africa, alone. Good thing he's good at blending in and being creative and making do, and having fun while at it! I'm glad he's back, all the same. I know a little of how my mother must feel now.

A's wedding is awesome. More Macalester people, and I get to meet another's friend's chosen. Another winner. My boyfriend comes, and I'm so, so, SO glad I went to see him before this. I'm absorbed in making the wedding happen, and in maximizing friend time. I know I'm neglecting him, but hope he understands. These girls are heart friends, my souls helpers, the lights that point me to the real Light. I can't give them less than my best. When we go our separate ways, I'm crying in his arms trying to convince myself that life without my girlfriends will still be full of laughter. I think I'm a sap, but the next day one of them sends us all an Excel spreadsheet detailing why we need to live closer to each other. Guess I'm not the only one.

I drop off my boyfriend at the airport, and start another long drive.

Classes start. I switch out of Econ 101 to 111 because it's too slow for me, and because I want to get the most out of this spring. I'm behind before I begin, am late for the first class, and my phone goes off in the second. I knuckle down, and (as always) pull through, though slowly. Work is grinding on... I'm learning Excel and Word like I never have before. Winter is cold, cold, cold, but I'm loving the snow. Blizzards! Our driveway covered in 4 foot drifts! So beautiful, so otherworldly. Especially to me, and my Africa-thin blood. I'm used to wearing Islam-appropriate garb in 100+ heat, or tramping through Dar es Salaam humidity with a heavy pack. Now it's -20 Farenheit and I need a fleece blanket, 3 quilts and a down comforter to sleep comfortably. And I still wear a sweatshirt to bed.

But I love the snow. Cross-country skiing every day, either in our backyard or at the park. The air is crisp, sharp, clean. The snow makes everything new every time it falls. It makes me want to dance, just like it always did when I was a child.

After some time, life finds a rhythm. I discover I'm more of a fighter than I used to be, that I'm less willing to roll over when someone wants to walk on me. This leads to some unpleasantness, especially paired with the self-centeredness that can only come with living by oneself in a village where you are a rockstar of sorts for two years. I'm working on it. Present tense. My family shuffles, cracks, shifts, apologizes, and we keep going.

reentry

Reentry. That word stared me down right from the beginning of Peace Corps. I think most volunteers assume that the transition back to homelife will be easy, but I have experienced it before, and easy it is NOT!

After a mere 5.5 months in Tanzania (study abroad, Associated Colleges of the Midwest) I was knocked completely off balance, and it took months for me to settle in again. It doesn't help that, after such times abroad, everyone you know has inevitably moved on with their lives. That first time, my support network that had got me through the ups and downs of sophomore and junior year had... graduated. Mostly, that is. Those that were still there had made some decisions that were good for them and their mental health, and ended up being not so great for mine. I hold no grudges, for they are not my keepers, but I now recognize that I ended up in a vulnerable position. It's a struggle.

No change. It's a struggle. You depend on friends, and they are away, married, mothers, at school, self-absorbed, sympathetic, distant, but... not there like you are used to. Like the 10 Moroccan mothers I had, the 15 sisters, the handful of real friends. You depend on family, but they expect much of you, and you dare not disappoint. You depend on yourself, but who is that, in this new place where people do not look up to you automatically, where you do not know your next pay check, or next schooling, or path... I don't even know for sure my dream to follow.

I have many dreams.

So I'm taking classes, readjusting, soaking up the good food and the good company (whenever I'm lucky enough to have it!), and the good family (it's AWESOME to be close to them again).

And the language muddles, and I miss the mountains like I missed the lakes and the trees, and I miss the tajine and the couscous, so I try to cook it and miraculously it tastes good! I miss friends from home who were my lifelines abroad, and I miss the travels afterwards.

I'm at a home though. It is a quiet place, and thus is worth quite a bit.

From Here on Out

I'm back Stateside. I actually arrived a while ago (Nov. 13) but I went to visit family in the Denver area for a few days first, and then home to Wisconsin. The transition from the Far East to the Midwest's time zone is difficult. First off, it's 13 hours ahead, or 11 hours behind only actually tomorrow... and it's just as good at bending your inner time as it is at bending your mind. I had done it in relatively small jumps--except for the South Korea to Denver jump--over a 2 week period, but it was still affecting me only a week ago. I just now feel like time makes sense to me again.

Except for how dark it gets, and how early! After the lovely monotony of tropical days (sun up at about 6, down at about 6, give or take an bit, 365 days per year) the sunset at 4:30 pm gets me. And the dark at 7 pm might be 11 at night for all I can tell.

Anyway. What I really am writing this about is: what I will write about from Here on Out. I have some stories I haven't told, some thoughts I have been meaning to share yet from both Peace Corps and from my "COS trip" afterwards (that's right, you still haven't escaped the acronyms!!). Spaced in with those will be my daily life here in the US, and probably my adjustment to it.

It looks like I'll be here for a while, Figuring Things Out. Things include jobs, further schooling, location of said jobs, schooling and therefore self... etc.

It also looks like I'll be living through my third winter in a row (albeit interspersed with a delightful but cruelly short visit to Wisconsin summer and a much longer travel through the warmth/heat of Southern and East Africa... but still... three in a row??? Two of which did not involve central heating...). Sigh.

The end, for now!

Arusha, Old friends, and Expats

I spent a lot of my time in Arusha staying at the house of a dear friend of mine from college, Eli. He is one of those third-culture kids, parents from different places and raised in a third. They are always interesting ones, having had somewhat unusual life experiences, and having been born to wider worldview than the most of us ever achieve.

One never really gets to know someone without stepping onto their home turf. I gained a much greater understanding of two other college friends by traveling to North Dakota and Kansas City. And one friend once remarked that "meeting your parents, Jeannie, well, it explains a lot about you." In this case, it was amusing, sometimes hilarious to watch four quiet, reserved men living together. They care deeply for each other. Anyway, I really enjoyed my time relaxing at Eli's house, even though the majority of the time he wasn't even there--he has always had a powerful work ethic, and was working. What time we did get to spend together was very nice, just catching up.

Just as interesting in a totally different way, was seeing the firmly entrenched expat culture of Northern Tanzania. For many, many years now (probably approaching 50 years) the world's NGOs have descended up on Tanzania. Poor, destitute Tanzania with it's amazing natural beauty and animal life is a charismatic place. You can't hardly go there and not feel the tug of the land, and the people. They are a very hospitable, kind people generally, and those that are more pushy, the Maasai, are flat out fascinating to most travelers. These NGO workers stayed, befriended and married the ex-Europeans who owned coffee and tea plantations, and made their home there. And what a home! Often leaning towards the luxurious, with domestic workers, gardeners, tenants... and beautiful, always beautiful.

Now, the younger generations move to the cities, renting apartments and frequenting the bars and night clubs. And also, often doing brilliant work with the NGOs they work for. More young, motivated, smart, resourceful people get pulled into the web of the expat community all the time. Oddly, or perhaps not so odd, is that very few of the "native" Tanzanians (how to say... ethnically African Tanzanians might be the most P.C.) have joined into this culture-within-a-culture. The expat community in Morocco tends to be more of a mix, but then it's also been there for a lot longer, and in a different way. The French started out completely insulated, but over time there has been enough inter-marriage, and migration back and forth between Morocco and France that bunches of half-and-half children have sprung up. I wish there were more of a mix between Tanzanians and the expats who are there to serve them, and usually end up being served by them. I think it would be much healthier, and help the cultures to understand each other in a more nuanced way.

Altitude

The air is thin up there. I have always loved the taste and feel of mountain air in my mouth and lungs. When I was a child I used to look forward to visiting the "Denver cousins" with great anticipation. I remember jumping out of a car on the heights of the rockies and bounding about like a young horse; like a distracted puppy.

My first time up high was Pike's Peak. I don't remember it much, but I've seen pictures of me in a borrowed sweatshirt that went down past my knees. My second was a little known fourteener in southern Colorado called Mt. San Luis. It was also my first encounter with and altitude headache.

The past three weeks have seen me on two volcanoes, high in a mountain range, and well over 18,000 amsl. I didn't ever think I would ever go that high into the atmosphere. Actually, it was really easy, right up until it was really hard.

We had been at sea level for two weeks, the four of us (Ants, LTool, Al, and I). And below sea level, actually, scuba diving. So, in the run up to Kili, we planned to increase elevation gradually. Actually, I just wanted to go the Usambara Mountains to see the butterflies and the rainforests, and to climb Mount Meru because it is a lovely and beguiling mountain. It so happened that if we did those in that order before Kili, we would give ourselves plenty of time to adjust to the height needed.

Most people climb Kili, and maybe see Mt. Meru as a largish peak poking out above the cloud layer, keeping the peaks of the "big one" company. They are missing out. Meru is gorgeous! A half-destroyed rim of a steep and high volcano, it rises gently at first on one side, then steeply to where the ash cone declares the volcanic life below, then by enormous sheer cliffs to the summit high above. The other side drops steeply down, down, down, down all the way back to those gentle, forested slopes surrounding the base. When I first saw Meru peek demurely out from the mists and clouds, I was struck by the jagged rock and precipice of the peak, and it's contrast with the green forest below. It called my name, and 4 years later I was excited to answer!

The rest of my group was willing to trek along with me, but Ants and Al were both itching to get on top of Kili. Just to do it, but also, I think, to test themselves against the altitude. Before you do it, there is no real way to know how your body will react. Some people feel barely a headache, some cannot pass 5000 m without life-threatening consequences. Cerebral and pulmonary altitude sickness take lives around the world every year. So, we prepared as best we could.

Meru was fantastic. The views, amazing. The mountain full of character, the forests full of life, the weather, perfect. It wasn't easy, but it was quick, and the altitude gave me nary a problem. I loved it.

Kili was a challenge. A 4-day trek to summit base camp up and down and up and down at necessarily slow paces. Much less scenery to exalt, but when the peak did show itself, it humbled me to think I might stand atop it. Barranco Wall and the cliffs atop it to the glaciers melting down in gigantic icicles stopped me in my tracks. The final bid for the summit wasn't so steep, or rocky, or anything, but it took us up and up and up... Al was the first to feel the altitude. It slowed him down. Waaaaaayyyy down. If he weren't a person of great mental strength he wouldn't have made it. Once I got to the top, I hurt. Headache, nausea, fatigue were all present. But we made it. Which was satisfying, except for the overwhelming desire to descend. And DOWN I went, as quickly as I could. Past the beautiful view of Mawenzi Peak, past the glaciers I came to see, past the spot Al almost gave up, down down down. And all was well.

I still love mountain air. But it's hard to breathe enough of it.

big mountains...

Mount Meru is still the most beautiful single mountain I have ever climbed or hiked on.

Kilimajaro is awesome in it's size and massive-ness.

Mount Mulanje is special in it's self-contained wilderness and beauty.

Oldoinyo Lengai is completely otherworldly, full of dust, ash, sulphur and lava flows.

I wasn't planning on making this mountain climbing thing a habit, but it seems to be becoming one. Ah well!
:)

Changing of the travelers

Tomorrow afternoon, my brother is going to fly out of Dar to Vietnam. Three days ago, a young Englishwoman (Lz) arrived. In theory, they are switching places, although I'm beginning to think that we may end up splitting up a bit more now that it's two couples, instead of me, my boyfriend, my brother and a friend from Peace Corps. Before, we didn't split up for side trips hardly ever. Not since South Africa and the reconvening after the departure of Whit have we been apart for more than a few hours. Until Tz.

A. and I went to visit a friend of his, Jn, and her husband in a small town called Isangati. My brother and Al. went to Dar to start on embassies, visas, and to meet up with Lz. The village was delightful! How wonderful to spend time with people who have no designs upon your money and/or posessions. Who are rather happily living their lives as farmers, fix-it men, cobblers, or all three. It was nice to sleep in a bed that belongs to someone instead of a hotel. It was wonderful to help our hosts with their garden, and go on a walk. We found and ate wild bananas. They are bright orange. They are full of large, black seeds. They taste more like bland papayas than bananas. They are called ndizi pori here, and the kids love them. I learned that banana trees are full of water, and are not actually trees but plants.

Meanwhile, Dar is still Dar, and the bureaucracy continues to be unpenetrable. Thus, I try very hard to be productive... hence the blogging. I'm a bit behind. :)

I'll miss my brother. I'm so glad he came! It was wonderful hanging out a bunch, and awesome to go to the World Cup with him. It's been fun to be there to see him become aquainted with Africa, and it's ways. I hope he values it, like I do.

And now, onward. And northward.

Dar es Salaam, 5 years later

Well, here we are in Tanzania!
If anything, the traffic is worse in Dar than it was last time. It takes quite a while to get much of anywhere, it seems.
Crime on the street also seems worse than I remember. Three attempted pickpocketings, and one mugging that I know of amongst my friends.
The heat is nice, the rain is lovely, and there are many things to do here. If only they were accessible online! I need to get a visa for my next country, but I cannot find where the embassy is on googlemaps. Neither is the embassy listed in my guide book, since it's an English language guidebook, I guess they decided there is no reason anyone would want to know where the Asian embassies are.This will make it difficult for me to figure out how to get there. I suppose I could just take a cab.
Tanzania has been fine so far, outside of the bus stations and transport hubs. The country is full of lizards, though (our name for the touts and crooks and scumbags who hang around looking for the first opportunity to take advantage of the momentary disorientation all travelers have to deal with when they arrive somewhere new). They are clever, friendly, and speak English in a country that doesn't really speak English. They must make a fair living, since there are so many of them. I dont' remember Tz being this way quite so much before, but I was also sheltered by the program I was with. Thank God I speak Swahili, it helps a bit. If only I had a magic button to evaporate them all... Malawi was full of them, too... all the minibus guys were always trying to rip us off.
I'm tired of meeting all the scum of the earth.
Where did all the good people go?

You may have heard of african minibuses? The general transport for the masses, they stop frequently and fill up to far, far beyond capacity. Cramped, hot, cheap.

We took a "minibus" ferry. It was from the south end of Lake Malawi, up to about a third from the top. It started out not so terribly crowded, but oy it was PACKED by the time we got off. Not that there wasn't room for more; there is always room for more. Lake Malawi is gorgeous, blue like Lake Superior, and clear in places like it too. It's inhabited by the endemic ciclid (chiclid? sp?), which are lovely electric blue and black fish. We snorkeled around and watched them nibbling on algae off of rocks. Unfortunately, one of the cargo I saw on the boat was definitely fish headed for 1st World fish tanks. I hope but doubt they were harvested properly...

We camped out on the top deck, which was supposedly first class, but that's the lamest first class I've ever heard of. They charged us extra for mats, didn't provide bedding, food, tea, or even hot water. This after paying over 70 USD for the tickets. Rip off, if you look at it that way. Economy would have been the cheap way to go, and is by far the most popular with locals. In any event, it was nice to be up top, with enough room to lie down and strech your legs without worrying about theft too terribly much.

I had fun on the Ilala Ferry, especially in the winds and swells, but it turned out to be a minibus after all. :)

Why Peace Corps Made Travel Better and Worse

Language, language, language!

I so terribly miss being able to speak to people in their native tongue! I was spoiled in Morocco. By the end of my time there, I could converse fluently in a random dialect of Tamazight, and make myself understood in Moroccan Arabic. It was heavenly, being able to ask questions, overhear people talking about me, and just not feel adrift and idiotic. Here, everyone speaks English, except when they don't want me to understand. Then they use Shona, Zulu, Ndebele, Setswana, Sesotho, Afrikaaner...
I still know when people are talking about me though. A nod of the head, a certain tone of voice. I miss the days when I could play dumb and then hop into a conversation with the knowledge of what people really thought of me already in place. Now I just have to guess.

On the other hand, my body language skills are vastly improved since I came from teh US. I can speak without language.

And, if I don't want them to understand me, all I have to do is pick a Moroccan language, and they haven't a clue. :)

S.Africa => Zim

Around the 5th of August, we left South Africa for places further north. We had just finished a really cool 3 day hike through the Blyde River Canyon. It's an absolutely gorgeous part of a lovely and diversely geograph-ied country. It's only four of us now, as Whit has stayed in Mozambique, so as to become a Divemaster. She's got a sweet internship near the breeding grounds of whale sharks. I think she'll have a lot of fun. JmC and Al. accompanied Whit up to her new diving playground/training spot. Meanwhile, AWS. and I went to Joburg to meet with his family. Reuniting in Nelspruit, we proceeded to hitchhike up to Bourke's Luck Potholes (odd name, eh? gotta love Afrikaaner names... and that's not the half of it). We were then dropped in the middle of nowhere by a surprisingly ghetto "hiking info"center. Broken windows, shredded insulation, no doors. We had no map thanks to a miscommunication between park staff, but knew to look for yellow footprints. We had at least three days worth of food, sleeping bags, no tents, and about an hour and a half left of daylight. After semi frantic searching, we found the yellow footprints and launched into the hike. Upon the due course of the hike we found our huts, and many a beautiful waterfall, and many an attractive boulder to boulder. We jumped of a cliff into deep, cold, blue water. We successfully protected our food from the depredations of baboons. We finished the hike and headed for Zimbabwe.

The biggest difference? Worse infrastructure, slightly higher prices, and way less racial crap. It's inescapable in S.A. You WILL run into it at least once a day. Not between white foreigners and black S.Africans. No, between Afrikaaners and black S.Africans. A marked lack of trust, and not a bit of of hateful fear displayed from the former towards the later. We made it through just fine on the "black" transport, but many were the times an Afrikaaner laughed us off for crazy, lectured us as stupid, or just shook their head at us. Fortunately we met some wonderful Afrikaaner's too, which gave us hope. After all, it's still only 15 years or so since apartheid, and honestly, they've come a good way in that short time. May they continue down such a path!!!

Zimbabwe has surpassed expectations. People have been helpful, friendly, kind, and practical. If something goes wrong, you find a way to fix it. Since things often go wrong, people are adept at fixing them. Hitching is easy--many, many people do it. The landscape is really lovely, and the country is home to what must be the greatest concentration of UNESCO World Heritage Sites in any one country. I feel like I can't move for bumping into another!
We went to Great Zimbabwe. UNESCO, of course, and wow, how cool!!! Probably the coolest archeological site I've ever visited. Really pretty landscape, too. Then to Matobo National Park by Bulawayo, which is wild and stunning, with bunches and bunches of cave paintings.
And then Al. got malaria. So we stayed with our (wonderful) host until he got better. Thus, we have had opportunity to check out Bulwayo's art scene pretty thoroughly. Beaten down, but not destoryed, and our (wonderful) host is working to restore it. There has been lots of good cooking. It's been nice to pause after moving on and on so frequently.
Thanks again to our (wonderful!!) hostess.

Today we hope to move on.

Trail of Campsites

Bethlehem to Clarens, where we stayed two nights. Clarens to Amphitheatre Backpackers, otherwise known as the Thenadier Establishment (seen/read Les Miz? Remember the crooked innkeepers? the manager/owner of this place reminded me strongly of Mssr. Thenadier. Don't stay there.). The Thenadier Establishment to Richard's Bay, via Durban, where we stayed with a very kind and hospitable Afrikaneer family we knew through a friend of the group. It was so relaxing and wonderful to be staying in a home for a while! They took us surfing and to a game reserve and we cooked them Moroccan, Mexican and American food as repayment (and paid for gas for those days trips). From Richard's Bay we went to Sodwana Bay, and camped outside a dive resort there for a week as A. got his Open Water Dive certification. We were harassed by monkeys but greatly enjoyed the peace and quiet of a campsite in a National Wetland Reserve. And the waffles that one could buy at the resort. They were topped with ice cream. We went diving, and I saw a Manta Ray!!! they are HUGE. HUUUGGGEEE. We also saw a sea turtle, maybe a Loggerhead, but we aren't sure, not having had the presence of mind to count the number of paired scales on his shell. Then, on to Swaziland where we camped one night, but only passed through on our way to Maputo, Mozambique, where we are now, attempting to make our way north. We will drop off W. at her dive internship up north, and then return and continue on our way...
My only real complaint thus far is the lack of volunteering opportunities we have been able to find. Hopefully we can fix this as we continue on our path. :)

Bethlehem

No, not the Holy Land. It's near Lesotho, a small city with a neat little campsite/bunkhouse place we discovered in a book. It's cool, but the owner ran over his puppy just as we got there. She's an adorable Border Collie named Lucy. Still in kind of tough shape, but hopefully pulling through. We're on our way back south, headed for the Drakensberg Mountains. Hopefully, we'll be in Durban for the World Cup final.
The last week has been a wrap up of our time in Pretoria. Our host, John, was truly awesome. He put up with us for a whole week, and then took us out on the town the last night. I drove home (DD), which was interesting. I've never driven on the left side of the road before. It's not too bad, except for shifting gears with my left hand is WIERD. We went to three games, I saw Ghana lose a heart-breaking game to Uruguay due to a cheapshot handball that blocked the final goal. Then Ghana missed the penalty kick by all of 2 inches, it was the saddest ever. Besides that, we hung out, stiched up torn clothing and tents (durn baboons... I wasn't there, but they broke into the tent in the middle of the night and stole food), and did some sight seeing in the Johannesburg area. I went to the Apartheid Museum. It was amazing. It's as well done a museum as I've seen. A good attempt to face up to a difficult and sometimes ugly history withoutg dwelling unhealthily on the bad. It actually left me feeling hopeful. If South Africa can get from there to here, where can they go from here? Truly amazing what a few good leaders and the will of a determined people can accomplish. Also cool to learn was that Nelson Mandela's Nobel Peace Prize was jointly given with the then president of apartheid South Africa, NK something (curse my poor memory for names!). The thing is, the fact that they worked together is what made a mostly peaceful transition possible. All you have to do to see what happens when people don't work together is take a stroll through the history of Zimbabwe, the DRC, or Liberia. The difference is monumental.

Met a really awesome kid named Tshepo on a bus, who took us around the city, into his home, and into his church. People really showing real love to wanderers like us, it's inspiring. And it was a great time, too. Thanks Tshepo!!

Gauteng

So, the region surrounding Johannesburg and Pretoria is known as Gauteng. I have only 4 minutes left on my credit for internet, so here's some flashes:

Soweto = the most well developed, affluent township/ex-slum I've ever seen.
Museum for June 16th, the day the world began to notice apartheid, disturbing but excellently rendered.
Rasty's graffiti = amazing, huge, full of color and reflective of life. It's like the music here, only visually.
Race dynamics are intense here. Walking around with our (black) African friend Tshepo earned us a lot of wierd looks from black and white Africans alike.
Johannesburg is HUGE. Ridiculously so.
Rich suburbs have a