DAYS 17 - 27

Day 17

Kiswahili thus far

My Swahili is progressing slowly but surely. I’m building up my vocabulary everyday and try to speak as much as I can until I’ve exhausted every word I know. It’s a fairly simple language to learn with standard greetings and replies that everyone is familiar with. I’ve also been using my other languages to help me remember words that sound similar.

-’Left’ in Tagalog is ‘kaliwa’, but in Swahili ‘kulia’ is right.
-‘salamat’ in Tagalog is thank you, in Swahili ‘salama’ is ‘in good health’

-Si for yes in Spanish is now negative in Swahili:
Eg.
Nina dada (I have sisters) vs. Sina Kaka (I don’t have brothers)
Ninapenda embe (I like mangoes) v. Sipendi maziwa (I don’t like milk)
-meza is also used for table in Swahili
-I used ‘chupa’ for ‘lollipop’ in Spanish, in Swahili it’s now ‘bottle’.

-‘Haya’ in Cantonese is also in agreement in Swahili.

A little bit of Swahili History (from the Lonely Planet, which has been my bible since I’ve been here!)

“Swahili” means ‘of the coast’, from the Arabic word sāhil and refers to both the Swahili language and Islamic culture of people living in Eastern Africa, from Somalia in the north, down to Mozambique in the south. Both Swahili language and culture is a mixture of Bantu, Arabic, Persian and Asian influences.

About 10k years ago, nomadic hunter/gatherers dispersed across Africa and brought to the east end a language similar to southern Africa’s Khoisan. Cut to 3-5k years ago, and the Khoisan speakers were coupled with Cushitic speaking farmers and cattle herders who made their way to present day Ethiopia. More migrations would happen before Tanzanians can trace their ancestry to about 1000 BC. Bantu speakers from Niger delta in the west end began to move east into what’s now Cameroon, D.R. of Congo (formerly Zaire), and then into what is now considered Eastern Africa.

These Bantu speakers brought with them skills in agriculture and iron production, and settled into villages. Pretty soon, they displaced or absorbed the Cushitic and Khoisan speakers and became more prominent. Nilotic people, who are ancestors of the Maasai, made their entry for the final wave of migrations into the 18^th century. At this time, Omani Arabs dominated Zanzibar (they were engaged in slave trade over there) and it was then that Swahili culture began to flourish.

The great trade caravan routes solidified the Swahili language as a colloquial dialect in Eastern and Central Africa. And of course what’s African history without the invasion of the good ‘ol West (they’re still pretty indifferent to the West here and I don’t blame them). Missionaries crept onto the continent, and adopted the language as their primary means of communicating with the locals.

Up until then, Swahili had been written exclusively in Arabic script, but some dude named Johann Ludwik Krapf decided it would be better applied in the Roman alphabet. By the 19^th century, Swahili became the mother tongue for a majority of Tanzanians, although some speak it as a 2^nd language or as a 2^nd mother tongue together with their tribal language.

What I found interesting about the language so far is they have different classes for nouns. Nouns have a completely different verb agreement depending on its class, which include –people, places, animals, insects, inanimate objects and body parts. It gets confusing especially when it comes to possessive pronouns because “my books” will have a different subject/pronoun agreement from “my family” because books would fall under the ‘inanimate objects’ class of nouns, and ‘family’ would fall under ‘people’ class of nouns.

Vitabu vyangu (my books)
Ndugu zangu (my family)

Hakuna Matata

Yes, Disney movies have actually taught me a thing or two and “Hakuna Matata” is a real expression in Swahili and really means “no worries”, their version of “hasta maňana”. Also “Simba” really does mean lion!

Day 18

What have I gotten myself into..

Feeling awfully sick, I can’t take the nausea anymore. I’m this close to quitting the anti malaria drugs, but I’ve been told malaria’s no fun ride either!

Am I gonna survive the year…?

Day 19

No power, no work

The power was out all afternoon and I felt the whole day was wasted away. When the power goes out, the work stops. Our office being in a grungy part of town does not have backup generators and we’re stuck in a small, smelly, hot, cramped room where we work in close quarters. The office gets chaotic, especially since we’re up against deadlines to secure monies from the global fund.

There are 5 computers shared amongst 14 staff in total, including myself. Only one of the five computers is connected to the internet and printer. It gets really aggravating when you’re working on that computer, in the middle of something and all of a sudden a window pops out of nowhere cause someone has just gone ahead and stuck their flash drive in the computer to print a document.

Today I couldn’t hear myself think. With the power gone out, and a deadline tomorrow everyone was frantically scrambling around the office. Bruno left for a conference in Johannesburg on Monday ‘kindly’ left me a proposal for the African Medical Research Fund (AMREF) due on Thursday. Today is Wednesday.

I brought the work home with me to complete on my computer which only had 30% battery power left. I was able to finish just in time, before the battery completed depleted (I’m pretty good, huh!). It is now 9pm and the power has just been restored.

I’ve thought about offering my laptop for office use and bringing it with me everyday but don’t want to risk getting robbed on the way to or from work which I’ve heard happens to a lot of foreigners.

Day 20

Boycotting the Dala Dala

I’ve given up on the smelly “Dala Dala” (their name for the buses here which aren’t really buses, but transport vans) and get off the moment I feel nauseous. It isn’t enough to breath through my mouth anymore, it’s an awful stink that’s a pungent mix of body odour, cheap perfume and other unidentifiable smells I don’t even want to know. I was never big on perfume and hardly wear the stuff, but the women and girls here pile the stuff on that mixed in with the other smells it’s just unbearable.

The ride to work is only about 25-30 minutes and I ride for as much as I can stand it, before I feel nauseous and get off, usually at the halfway mark, then walk the rest of the way. It’s nice and cool in the morning so it’s a great walk, and I don’t have to worry about the danger of throwing up on the people I’m crammed up against.

I walk home everyday now which takes just over an hour depending on how many stops I make. The village I walk through is filled with so many shops and stands where they sell a variety of different fresh fruits, veggies, & nuts. I usually make a stop to pick up some fruit, which ends up being my dinner.

There is a clearing along the path I walk where a bunch of kids are always playing in the dirt. They’re so friendly and eager to talk to you and play, I stop and ‘hang out’ with them for a bit. They know my name now and holler at me whenever I walk by and I’ll talk to them with as much Swahili before I exhaust my supply of words.

Also I’ve learned to ‘walk like an African’ and take my time to stroll through the village and actually enjoy soaking it in this way. There is so much to take in it feels surreal at times and I have to remind myself it’s real and people really do live the way the do here.

Re: Lack of photos

Everyone back home’s been emailing and demanding to see pictures so I’ve finally posted some but I have to warn you, they’ll be very boring. It’s mostly scenery, what my house & bedroom looks like, and a fruit stand.

When I’m out walking around I’m usually by myself, and it isn’t safe for me to whip out the camera without risking getting robbed. I don’t even answer my cell phone in public and wait until I’m home to take it out at all. That was the first piece of advise I got from all the locals, and other foreigners here. People here have been known to snatch cell phones right out of a person’s hand and run off.

But to be honest, no matter how well captured (and I’m not much of a photographer anyway) pictures will never do this place justice… I know it sounds so contrived but pictures really aren’t enough to exhibit the reality of what I see on a daily basis. Any photos I take are more for the benefit of people back home to see, than they are for me, cause images I see everyday will forever be etched in my mind.

But “hakuna matata” I’ll try my best to take more and post them anyway.

Day 21

My first Friday night out dancing –African style!

I’ve been here 3 weeks already but feeling sick the whole time I haven’t been able to really get out and enjoy myself just yet. Hoyce, the girl I’m living with, took me to a popular pub/club where locals like to go eat and dance. The place was packed. It was an outdoor area sheltered by a roof made from coconut leaves and cheap plastic patio furniture and chairs. There were a few other foreigners in the crowd so I didn’t feel so self-conscious unlike the last party I went to where I was the only non-black person and people wouldn’t stop starring.

When we got to the club, we hadn’t even sat down yet and guys were already asking for dances. I didn’t want to dance right away and wanted to just sit back and watch at first, but Hoyce pushed me forward and I more than got my feet wet.

I was exposed to a good deal of West African music in Mali, which has very similar rhythms to some Cuban and Latin music, hence the Afro-Cuban influence. Eastern African music seems a bit softer, gentler, not as intense and rhythmic as Western, but still has the passionate flair that I love in Latin American music. Dancing to it was absolutely exhilarating. We stayed t’ill after midnight and by the time we got home I was exhausted but thrilled that I had finally been able to enjoy a night out.

Day 22

Vivid Dreams

I wanted to sleep in today but the damn roosters don’t know that it’s Saturday and still crow at 5am. Additionally the dreams I have are really truly vivid and bizarre, and a number of completely random people have made appearances, from my MP who I met briefly before I left, to Mrs. Kim, my first-ever piano teacher who used to hit my hands with her ruler whenever I made mistakes. I wake up in the morning feeling like I haven’t really slept cause I’m so alert and active in my dreams.

Market Place

I’ve decided Saturdays will be my market day and ventured out to the beaches. It’s about a 30-minute bus ride, but I’m boycotting the Dala Dala so it took me an hour and a half to walk the whole way. It’s a wonderful walk though, there’s so much to see along the way and I get a good ocean breeze so walking in the heat isn’t so bad. I went to the fish stands and people are literally thrusting fish in your face to show you how fresh, plump, & healthy they are, urging you to buy. I picked out a slab of kingfish and baked it for dinner.

Christopher, the guard

I now know enough Swahili to be able to strike up a very simple conversation and learned the guard who I’ve been calling Tyrese (cause he looks like the singer) is actually named Christopher. He never smiled before but now he smiles when I approach the gate and we talk some, and even share a special handshake. I greet him good morning, he’ll ask me how I slept, I’ll say just fine, and he’ll wish me a good day, give his signature chuckle, clasp his rifle and I’ll be on my way out the gate.

My Saturday night

Hoyce invited me to go out dancing again, but after my long walk into town I didn’t have any energy to do anything else so just decided to stayed in for the night. I’m trying to pace myself with the books cause I’ve only been here just over 3 weeks and already finished 3 of them. So I decide to pop in some of the computer games I brought with me.

I collected those CD’s that come in cereal boxes and built up a library of games, which I kept until now. I found them while I was packing and moving out of my place and took them with me to keep me from boredom and thought they’d come in handy on a day like today. Before I knew it was addicted to Roller Coaster Tycoon!!

Day 23

Proud to be a Canadian

I went downtown to meet with the other Canadian, Johanne. She’s a French Canadian lawyer in her early 40’s working for Legal Aid Human Rights Tanzania. I’ve learned that books are a valuable currency here among other Cooperants and Expats. If we were in prison I would so be the guy on top and everyone else would be my bitches! She was elated to learn that I brought a large collection and was offering to pay me just to borrow some. I had to laugh and waived her off and told her of course she can borrow my books.

It was so nice to be able to talk to someone from home. It’s just dawned on me how much it means to be “Canadian’. I’ve done my share of travelling before but didn’t give it much thought until now, and was oblivious to how I was perceived as a Canadian. Whenever I tell people I come from Canada, they beam and immediately warm up to me. Someone once asked me if I identify as a Canadian or Filipino/Chinese, and I really wasn’t sure at the time. I guess you don’t really think of who you are until you leave home and have to present yourself to strangers as whatever it is you are.

But it’s different for those of us who are the first generation, born Canadian. We’re the ones caught in between, ‘grass without roots’ if you will. Here people are constantly asking me about, and comparing ‘life in Canada’. When I answer their questions about traditions, cultural habits, behaviours, attitudes etc etc and I find myself telling them all about the Filipino/Chinese habits we practice at home. That was when it struck me that this IS the ‘Canadian’ way of life, being able to practice your culture/heritage in a country so full of diversity.

I talk about both, general Canadian traditions, and people of other cultures within Canada. When I try and illustrate to them everything ‘Canadiana’, people here have a hard time grasping the range of lifestyles that can exist within a single nation. Up until now I haven’t given it much thought, and even taken it for granted. But I do love and very much appreciate being a Canadian.

Henry, a co-worker is constantly peppering me with questions, curious about life in Canada, and comparing our lifestyles and traditions. He’s always so intrigued and fascinated when he notes our commonalities and differences. The other day he asked me, “If I came to Canada, how would people see me?”. I thought about it for a brief moment, then answered, “You would simply be Henry”.

Day 24

Changes so far

My hands back in my piano days were once worth a pretty penny, now they’re dry, rough and chapped from the constant abuse of hand sanitizer. My feet are now grimy and coarse from the mosquito bites and dirt roads. I still have large scabs from when I scratched the bites along my legs and arms. Cause I don’t like wearing hats and walk outside a lot, I’m already a shade darker. I’m still building up immunity to their bugs in the food & water, and get queasy and stomach-achy from time to time. Other than fish I’ve stayed away from the meats, and load up on fresh fruits I buy almost everyday from the fruit stands I pass on my way home from work.

Day 25

Formalities

They are very big on formalities here and it can take forever just to greet someone. It goes back and forth for ages before you get to any actual conversation or the purpose of your meeting.

Standard greetings usually begins with

“Hujambo” to which you reply “Si jambo”
you are then asked “habari za mchana” (how is everything today?)
and you always reply “nzuri” (good)
then move on to ask how is everything at work: “habari za kazi?”, how is everything at home: “habari za nyumbani”
…and it goes on back and forth

If the person you are greeting older, or of higher status than you, you are to give the respectful greeting “Shikamoo” similar to the Filipino “mano po” or Chinese “akong/apau”.

You are then replied “marahaba” and then you can proceed with the regular greetings. I greet ‘mama’ everyday with ‘shikamoo’ and all the directors considered ‘high status’ or older persons I come across everyday. Sometimes random kids will go up to me and give me “shikamoo” and I have to answer “marahaba”

There are more laid back formal greetings reserved for colleagues around the same age as you or at the same level, “Mambo” or “Vipi Mambo”, to which the reply is “Poa”. It’s probably about the equivalent in English to “how’s it going” “it’s cool”

Day 26

Missing my routine back home

It is only after 9pm and I’m already drained. Back home I could get by on only 6 hours sleep and still have enough energy for an 18-hour day. I didn’t have a cozy sit-down job either, where I could relax behind a desk all the time. I did field work and was travelling across the GTA from as far as Durham to Peel region on any given day.

During the week I would work a full day, sometimes extra hours, head straight to Oxfam committee meetings afterwards, then meet with friends for dinner/drinks, and still managed to fit in either a workout or night of dancing, get home by 12:30 – 1am, wash up, do some reading or watch the repeat of the Daily Show & Colbert Report, in bed by 2am, and do the whole thing over again the next morning.

Friday nights would be the whole days routine plus a later night of dancing, or out at a movie, or hanging out with friends or family.

Saturdays I’d catch up on reading, do laundry and other errands, practice piano, spend time with my grandma (usually in the kitchen while she’s barking instructions at me how to cook the proper way), dance for a good 4 hours at salsa dance practice in the afternoon, followed by more dancing, movies or parties at night.

Sunday would be my day to recuperate and spend time with my parents, and grandma.

Here, the trek to and from work on the dreaded, smelly ‘Dala Dala’, the trips to town, and the work itself is already twice as exhausting and by the time I come back home I’m completely drained. I haven’t even begun fieldwork yet so I’m hoping it’s just my body still adjusting to my environment.

My routine in Africa so far

The roosters are already crowing by 5am, by 6am I’m up and out of bed and hop in the shower. Getting ready takes about a quarter of the time here, than it usually takes me at home cause I’ve cut out so many steps. I never wore a lot of makeup to begin with but with the heat here, I don’t bother with it at all and only slap on sunscreen. I barely wear my contact unless I’m going out at night, and wear my glasses the majority of the time now, otherwise my eyes dry up and it’s like sandpaper in my eyes. Now that my hair’s shorter I just run a brush through it and wear a headband or clip it back out of my eyes. I don’t have to blow dry it anymore!

I don’t dress how I would in the summer time back home back cause the women and girls here dress fairly conservative. I don’t feel comfortable dressing the same way here anyway cause the men already stare and jeer as it is. I brought several pairs of Capri’s, different length skirts and sarongs, which I’ll pair with a blouse or tank top.

By this time it’s about 6:30 – 6:45 am, and in Toronto time about 11pm (my time is 7 hours ahead). Anthony is usually getting ready for bed at this time so we’ve scheduled our daily call to be around 6:45 –7am when I’m sitting for breakfast and he’s winding down for the day.

After our rapid-flight chat to get as much mileage as we can from the cheap 15-minute phone cards, I’ll bid him goodnight while he wishes me a good day. I have my breakfast the maid has prepared for me –usually a bowl of fruit, eggs & toast, while I read through the local Dar es Salaam paper we get daily here, “This Day”. The NBA finals and the high school murder in Toronto has made its’ way into Dar news. As I leave the compound I greet Christopher, the guard, then head to work.

The amount of work I get done depends on whatever else they thrust at me to try and provide consultation or help fix, and whether there’s power. Some days we’re required to attend meetings with different sectors, or drive into different towns to perform evaluations, so that will eat up a good chunk of the day and I’m constantly feeling like I’m behind in the timeline I’ve set for myself.

At the end of the day, I’ll walk home and make a stop at the internet cafe which costs $500 TZ shillings for half ‘n hour, (~$0.50 cents Cdn). I zip through emails and check the headlines of Toronto news to see what’s going on back home, then head home and make myself dinner. By this time it’s about 7pm. I’ve cooked once since I’ve been here so my dinner ends up being the fruits I buy at the stands on my way home from work and I’ll just spoon peanut butter to get some protein in me. I re-hydrate on loads of water and sit out on the balcony with my laptop and write/blog. Depending on how much I have to say or reflect on about the day, it could take from 10 minutes to an hour.

I’ll shower for the 2^nd time in the day, study my Swahili, read in bed for a bit, then hit the sack at about 10:30 and do it all over again when the roosters start crowing at 5am.

Day 27

Today I celebrate my 10-year anniversary of my Sweet 16

This is my first birthday away from home and I’m feeling terribly homesick right now.
My Birthday Wish:
Is a cure for AIDS too much to ask?
Ok, realistically…
I hope I never get sensitized to the stuff I see around me.

DAYS 10 - 16

Day 10

Touché

Malik really hit a nerve today. I was irritable to begin from the heat and long bus ride, but I was still really put off by what he said. We went downtown together for a meeting with TACAIDS (Tanzania Commission for AIDS). They were responsible for obtaining my work permit so I was to be introduced to them for the first time.

On the way we passed a schoolyard where a bunch of young children were playing. The local town kids are always so friendly and adorable that whenever I see them I always stop to say hi. We got there early and had time to kill so I started playing around with a group of them, giving high-fives, asking them questions about school & trying to talk to them in broken Swahili.

Malik was watching me with a stupid smile on his face said out of nowhere, “I think you should start making babies soon”, which right away struck a nerve that irritated me to the bone. Annoyed, I hastily answered “no, I shouldn’t”.. maybe a little too sharply, which perked him to edge on, “why not, don’t you want to have babies?” “no I don’t” I snapped and thought, what’s it to him?

Compounded by the fact that I was dehydrated, may have been on the verge of heatstroke, oh what the hell might as well throw PMS in there too.. but that’s all it took for me to be offended by his tactless comment I felt was so uncanny, invasive and personal. My annoyance just encouraged him to jabber on “why do you say that? Maybe you can’t have babies, is there something wrong with you?”

His presumptuousness just infuriated me even more. I kept shaking my head insulted that he assumed such a thing. I realize it wasn’t his intention to offend me, and perhaps it’s another difference in our cultures to make note of -that they talk openly about ‘making babies’ here, but in any case, what’s it to him when and if I want to make babies? Where does he get off asking me if there’s something wrong with me, and drawing conclusions that because I said no, there must be something physically wrong? And what right does he have to tell me I should start ‘making babies’ soon?

I was completely turned off and unreasonably upset I didn’t want to speak another word to him and didn’t feel justified in trying to explain why I was offended either cause I felt he had already overstepped his boundaries.

For the rest of the day I was distant and silent. He picked up on this and really laid out the sap. In his most syrupy voice every other word was sweetheart, darling, my love, and he kept taking my hand in his trying to get closer. I couldn’t take it anymore. I yanked my hand and snapped, “I’m not your sweetheart! So please stop calling me that, ok?” At this point I didn’t care if I overshot anymore, I was hot, dehydrated, and cranky I just wanted him to shut up… it worked, and he did.

Nursing my wounds

My mosquito bites are all starting to get scabby but still itch and bleed. I’ve got a few along my feet which is hard to keep bandaged walking around, so I end up going without. It gets dirty by the end of the day and stings like a bitch when I disinfect. I apply aloe and vit E oil but by the time it heals I just get another bite that opens up.

My bed is up against the corner of the room and both walls are windowed which is how mosquitoes have such easy access to my bed at night. The windows are screened but they seem to get through anyway. I’ve decided to shut those windows and sacrifice the breeze of fresh air and wake up in a stuffy room by morning, but at least the bites have lessened. I’ve got care packages coming my way and citronella candles are definitely on the wish list.


Day 11

My first offshore account

Got questionable funds you need to stow away somewhere? Today Bruno took me to open a bank account where my stipend will be deposited every month. My allowance is just enough to cover my daily living expenses, not including rent, which was paid for by CIDA (so thanks for paying your taxes).

The standard of living is significantly lower and my stipend alone is roughly about how much my co-workers are living off, if not more, and is considered fairly well off for someone of working class. All of them are living with their families and traditionally don’t move out until after marriage. I asked how much rent would be to live alone and it is on average about $150,000 TZ shillings/month (~ $150 Cdn).

TZ v. Mali

I know I’ve been comparing Mali and TZ a lot. For African countries, they’re worlds apart. I don’t get a desolate feeling here like I did when I was in Mali. People here seem to get by ok and just enough to get through each day. Whereas in both the city and rural villages of Mali, some families sleep at night not knowing if they’d have food to provide their children the next day. The children here are a great deal healthier than the children I worked with in Mali who were all suffering from one of either marasmus or kwashiorkor (chronic or acute malnutrition). I read recently that Mali is suffering yet another food shortage.

Tanzania doesn’t rank as low as other sub Sub-Saharan countries and is well above Mali, which last I check was 4th poorest in the world according to the UN development index, preceding Burkina Faso, Niger, then Sierra Leone if I remember correctly. I couldn’t get over how poor the conditions were and wondered how it could be any worse when you’re already ranked at 4th poorest.

Tanzania ranks somewhere in the low teens and it’s a massive difference. Conversely the four ‘power house’ countries of Africa include Egypt, S. Africa, Nigeria & Algiers and make up over 50% of Africa’s GDP. Though they pool in a lot more there’s still a huge gap in class difference and of course what’s a rich African country without corrupt government officials hoarding all the goods and depriving their own citizens of basic necessities…

Making amends

The Malik episode has boiled over and we’ve gone back to being friendly. He just received an offer to do his Masters in the UK and I was genuinely happy for him. It was a conciliatory moment when he told me the good news and I hugged and congratulated him. He’s completely pumped about it, and has been excitedly bustling about the office preoccupied with scholarship applications and other correspondence. He’s asked for my assistance with some of these things and I’m more than happy to help out.


Day 12

My work begins

Bruno and I sat down to finally go over specifics as to what my role will be over the year. I am the first cooperant they’ve ever received from Canada to work with so they have rather high expectations of me and seem to think I’m an expert sent in to fix all their problems. I’m afraid of letting them down. I’m basically expected to be their renaissance man and take on a major role in every area and aspect of their programs.

I’m fully prepared to lend them all the support I can provide but I’m not at all an ‘expert’. We had a week of pre-departure training where we went through all the stuff about intercultural learning, differences in attitudes & behaviour, and all that eye opening stuff that puts things in perspective. While that’s all very fine and good in theory, it’s a whole other story trying to apply these principles in practice.

I can already see it’s gonna be a very long year… or short depending on how I look at it.

There are funds floating around, disseminated from WHO (World Health Organization) and UN that we’re trying to secure for our body –Tanzania Network Organization for People Living with HIV/AIDS (TANOPHA). We’re the umbrella org that provides programs & services for PLHA’s (people living with HIV/AIDS) including training, education, management & care. I’ll be helping to scout out other bodies for funds and doing all the ground work from the needs-assessments to the funding proposals and follow ups. This will be on going throughout the year.

But the major part of my project will be the fieldwork. Currently there’s a budget in transit for programs in 5 rural centres across the country. I’ll be doing the programming in those 5 regions including the training, and education for PLHA’s. Our mandate is to support those already diagnosed, encourage testing and prevent new infections. Otherwise there is no other preventative component and our focus is mainly risk reduction strategies.

I’m looking forward to the travelling and seeing more of the country but also the engagement with the locals.


Day 13

Stomach-churning

I’m not reacting well to these malaria pills this time around. My health insurance wouldn’t cover Malarone, which is the most effective anti malaria pill with the least amount of side effects but also the most expensive. For a years worth it costs almost $2500 Cdn, compared to Larium, the drug I’m on which costs just over $500 for a years supply.

Side effects include vivid dreams, dizziness, nausea, but also possible psychosis, so those with a history of depression or taking anti depressants can’t take this drug. So far I’ve had the vivid dreams, major dizziness and nausea. I’ll continue to be on the lookout for psychosis.

I woke up feeling nauseous from the dose I took the night before. On the bus on the way to work my queasiness got significantly worse. I felt like I was about to hurl right there on the bus and frantically asked to be let off. I really thought I was gonna throw up on the side of the street but managed not to.

I was running late and had meetings to attend but for the life of me didn’t want to get on another bus. It was rainy and humid, which made the bus stuffy and smell bad, and when you’re pressed up against other people it just makes it that much more unbearable. So I decided to walk the rest of the way to work and show up late. I was over a half an hour late and no one seemed to notice and if they did, they didn’t care (they don’t play close attention to time here).

Meetings Begin, Issues Addressed

We prepped at the office then headed to town in the project van to meet with representatives from UNAIDS and Tanzania Commission for Social Development (TACOSODE). There were 3 reps from TACOSODE, 3 of us representing TANOPHA and one UN official who gave presentations of current activities from various regions and proposals for strategy & mobilization.

It seems like no matter which direction you turn there are major issues and obstacles. In Tanzania there is still a lot of stigma attached to HIV/AIDS and all the myths in the book are common among uneducated people. Eg. Shaking hands, drinking from the same glass, using the same cutlery, sitting in the same chair after someone else … will all lead to infection.

HIV/AIDS training and education to people who have a low level of education is a challenge and facilitators have difficulty imparting new knowledge to them.. but on the other hand, the more educated and well-off communities put themselves above their infection and don’t see the need to attend training sessions or come out in the open for that matter.

Condoms are still a major issue for men who have indicated in surveys they would, and have been willing to go without despite knowing full well they would risk infection to their partner. On the other hand female condoms are still highly priced, difficult to use, and not readily available.

UNAIDS is still hopeful for the microbicide trials to produce more optimistic results. The last batch have been a major disappointment and led to new infections. It was the first hopeful female-initiated form of protection. There’s another study in the works looking at the efficacy of the diaphragm if combined with a spermacide + microbicide (once they get the formulation right). But once again it’s all a long way off and still out of reach.

So we’re already skating on thin ice and have so little to work with, it’ll be a real challenge.

HIV/AIDS facts for those who care to know (WHO, 1999)

WORLD WIDE
· 33.6 million adults and children estimated living with HIV/AIDS globally
· 16.3 million deaths
· 5.6 million new infections
· 13.2 million children orphaned globally

In AFRICA
· 23 million cases in sub Saharan Africa (SSA)
· 4 million new infections in SSA
· 9.4 million children orphaned in Africa

In TANZANIA
· All regions in Mainland + Zanzibar affected
· Estimated over 2 million people infected
· 70.5% ages 25-49
· 15% ages 15-24
· over 72,000 new born babies infected

Disease of Poverty

One major focus of TANOPHA is income-generating activities (IGA’s). The infection has caused a vicious cycle where the more impoverished you are, the more vulnerable you are to infection. The more infections spread, the more it fuels the cycle of poverty from human capital loss and everything else that falls after affecting social and economic development.

There is truly strength in numbers and they just started working with groups to generate income as a whole. There is more support this way as opposed to helping individuals one at a time who end up falling off their treatment because they can no longer afford it or it becomes a choice between eating food or continuing treatment. They are networking with micro finance orgs in the country, which are slowly starting to emerge. I had no idea it would be this multi faceted and am pleased to know they are dealing with these issues as comprehensively and possible.


Day 14

Attention Ladies:

If you haven’t heard of the “Diva Cup” yet, google it. I’ve been using it since the beginning of this year and highly recommend it. It takes a while to get used to but once you get the hang of it, it’s absolutely amazing and you’ll never go back. It’ll be especially useful when I’m out in the bush and have to deal with this stuff.

Speaking of which, I’m not feeling particularly well today.. but thank god it’s a Friday and I’ve got the weekend to rest.

The least flattering kind of attention

The men here don’t hold back when they want your attention. They “pssst!” at you, make kissy noises, and if they know English they’ll throw out “hey baby”, “sexy mama”.. you name it, I’ve heard it. I’ve learned to let it roll off my back and if I feel it’s harmless I’ll humour them and at the very least give a smile and nod their way or answer “poa”, in acknowledgement to the greeting “mambo” and that’s all it takes to satisfy them.

The part of town I’m staying in isn’t heavily populated with many expats so I stick out like a sore thumb whenever I leave my place. And whenever I do see other foreigners they have all been men and all Caucasian. Otherwise the locals are very friendly and all want to greet you and even try and stop you for a conversation.

One benefit of being in a new country and not knowing the language is you can always feign ignorance. I’ve been using it to my advantage especially as a non-white foreigner, I can pretend not to know English & blurt out random Chinese words when I don’t want to deal with people hassling me. I do get a lot of “hey Mchina!” from the locals and still turn on impulse whenever I hear it but trying to break the habit.

No means ‘try harder’

Malik wanted me to come dancing tonight but I was seriously feeling terribly under the weather and queasy from the drugs so I politely turned him down and said another time. He took the rejection a little hard and thought I was just making up excuses, which I wasn’t.. I would’ve gone if I was in the mood and not feeling sick.. but he asked, “what is it? are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” when I told him everything was fine and no I’m not mad, he wasn’t convinced.

Oh lordy.. should I have forced myself to go just to spare his feelings? I felt like crap and knew there was no way I could handle a night of dancing, how do you tell someone “no” here? Needless to say he spent the whole night calling to try and convince me more, then texting his regrets that I couldn’t be well enough to come out tonight.


Day 15

East Side, West Side

I didn’t have anywhere to be until later this evening and was feeling tons better compared to last night so I went for a walk into town by myself. I remember in Mali hearing Tupac and thought to myself at the time, west side represent even in Africa. Today I went to the market place and heard Biggie being blasted from a truck and couldn’t help laughing to myself.

African Celebration

The director of a partner AIDS org invited me to his daughter’s send-off, which is a pre-wedding celebration. I was looking forward to seeing how people party it up in Africa. When I walked into the room I was the ONLY non-black person there and everyone kept starring, I never felt so awkward.

I came with a co-worker Henry and his fiancé Luphurise. There was a traditional dance performance with the drums, xylophone and a few other noisemakers I wasn’t familiar with. The sounds they produced were wild! Their movement was so intense and majestic, that combined with the sound and the beat, I was completely entranced. The dance built up to other acts where they ate fire!!

There was another part of the celebration where you’re supposed to go up to the couple-to-be, and wish them well through dance. Luphurise got me to participate with them and I learned to dance traditional African style.


Day 16

Around the World

God bless technology. Friends from home who are dispersed all over the globe are just a text message away -it’s amazing! I’ve been able to keep in touch with friends in Thailand (yes, that’s you Pauline!), China, India, and Europe at the same time it’s hard to believe we’re talking to each other from different continents!

I’ve also stayed in touch with the other cooperants in my training group, stationed in Africa who are in Ghana, Mozambique, Burkina Faso, & S. Africa. Of those of us posted in Tanzania, I am the only one in Dar while the others in my group are up in Arusha, 700 km away. So it’s been lonely but they check up on me every now and then. We mostly complain a lot about how frustrated we are with the bureaucracy, tally the number of marriage proposals we’ve gotten so far, and compare our bowel activity.. weird now that I think about it how it comes up so casually.

Back home, my mom and I email back and forth everyday and I’ve been able to talk to my family at least once a week so far. My parents put me on speaker and it gets chaotic talking to them both at once cause they badger me with questions. It’s funny when it’s my grandma’s turn to talk to me, she’s getting up there in age and hard of hearing, I have to practically shout into the phone.

Anthony stocks up on calling cards and we’ve been able to talk almost everyday but it’s starting to get expensive. We still have yet to perfect the art of talking rapidly to get through every topic we want to cover in 15 minutes before the phone card runs out. My youngest sis is also travelling and spending the summer in Calgary and it’s wonderful to hear her ramble about the site of the Rocky Mountains and in response I jabber on about the Indian Ocean.

Today I was overjoyed to get a call from Benjamin who I also miss very much =)

Wondering who has my hair

Before I left I hacked my hair off and donated the length to Continental Hairs, an organization that provides wigs to cancer patients. I don’t miss it so much in this heat where I would’ve kept it pinned up anyway. It’s so low maintenance now, I sometimes forget to brush it cause it just falls into place so easily. It was damn good hair though –and virgin hair at that! Never been dyed or chemically treated. I hope whoever’s got it is enjoying it!

Maintaining Hygiene

I shower twice a day and still don’t feel clean. Once in the morning out of habit, and again at night cause I feel so gross by the end of the day from the heat. Only cold water comes out of the taps, and although it’s a refreshing relief from the heat, I still miss the steam from a hot shower and don’t nearly feel as clean after.

DAYS 0 - 9

Foreward

This is where I’ll recount everything going on over the year. I’m not much of a writer so pardon my poor grammar and lack of eloquence. I will write my thoughts out at the end of every day and will upload them in batches, which I’ll indicate the period of days at the top of each entry.

I’m writing to keep myself grounded and preserve my sanity, but also to track my growth by the end of my stay here. I hope that in openly sharing my experiences it will provide perspective of a different world and life out here.

Enjoy.
Hannah

DAYS 0 - 9

Day 0

Mad rush to the airport

My parents, grandma & Anthony dropped me off. Everything was so sudden, I was already late checking in and had to rush to the gate so I very quickly said goodbye to everyone right away and couldn’t linger. There wasn’t anytime for anymore than a quick hug, I didn’t feel like I said goodbye properly. They were already boarding when I approached the gate so I didn’t have to do any waiting.

As soon as I boarded the plane and got settled into my seat, I opened the red pocket my dad slipped me just before I left. We’ve had a rocky father-daughter relationship over the years. I was never a ‘daddy’s girl’ and up until recently he hadn’t been so supportive of my decisions and was never expressive & affectionate with me. In the red pocket was a wad of cash and a note that read

to my first born:
I don’t say it but I am proud of you and will miss you.
Take care of yourself
Love you always.

That’s all it took for me to start balling up a storm right there in my seat before take-off guy sitting beside me wasn’t sure what to do and flagged down the stewardess to “fix” me. She handed me a box of tissues they probably keep handy for emotional suckers like me. We were well over the atlantic and I was still sobbing, overwhelmed from the whirlwind of events over the past week was the first time I’ve had to settle down and reflect and absorb everything that was going on.

4 hr layover in Amsterdam

people smoke inside the airport so casually it was disconcerting. I hadn’t yet had a chance to sleep during the 6 hour flight. The weekend before I had a farewell parties every night and some family came from out of town to visit so I got virtually no sleep before the actual journey.


Day 0.5

Descent to Dar

I was calm and collected for the 2nd half of the journey. I managed to get some rest and woke up feeling refreshed.

I started reading my book and it prompted the guy beside me to ask how I liked it so far cause he had read it. it was “Never Let Me Go” (Ishiguro). He was reading “100 years of Solitude” (Marquez) which was also one of the books I had brought with me. I brought a whole stack of books to read over the year (which brought me up to maximum luggage weight), and it turns out he had a stack of books I was interest in reading too!

We got to talking throughout the 7 hr flight and found that he’s a grad student fr Seattle working on Malaria research for 6 months in Morogoro, just about 200 km from where I’ll be in the city. It felt like such a relief to have met someone in the same boat as me. We’ll be trading books over the year.

After a brief stop over in Kilimanjaro we finally arrived in Dar es Salaam late at night. I was greeted by my employer, Bruno who held a sign “karibu Tanzania Hannah” (welcome to Tanzania Hannah).

They picked me up in the project van, which had the organization’s logo and red AIDS ribbons painted on the sides and front. My first ride through the city was at high-speed under a full moon and I got my first glimpse of the Indian Ocean. They drive on the left and don’t follow any traffic rules. It’s just up to you to either swerve or slam on your brakes whenever necessary.

Bruno checked me into a hotel for the next two nights. As soon as I got into my room I showered and crashed from exhaustion.


Day 1

I woke up suddenly at 5am Dar time. I couldn’t fall back asleep so I got up and paced around the room. The roosters eventually started crowing and the sun came out.

My first day in Dar was utterly lonely. I suppose it was a good thing it was low key and not too involved cause I really needed rest. I have arrived at the height of their rainy season, which to them is ‘cold weather’. January is their hottest month and could go up to 40+ (centigrade) right before the start of the rain in february – march. April, May and June are their ‘coldest’ months but by their standards cold is on average between 25-30 during the day and cools down at night to about 20. They get fairly strong winds, which are nice and breezy.

There was no one yet available to begin my orientation or show me around because it was only Saturday. Bruno wasn’t available today and the country director of CUSO wasn’t due back in the city until Monday so I was left to spend the day alone. I wandered outside to walk down the strip of road in front of the hotel. Kids were playing outside and stopped to stare. The younger ones decide to make a game out of it and follow behind me to see what my reaction would be. I was suddenly reminded of the kids in Mali and it felt right to be back in Africa.


Day 2

City of Dar

Bruno came by to “collect me” as they say here, and we began sorting out affairs like housing. We drove through the city and I got to take it in for the first time in daylight. I saw the U.S. embassy that had been bombed back in 1998, the state house –which could easily be a palace, the beaches, the merchants and fish markets by the ocean, and more market places.

New Place

Bruno took me to see the place he made arrangements for me to stay. It’s in a beautiful compound just outside the city. I am renting one room in a very large house owned by a young Tanzanian woman who also lives there but is constantly travelling on business. She has more than a few rooms to spare and converted her home into a boarding house. She enjoys the company when she’s around and when she’s away she likes knowing the house is ‘lived in’.

My rent for a full year (paid for by the Canadian Gov -CIDA) costs less than $5 grand USD. You’d be lucky to get 3 months for that much in Toronto. My room is on the very top floor and has a balcony that looks out into a courtyard. It’s small and can only fit a double bed & bedside table.

I didn’t bring a whole lot with me except clothes and some toiletries so the items that weighed me down the most were the books. I’ve actually become quite the proficient packer and have learned to survive on less from previous travel. I only packed 4 pairs of shoes including the ones I wore, pretty impressive for a girl, no?

The house itself is in a complex secured by a guard who looks like Tyrese, walks around shirtless, doesn’t smile and carries a rifle that make me nervous. I get a driver/bodyguard when I'm doing fieldwork outside the city and go into shanty towns, but otherwise I’m supposed to take the public transit to the office downtown. There is a maid that comes in to clean and do our laundry and cooks us breakfast everyday.

So it’s pretty sweet living in the city... but I guess it’s a fine balance and makes up for when we’re out in the bush for days at a time with no access to showers and have to squat over a hole in the ground while flies swarm you as you do your business.

Later that night the driver came by to help me move my things from out of the hotel into my new place. I had two pieces of luggage –a big suitcase weighing 50 lbs, and a large, heavy duty, oversized hockey bag that could easily fit a couple of bodies in it, weighing over 70 lbs. They’ve both got wheels and I was ready to wheel them both down the stairs, but he stopped me, and took the first piece, lifted it on top of his head and effortlessly went down the stairs.

I stood there in astonishment and thought, there’s no way he’ll get the 70 lbs bag over his head the same way. It’s packed tight but still pretty flimsy compared to the suitcase. But sure enough, he came back up, balanced the hockey bag over his head and went down the same way. That’s 70 lbs of pressure on your cranium! that can’t be good… but he seemed just fine.


Day 3

Immersion begins

Today I got to see the office I’ll be working out of and meet all the staff members. It is a grungy room, on the 3rd floor of a very run-down buildling, about the size of an elementary school classroom with desks arbitrarily lined up in different directions, and old computers that still run off windows 98. There is only one up to date computer located at the very center of the room and it might as well be our God. It is the only computer with internet access, runs off windows xp and has office 2007 which I haven’t even got on my own computer.

And if all else fails, there are three, count ‘em THREE typewriters that people here use on a daily basis! I don’t even remember ever handling a typewriter, except during playtime in grade school. I’ve been told it comes in handy when the power goes out. Rolling blackouts happen every day for indefinite amounts of time.

There is no privacy and everyone works alongside each other elbow to elbow. Because of the disarray of desks, rickety chairs, typewriters, & wonky computers, the office itself has a feel of a newspaper press with people bustling around and talking all at once.

One woman named Philo has already taken me under her wing and declared herself my “mama” in Dar. The moment I met her I felt right at home. She is the oldest in the office and everyone calls her “mama”. She’s one of those very bold, headstrong, nurturing, very passionate women.

During the staff meeting they each went around to introduce themselves. Neema, a really bubbly and flighty girl just a few years older than me introduced herself as “hello I’m Neema, I think I will make you my new best friend thank you very much”. That was too cute.

Malik is another program officer also just a few years older than me and will make a real African of me by the end of this year. Earlier today he asked me to “Please stop walking like a Canadian and slow down. This is Africa, there is no rush here”. (I was walking at my normal pace). He took me out for lunch and when I dared to lay a few bills on the table, he once again said “stop trying your Canadian ways here. This is Africa, I will pay”.


Day 4

5am 5am 5am 5am 5am

Compared to the last time I was in Africa my body isn’t adjusting as well. I’m really feeling the side effects of the anti malaria drugs and have been experiencing insomnia and vivid dreams every night. Since I’ve been here I have not yet been able to get a good nights rest. Every night I sleep for only a few hours at a time and wake up throughout the night. I just lie there and try to fall back asleep again which takes a while.

I’ve woken up every morning at around 5am feeling like I had just run a marathon. I try to fall back asleep for at least another hour but eventually can’t take it anymore and just get myself out of bed to start the day really early and feel completely exhausted by evening.

Mzungus

Mzungus are the names given for foreigners, namely ‘white people’. Tanzania has its share of Asians (we’re taking over the world!) and as long as you’re yellow skinned you’re automatically lumped as Mchina, which because technically I am, I don’t mind. But I’ve already gotten the “are you Chinese or Japanese?” from a few folks, and whenever I tell people I’m also part Filipino, they have to take some time to think about it. They do seem to understand the part where I tell them I was born in Canada.

I’ve noticed that since I’ve been here I haven’t yet encountered other foreigners. Today I finally got to meet the other Cooperants also stationed in Dar. Although I’ve been right at home with the people here so far, it was nice and comforting to see other foreigners who will also help guide me during my stay.

I also made a stop at the Canadian embassy to register and was looking forward to seeing more Canadians but from the outside security to the workers behind the counter at the front desk, they were all Tanzanian.

My first ride on the “Dala Dala” -Dar es Salaam public transport system

Malik, the other program officer has officially become my Dar buddy and has been an absolute gem helping me get to know the city and showing me around. Today he ‘initiated’ me by taking me on the “Dala Dala”. I’m still feeling nauseous right now.. it was smelly, loud, hot, claustrophobic, and I had absolutely no idea what the protocol was. You hop on and it’s already a full wagon but you have to find a place to squeeze yourself in.

Keep in mind these aren’t like buses in TO, they’re transport vans converted into buses that can seat probably up to 16 people UNcomfortably and maybe even 20 with people standing and hanging out the doors during their rush hour. In any case you’re literally packed in like sardines. I’m still not familiar with the routes and the names of the routes are pretty arbitrary.. like the “tomato” route or the “banana” route and so on.

The driver pulls up and the conductor guy hangs out the door waving people to step in and out, then gives the roof a loud slap indicating to the driver to proceed. He then very abrasively shakes his fist full of coins, jingling at you to pay your fare which is 250 TZ shillings, equivalent to about 25 cents Canadian.

Good luck getting off at your stop if you’re all the way at the back. You have to climb over people to get back out and sometimes the driver gets antsy and just drives to the next stop to let you off.

Walking as a pedestrian has it’s own set of challenges as well. There are no sidewalks or concept of sidewalks. You walk on whatever strip of dirt is left of the road that cars have not yet taken over. If you need to cross the street, good luck to you. There are no cross walks.

You could be standing at a major intersection for ages before there’s a gap in traffic to cross the street. I’ve done well so far by shadowing people as they cross. Compared to the streets of Toronto, Dar is a freakin jungle and I’m officially intimidated. I swear I’m gonna kiss the first crosswalk I see when I get home.

……. Got home at about 6pm, showered then crashed immediately after.


Day 5

Restless sleep again and woke up at 5am feeling like crap. This 5am business is putting a toll on me and it’s not like it’s an easy-going week for me either. There are so many admin things to take care of and I’ve been constantly on the go and completely exhausted by the time I get home at around 6pm and don’t even bother with dinner, I just pass out.

What sucks about it is that the exhaustion only lasts for a few hours into the night and I’m wide awake again by 10pm and have to go through the whole process of putting myself back to sleep. I resorted to taking gravol last night hoping it would knock me out completely.. but I think it just made things worse and I felt dizzy when I woke up the next morning.

So far this week there’s been a driver who’s come to “collect” me and bring me to the office where I meet my boss and plan the day out. Starting next week I will have to take the ‘Dala Dala’ by myself.

I spent the morning at the office just reading through material -research papers, Tanzania’s national policy on HIV/AIDS, strategic framework etc etc.. all of which are supposed to dictate the direction of the programs we will build from them. As I read through the material I began to grow despondent. There’s so much to do I don’t know where to begin. It’s a daunting task and I don’t know how much I can finish in a year.


Day 6

I have been staying at the house alone cause the owner’s been away on business the last few days, and there are no other borders other than myself yet. Last night I did a good job of psyching myself out. It’s a huge house, with large elaborate windows and fancy drapery that let in shadows at night.

When I made my way upstairs to my room I saw the shadows bouncing around from outside the bedroom and freaked out. I climbed under the covers afraid of the dark for the first time in a long time. It’s somewhat comforting to know that the guard who I’ve been calling ‘Tyrese’ is out there with his rifle.

It has become routine that I wake up in the morning, get myself ready for the day, and go downstairs to find breakfast ready and waiting for me. At some point while I’m getting ready, the maid slips into the house and starts her days work by getting my meal prepared. I’ve never been waited on like this and feel awkward every time. She doesn’t speak a word of English and my Swahili can only go so far, so there’s not a whole lot we can say to each other.

As I sit there eating, my thoughts start to race and I wonder, does she think I’m a total diva? Does she think I’m incapable of cooking for myself? Does she harbour any resentment that she has to wait on me? When I thank her does she feel I’m sincere and truly appreciative of her services? Or am I actually putting her off by constantly thanking her? Is my awkwardness making her feel awkward too? It’s hard to even imagine this kind of life in Canada.

Today there was discussion in the office about women and development, and the director mentioned the lifestyle of Masaii tribes. Of the tribes my organization has worked with, a total of 3 women have post secondary education. Only a handful complete elementary school and even less, highschool. Speaking of which, I do see Masaii in and around the city in traditional wear and they’re very well respected.


Day 7

Awww my first marriage proposal

‘Mama’ took me out for lunch today at an outdoor eatery where a lot of locals hang around and loiter throughout the day. A group of guys beside us kept starring and bothering Mama in Swahili. Mama finally translated for them and told me they’d like me to choose which of them at the table I’d like to marry.

I smirked and shook my head. The tallest guy strode over and started hovering over our table and in a heavy accent, said in English “I would like you to be my wife” then muttered more in Swahili which I can only imagine to be sexual with the gestures they started making and the hooting and hollering.

Mama, all the while got a kick out of the whole scenario and just sat there laughing hysterically, barely catching her breath to translate into English for me what was going on. I gave a weak smile.. but can only play along for so long before things get out of hand, but luckily Mama seemed to sense when I had had enough and got us out of there without anymore fuss. The guys were still hooting and clearly got their kicks with the new foreigner.

XY > XX

Some days –especially now that I’m far removed from my comfort zone, I wish I didn’t have to squat to pee, or bleed for 7 consecutive days every month, but what’s really hurting right now is that I can’t go places by myself without worrying about getting hassled or raped. As a woman I’m really feeling my limitations as to what I can do around here without compromising my safety.

It’s a Friday night at 7pm because it’s getting dark I’m afraid to step outside by myself and explore. I went out briefly to buy more phone credit and the sun was already starting to set and the roads were thinning out so I would stick out like a sore thumb if I were to go out by myself right now. I hate having to rely on the company of a bodyguard or another local here just to walk around.

Sometimes I just need a break from people and want time alone, and I like being able to do things by myself like I do back home. It really irks me that a male foreigner doesn’t nearly have the same concern or vulnerability. Since the beginning of time, we’ve always gotten the short end of the stick and it sucks ass. UGH.

The power has gone out for the 3rd time today and it’s nearly 9pm. I’m in my room on my bed with the laptop and flashlight on beside me. I don’t have a lot of juice left on my battery and it will die out soon so I’m calling it night.


Day 8

Adaptation

There are certain things that would normally freak me out back home that don’t nearly have the same impact here. Like in the morning I expect to see a few ants crawling around in the sugar bowl and just make sure to be extra careful not to scoop them into my coffee. Like how every household has it’s family of spiders living amongst them, lizards grace the walls indoors and I’ve grown accustomed to seeing them scurrying across the walls or floor.

The site of certain foods still make me cringe from time to time but at least I know when I order fish at a restaurant it will come with the head & fins intact. The smell of boiled cow isn’t so offensive anymore and tasting other authentic dishes isn’t so much a challenge anymore as it is an adventure. I haven’t yet been asked to try anything completely outlandish like hippo or zebra yet… but when the time comes, bottoms up!

Then again, the foods have really done a number on me here. From the very start people have been taking me out to eat and I don’t want to offend anybody by not eating a food item they took the time to order especially for me and pay. I have to all but plug my nose to down some of the stuff they’ve asked me to try. By last night my GI tract couldn’t handle anymore and I spent the whole night purging.

My beloved Grandma, god bless her, equipped me with loads of Chinese medicine knowing full well what was in store for me, and with it I slowly nursed myself to a healthier intestinal flora by morning. I’m still a bit queasy but luckily it’s the weekend so I can just take it easy and let things settle until Monday.

I don’t go to bed alone..

I sleep under a mosquito net that has supposedly been doused in DEET so not only should it protect me from mosquitoes it should also repel them. But somehow, they manage to get in there anyway and I’ve woken up with new bites every morning. I don’t think Malian mosquitoes got me as bad as these ones, and we were even in the bush that time.

These ungodly creatures have actually managed to break through my skin, leaving a slightly open scab after they’ve feasted on my blood and by morning, there are noticeable little dots of blood on my sheets. I’ve got bites up and down my legs, arms, shoulders and neck that itch like crazy it’s driving me insane! I’ve been piling on the afterbite but as soon as it dries up it just itches more!

I heard a scare story where a foreigner on anti malaria meds contracted malaria anyway and suffered pretty bad and went blind. I’m not religious at all but realize I’ve been referring to God a lot lately… I hope to GOD (if you do exist) please don’t let me contract malaria.

The reaction of everyone around me is kind of funny when they see my bite marks. They point to it, shake their head and say “I’m very sorry” (Pole in Swahili). It’s quite touching actually that they’re so concerned and feel the need to express their sympathy over my mosquito bites.

I got ‘Tyrese’ to smile!!

I went to the market to load up on fruits, which they’ve got an abundance of here! Fresh banana’s, coconut, pineapple, avocado, passion fruit, papaya, I’m in tropical heaven! When I was let into the compound, Tyrese automatically made a grab for my bag of groceries to carry it into the house for me.

I’m still not accustomed to the help around here, and when I insist on doing something myself I’m not sure if they see it as a sincere effort to try and make their life easier, or if they’re just insulted that I’ve turned down their offer to help. Anyway, I was afraid to do the latter so I let Tyrese take my bags in, and felt I had to thank him so I offered him a banana. He chuckled but took it and actually smiled.

ARRRRRRRGGGH

The power went out AGAIN. I was in the shower when it happened and had to finish rinsing off soap in the dark and grope my way back to my room. It’s about 8pm and already dark out. I’m just sitting in bed with my flashlight and the battery on my laptop is at 15%.

I can think of fun ways to fill the time during these blackouts… thank god for cold showers.


Day 9

I woke up with a dead mosquito in my bed!!!!!

It was so gross, it was squashed and it’s legs were torn apart and spread out over my sheet and there was a bit of blood from when it exploded. It must’ve come into my net and I probably scratched at it while it was biting me and we must have battled in my sleep. But I guess I won case the bastard is dead.

Lives of the rich & famous in Africa

I spent the day with the Hoyce, the owner of the home I’m staying in. She had just returned from South Africa on business. She’s what you’d imagine to be true African beauty. She’s got large, round, gorgeous dark eyes, very tall –probably around 5’10-11, lean but curvy, and light caramel skin. When I was reading the paper a few days ago, I saw her picture in it and learned she was Miss Tanzania in ’99.

For a Tanzanian woman she is very Westernized, has travelled everywhere and spent time in various parts of the world including Canada –in Montreal. She also attended universities in the States and France.. and what she does now is vague.. something about public relations, so I imagine she must come from money.. and when you’re rich in Africa that could mean anything from oil to gold or diamonds.

She showed me her master suite in the house and her room was filled with designer everything –from louis vuitton boots, jimmy choo shoes, gucci jeans, to channel purses. She would totally fit in with the yuppies who eat, shop and hang out in Yorkville back home.

We had lunch together, she took me to one of the biggest hotels in Dar where a lot of foreigners stay on business. I’ve been so impressed with her worldliness and wealth that when we got to talking, I was taken back when I realized she assumed I come from money like herself. She exclaimed how impressed she was of my sense of adventure, courage and compassion to scale down from my own lifestyle and come to a poor country to work, and how she hopes when I’m not working, living in the house with the hired help will make me feel at home.

I’m still not sure if people from here understand the lifestyle of the 1st world and whether they assume you’re affluent so long as you’re from Canada/America. I am certainly not and have had my share of struggles, certainly not to the same extent as those living in poverty here, but still not extravagant and comfortable as they think.

I haven’t given much thought to how people here perceive me until now. I did take a major salary cut to come out here, but did they think I had a lot of money to begin with that I can afford to give up my job and life back home for a year to come here? I suppose it’d be easy to assume this if I were in their situation. But I HAVE sacrificed a lot to come here. I left a good paying job, my family, friends, and everything I love back home to do something that I believe in. I hope one way or another they realize this.