DAYS 114 – 139

Day 114

A cynic is born

I feel like being here is slowly depleting the bright optimism I once had, and replaced by a toxic load of bitter cynicism. Being here requires a lot of that positive stuff I used to bank on, but these days I come up short, and it is now undervalued currency.

When dealing with depressing situations I can relate with other cooperants who, like me, are also on the forefront of everything, experiencing the same things. Since the other girls are all the way up in Arusha it isn’t often I get to see them. But whenever we do get together, I have to say I’m a bit perturbed at how jaded I’ve become. Granted we tend to drink a lot when we go out, but I find myself laughing and joking along about things that aren’t so funny. It’s become our coping mechanism -to turn everything into a sardonic joke so that we can better deal with it and I’m ashamed this is what it’s come to.

Last time we got together up in Arusha we were joking about a computer virus that originated from Kenya and spreading all over Tanzania’s computer systems and networks. Of course we began kidding about condom use, ARV’s, and USB ‘sticks’. Then we moved onto the absurd questions and assumptions we get from HIV positive patients during counselling sessions at treatment centres. When you work in HIV/AIDS it’s not really funny considering the conditions of the people we work with not to mention their state of poverty and level of education. Yet, there we were talking about it and having a good chuckle.

The other day I was hanging out with Dennis another Canadian from Toronto and we mockingly pointed out how World Vision doesn’t have to go far out into the bush to find flies swarming kids to shoot for their commercials. Right here in the city, children are starving and probably have a lot more than just flies swarming their bodies –fleas, ticks, and other blood sucking pestilence.

Then we began joking around how easy it is to get blood diamonds here (it really is easy). All you need to do is not care about humanity then seek out the right people to hook you up in the illegal diamond trade, then you’re on your way to making a bloody fortune. “Damn morals, always getting in the way” Dennis exclaimed. We remained quiet for a while; contemplating how true his statement was on so many levels.

Of course change is inevitable, but I feel like over a short period of time I’ve changed so much and have already turned from a positive and optimistic person, to a very cynical and jaded one.


Day 115

Sunday Marathons with Hassan

It’s become a regular thing on Sundays I go running with Hassan, the guy who sells me fruit at the market place. I wake up bright and early when the sun hasn’t yet made an appearance and catch a fresh morning breeze. By 6am I set out to join him at the main road. By this time the sun has freshly risen and not burning yet. From town to the beach takes about 25 minutes running at a moderate pace, non-stop. When we get there we do laps up and down the shore for at least half an hour, then another 25 minute run back to town. In total I would guess we run at least a good 5k each week. I had missed running with my sister back home every weekend along the lakefront, but running along a real ocean coast, breathing in the salty air, beats smelly Lake Ontario any day.


Day 116

Productive flirting

Today I was working downtown at a Voluntary Counselling and Treatment Centre (VCT). At the end of the day I was helping to pack up and load the van when a group of guys approached. They were harmless, young high school boys who had just been let out of class, and looking for entertainment. I didn’t feel threatened by them and played along with their flirting.

The ringleader leans up against the van and begins “Mambo mchina, za saizi mpenzi wangu?” yo Chinese person, how’s it going my love?

I answer, “Safi sana mpenzi wangu, umeshafika hapa?” It’s going well my love, come here often?

“No, but I’ll come more often if I know you’re gonna be here” his crew snickers behind him

“Aww, that’s sweet of you, if you’re gonna stick around you might as well test for HIV while you’re at it.”

“Nah, I don’t need to, I’m clean baby, I know it! Aren’t I, boys?” He turns to his support group behind him and they continue to snicker

“How can you be sure? Have you ever tested before?” I ask,

“Not yet, but anything for you my love. If I test can we get together?”

“Depends on the results, you’ll have to show me first and if I like what I see….” I trail off

“Ok, I’ll test right now, and show you my results, I promise you I’m clean” he replied eagerly (a little too eagerly).

“Only one way to be sure,” I said with a coy smile, and then gestured to the whole posse “It’s a good idea for everyone to test. You should all test; it’s free and costs you only your time. You should test regularly –at least twice a year, every year, because it’s good to know your status and have peace of mind that you’re really, truly ‘clean’. Anyway it’s generally good health practice to get your self checked regularly to make sure you’re well and fit. And if every time you test ‘clean’ you should still practice safe sex and never go without condoms so that you stay clean. Sawa? (Agree?)”

Some of them nodded in agreement, convinced.

I leaned toward him and whispered audibly so the others can still hear, “And let me tell you, if you pass the test, the possibilities are endless…” I said just as my fellow co-workers came out to join me and pack up the rest of the equipment into the van. Phew, saved by the bell!

Mission Accomplished

We piled into the van and as we drove off I looked back and saw that they were all entering the clinic to do what I hoped they would do. And if they did, I will have accomplished more than I had hoped in my day’s work today.


Day 117

Close calls

Today was a hectic day but I walked home after work like I usually do. I hung out with the guys at the market, and then stopped by the Internet café to quickly check email. By the time I was finally on my way home it just getting dark. As I walked down the road leading to my neighbourhood, a white van pulled onto the shoulder of the road ahead of me.

As I approached, I recognized two men from the same building at work. The driver rolled down the window called out my name and asked if I needed a ride. I remembered greeting them hello a few times when we passed each other in the building so I figured I must have given them my name at some point. But other than seeing them around the building compound and saying hello, I didn’t know them at all.

I politely declined and continued to walk. I walked ahead a few feet when the car door opened abruptly and the man in the passenger’s seat stepped out to demand more sharply, “Get in the car now and we’ll take you home, we’re offering you a ride so the right thing to do is accept it”

He strode up to me, and then began tugging at my arm, pulling me in the direction of the van, trying to usher me towards the door the driver had already gotten out to open for me, gruffly saying “I don’t want any nonsense from you, get in the car now”

I resisted while talking calmly, thanking them for their offer to drive me, but inside I was freaking out. This is how girls get raped and killed, I thought. I didn’t wait to further analyse the situation and reacted. I found myself breaking free from their grasp and without stopping to think, darted across the high traffic road as car horns blared and high beams frantically flashed at me.

It was dark and I don’t think I appreciated how dangerous it was crossing the street so hastily and cutting it real close to the speeding cars. Providence must have shown on me at that very moment cause I miraculously made it to the other side without so much as a scratch.

The guys would have to pull a U-y to get to me and a good stream of traffic was flowing in from both directions. I watched them from the other side of the road as they got back in the car, and pulled off the shoulder back onto the road.

I shuddered and thought to myself, which was the close call? The strangers who were dragging me into their car? Or dashing across the street while traffic was speeding through? At any other second could I have been road kill by now? Should I have just accepted the ride with those men? Is it possible that perhaps they were really sincere in their offer to give me a lift and really would have taken me home? Am I naïve to even consider that?

I decided to walk back towards a hotel where taxicabs were parked. Never mind that it would’ve taken me only another 15 minutes to walk the rest of the way home, I took one of those cabs and paid for a five-minute drive home.

When I got home I was still shaken up. I skipped dinner, crashed in bed and tried to sleep away the evening’s events in hopes that the next morning I could wake up and it never happened.


Day 118

Tanzania Style Retribution

After yesterday’s close call I wasn’t sure how to deal with it so I decided to report the incident to the guys at work. Little did I know I would soon learn the Tanzanian protocol.

As I recounted the scene they peppered me with so many questions wanting to know all the details. Edwin, one of the temporary project officers I’ve been working with, was insistent that we search for them and during lunch brusquely walked me around the building compound to point them out if I spotted them.

I didn’t spot them, and I didn’t have to. They weren’t around but the white van was in the parking lot with the unmistakable rusted bumper. I even recognized the fluorescent pink air freshener they had stuck on the dash and the Manchester United sticker on their windshield. This was enough for them, and I was off the hook in having to face up to either of those men again. But what I didn’t know was that there would later be major confrontation on the grounds.

I learned that night they waited for the guys to come back to the van, and beat up the one that showed. To what degree, I don’t know and in any case I didn’t want to find out. Police were not involved and even if they were, people prefer to take it upon themselves to seek justice. From what I heard, harsh words were exchanged, groups formed, sides were taken, punches thrown and at the very end, death threats promised. They had made a mountain out of a molehill and I felt awful for bringing it up to begin with.

I absolutely hate any kind of violence especially when it can easily avoided in situations like this. I have zero respect for people who automatically resort to their fists to resolve conflicts. Fighting is what immature, dim-witted, idiots do because they lack the brains to think before they act and work out issues diplomatically. I guess it’s no different here and some guys are just naturally inclined to scope out trouble even when it would’ve been so much easier to simply walk away.

I was livid that they went crusading on my behalf without even asking me how I felt about it. And if they got any sort of cheap thrill out of provoking that fight, then it was more for their benefit than it was for mine. They made things worse for me and if anything compromised my safety rather than secure it. I was informed a car would be coming to pick me up the next morning to go to the office because it isn’t safe for me to walk by myself for the next while in case there is any hostility against me.

I resent each and every one of them for this.


Day 119

Bitterness lingers

I was picked up in a car to go to work today and the guys each offered to escort me home for the next few weeks until they felt it was safe for me to walk by myself. After the brawl last night, the two culprits who tried to pull me into their car were still hostile and the guys feared if they catch me alone they might react and harass me.

While we were in the field I gave them the iciest cold shoulder they tried to thaw-out by laying on extra sickeningly sweet sap that just made me want to hurl. Their attempt to suck up to me didn’t make up for their stupidity the previous day and if anything it was just demeaning.

My anger and resentment escalated that by the time we got back to the office I was fed up and slipped out quietly to go home by myself. I didn’t want their escort services and thought if anything happens to me it will teach them a lesson not to be stupid and react with fists without considering the person they’re reacting on behalf of.

Ok… so maybe it wasn’t any more intelligent of me to do what I did by putting myself at risk, and the guys held me to that. They set off on a rant, and that evening I found Baraka pounding at my door furious.

My anger flared up again and I was angry that they were angry, and Baraka was angry that I was angry, and I was even angrier that he was angry that I was angry, especially because it was all their fault to begin with. Our voices were raised at each other and it didn’t look like I was going to win this one. Suddenly I felt exhausted and relented. He continued ranting while I quietly began sobbing. I wanted to go home.

We seem to have developed a weird connection that whenever I’m on the brink of bailing out, he senses it. He held me and let me sob for a while before he spoke again, softly this time, “Please promise you won’t ever do that again? You’re like our baby sister. You made us really worried and we just don’t want you to get hurt.”

I guess maybe I was a tad stubborn myself in refusing to cooperate with their efforts to keep me safe. I decided my time here is too short to be holding grudges. I thought maybe I could even use it to my advantage and explore places I wouldn’t normally explore by myself because of the safety risk. I agreed with their safety terms on the condition that after a few weeks things go back to normal.


Day 120

If you’re achin’ for some bacon…

A popular bar/pub or hangout food is kitimoto [kee-tee-moh-toh]. It is perhaps the equivalent of wings back home. I can see my vegetarian sister cringing and maybe even gagging as she reads this (Sorry Christine). Kitimoto is roasted pig similar to Filipino lechon or Hawaiian roasted pork, but hacked up into small bite size crunchy pieces and you eat off the same platter using your hands. You can also choose which sauce you want it cooked in –tomato, hot peppers or plain.

You order by the kilo and it comes in a large platter you share amongst everyone. It is the dish you eat when you go to the pub to watch soccer matches (People here are very dedicated to football). It’s the dish you bond over, while getting drunk. The guys from work invited me out to the bar with them and treated me to my first kitimoto experience. I was with 3 other guys and without any difficulty we managed to down over 3 kilos of pig. We also did a pretty good job of drinking away this past week’s events.

Konyagi [kon-yah-gee]

Alcohol in Swahili is pombe [pomb-eh]. Tanzanian’s have their own brands of beer including Serengeti, Kilimanjaro, Safari, and Ndovu (which means elephant in Swahili). I’m not a beer drinker, but I’m not much of a drinker period. So when it comes to beer I’d still rather take liquor over beer. Thus began my first Konyagi experience. Tanzania’s popular drink is their gin and tonic. Konyagi is their own brand of gin and very very very strong.

A 500mL bottle, depending where you go, can cost about the equivalent of between 50-80 cents, so you can imagine how easy it is for even the poorest drunkards to get their fix at any time. They also come in small plastic 200mL pouches you can buy for the equivalent of 20 cents. A little goes a long way and 40% alcohol will do you in just after a drink. I know I can’t hold my liquor as well as others, but I can usually tolerate at least a couple of drinks before I surrender for the night. The guys I was with, each had their own 500mL bottle and with their tonic water, easily polished it off by the end of the night without appearing noticeably drunk. With Konyagi, all it took was a couple sips for me and then I was finished. The guys were kind enough to make sure I got through the front door that night.


Day 121

Tanzania V. Uganda

Today we got a group together to attend the first ever football (football means soccer) match at the brand new national stadium in Dar es Salaam. There were six of us including myself, the guys from work –Baraka, Malik, Moses and Henry, and Hassan -my friend from the market. It took a bit of careful coordination, the six of us coming from different locations across the city.

We met at a central junction where Henry, who offered to be the driver of the day, came to collect us. The stadium was a little ways on the outskirt of the city, probably comparable to the distance between Toronto’s Pearson Airport, and downtown Toronto. We loaded up in his car and the safari to the stadium began (safari means ‘travel’ or ‘journey’ in Swahili). We each chipped in for gas, and paid for our own tickets, which set us back a whopping 5000 shillings (about the equivalent of $4.50 Cdn), for ground level seats!

We got there and it was already chaotic. Traffic was trickling in from all directions, as everyone wanted to check out the Millennium Stadium and experience the first game. Peddlers were all there to capitalize on the event and swarmed spectators to sell them Tanzanian flags, t-shirts and other Tanzania branded goods. When we finally found parking after what seemed a dozen times of circling, we lined up with the rest of the crowd waiting to enter the stadium. It’s probably no bigger than the Skydome in Toronto, but I was impressed nonetheless how much they put into the design and construction.

Some Tanzanian/Football background

I learned that President Kikwete, just elected 2 years ago, is a huge fan of football and encouraging football initiatives. He poured a lot of funds into building the stadium and even got the former Brazilian soccer coach to come to Tanzania to shape-up the national team. It was a bit of a controversy how much money he spent on soccer instead of other important social needs i.e. Health care, education. Needless to say die-hard soccer fans were very enthusiastic with the new leader’s interest in the national team, and didn’t mind so much. Though the team has improved some, they still have a long way to go and don’t stand a chance in the next few World Cups. At the moment Tanzanians are hoping they can at least make the African cup next year.

Another interesting thing I learned was that most construction bids go to China, and it was the Chinese who built the stadium including a number of Tanzania’s main highways. China and Tanzania relations go way back to when their first president Julius Nyerere, who was a dedicated Marxist and said to have apprenticed with Mau, adopted Socialism to Tanzania when he was elected in 1964.

It was later in his presidency when Tanzania went through a brain-drain, and many Tanzanians studied abroad and brought back Capitalist principles, that his pull for socialism was challenged. Tanzania has only recently transitioned to Capitalism and though there have been many developments, they still have a long way to go and still down on the World Bank’s list of lowest earning income countries.

Back to Football!

There was a mad stampede through the gates when people were finally permitted to enter the stadium. Luckily I had my entourage of guys with me who fought off the pushy crowd and I suffered only a few shoves in the ribs.

When we recovered from the madness of entering the stadium, we headed over to our seats. It wasn’t reserved seating and you could sit anywhere you wanted within the level you were permitted. But of course that didn’t stop people from crossing over the bars into the next closest level. We were already at ground level and didn’t want to be separated so we stayed put.

It was an open stadium and you can see the sun slowly going down until we were left in the dim light. The stadium lights suddenly flashed and the players burst out onto the field for warm up. I looked around me and marvelled at the large crowd of fans that had filled the stands.

The official police band led us through the Tanzania National Anthem (I now know the words and can sing along), and the game was on. People in the stands were really into it and you could feel the team spirit surging through the crowd. The guys I was with were also pretty rowdy, trying to lead our section of the crowd through the wave and other chants to boost our team. When I wasn’t displaying enough enthusiasm they made sure to get on my case and had me chanting and clapping along with them. They said they had christened me to be a true Tanzanian.

Victory!

At the half time mark, neither side had scored yet. Our energy had died down when about a quarter of the way into the second half Tanzania scored one! Everyone went wild and the crowd got caught up in a huge frenzy, it was pretty elevating. You could totally feel the love radiating throughout the stadium. There was a lot more kicking the ball back and forth and no one scored again thus Tanzania’s Taifa Stars secured one win against the Uganda Cranes.

Everyone was still on a high and in celebration mode as we exited the stadium. If entering was chaotic, I don’t even know how to describe our exit. It was total and utter mayhem. But as we took our turns squeezing through the crowd everyone was all smiles and friendly.. some a little too friendly from the effects of the alcohol they had been drinking throughout the game. As usual I stuck out a little bit as probably the only female mchina in our cluster and I got a lot of “hongera sana, Mchina, nashukuru kwa stadium!” Congratulations Mchina and thanks so much for the stadium you built us! Yep, us Chinese are all one and the same…

When we reached outside, it was more madness as people horded towards their vehicles. We had parked a bit of a distance away from the grounds and walking towards the car was whole other journey. I let the guys lead and they cleared the way for me as they pushed through the crowd. Of course when you have a crowd that big, it’s inevitable not to have a brawl and we had to skirt scuffles just starting up. Thankfully we made it to the car without getting separated.

During the drive home we passed a large crowd of people who were headed back home on foot. They were jogging in one motion and chanting in unison in Swahili “we’re warriors, we tore them up!”. We saw many others who couldn’t afford the transport from the stadium back to the city, and went back on foot which is a good 50 some kilometres. We also saw large groups who shared transport on the way back and there were pickup trucks of at least 30 people hanging off.

Traffic was backed up and we were slowly moving. As we passed the people marching back on foot, we chanted along with them “tumeshinda, tumeshinda”. We bade each other goodnight as Henry dropped each of us back home. It was fun to experience it with the group of guys who were great company and I appreciated them making me feel like family.


Day 122

Arusha comes to Dar, part II

2 of the Arusha girls are in town for a weeklong conference on fund development. When there are conferences that bring us in the same city we usually take advantage of them to get together and hang out. It is during these catch-up sessions that our cynicism starts leaching out and we pour to each other our challenging encounters, trying times, and unpleasantries.

Although these sessions can get pessimistic, somewhere in there we manage to remember the positive impacts we’ve made and enriching moments we’ve learned, that have strengthened us and allowed us to grow. I guess as human nature goes, the negative always surfaces first before the positive is acknowledged. To top it off, the nature of the work we do sometimes makes it difficult to remember the positive, especially when it feels like most of what you see is negative.


Day 123

Sex thesis

Sex always makes an interesting conversation over drinks. When you work in HIV/AIDS, sex tends to come up a lot, pretty casually. We’ve collected enough stories from the field and made enough observations that we could write a whole thesis on sexual behaviours and practices. But at the same time, it also raises a lot of questions. It makes you wonder what research and studies have yet to be conducted.

Theory A: Size does matter and bigger isn’t better, but deadlier

· It’s a known fact that the HIV rate among women is the highest in the world, particularly in Sub-Saharan Africa
· The virus can be easily transmitted to women through cuts and lesions in the vagina
· From what we’ve heard African men are generally categorized as being well endowed
· From personal testimonies we’ve gathered while working in the field, we also learned that African men don’t generally do a good job of preparing the women beforehand… in other words, they don’t warm up the oven before shoving in the turkey
· Taking size into consideration, a large unit, plus insufficient preparation would make it easier to form cuts and lesions making women more susceptible to infection than if they were well lubricated and had intercourse with a smaller unit (although of course the risk of infection without the use of a condom is still present)
· But in the context of virus transmission, bigger causes more damage, thus effective and efficient transmittal of the virus compared to smaller units that wouldn’t do nearly enough damage

And from this we arrived at more questions and subsequent theories:

Theory B: Type of sex
· After considering size, the kind of sex, whether rough, or tender and gentle, may also factor in the risk of infection
· If I remember the statistics correctly, victims of rape will almost always test positive
· Whereas gentle, tender sex may be lower in probability

Theory C: Importance of foreplay
· No matter how big or small the turkey, warming up the oven is absolutely essential

NOTE: of course as HIV/AIDS workers we’re supposed to also advocate the use of condoms. Condom use would be the most effective protection against infection.


Day 123

Education in Tanzania

As we continue to work with children in orphanages I’ve learned a lot about the state of education in Tanzania. Tanzania’s education system was adopted from the British system. Primary school is from standard 1–8, and Secondary school continues in forms. There two stages in high school, forms1–4 constitutes Ordinary Level Secondary School, and those who are qualified to continue to the next stage will graduate to Advanced Level Secondary School, and graduate from form 5 and 6. When putting it into North American perspective, think of form 5 and 6 as a grade 13 & 14.

Standardized national exams are written at level 8, and both stages of secondary school. They are probably comparable to the SAT’s, and but in the case of those writing at level 8, they are used to determine which secondary school certain students are eligible to attend. At the Secondary level, the marks are used to group students into divisions after which, government post-secondary institutions, one of which is the University of Dar Es Salaam, will accept the top ranked division into their programs.

Towards the end of this summer I noticed students huddled at the newspaper stand everyday and learned that they were looking out for their marks to be published. Their scores are published in the National Gazette and this is how they are informed of which division they have been classified under. Those in the rural villages, and others with no access to computers and Internet find out how they fare through the Gazettes.

Universal Education in Tanzania is not so ‘universal’ after all

According to the UNDP in Tanzania, 2005:
· 1 million children attend primary school
· Half of these children, (500,000) attend ordinary level Secondary school
· 40 percent of this attend high level Secondary (300,000)
· Less than 1 percent of this number attend university

And so, there remains a huge gap between those who make it to the end, and those privileged enough to have been on board the education train at all.

If education is the greatest tool anyone could possess in this world, there are millions still unarmed.


Day 125

Office politics, part II

There are a lot of management issues with the organization and the executive committee has been interfering with the business of the office and staff trying to pull string so things roll in their favour. People living with HIV/AIDS (PLHA’s) who are members of the TANOPHA network, have been complaining that our office staff doesn’t comprise of enough PLHA’s.

Out of 12 permanent staff only four are HIV positive while the others are indirectly affected whether through a family member, or widowed. The PLHA’s feel that as an HIV/AIDS organization, TANOPHA isn’t well represented as a true organization devoted to HIV/AIDS issues and we should be hiring more positive employees.

The problem isn’t about whether someone is HIV positive or not, it’s about whether they are qualified to do the job. It’s as if it’s an entitlement and demands are being made to be favoured for employment and financial benefits. Of course when it comes time a job posting has been made public, no one rushes forward to apply for it with the necessary requirements. Some feel like they should be automatically handed the job because of their status.

When I used to work in community services in Toronto I dealt with the same behaviour where some underprivileged individuals felt it an entitlement to receive favours and handouts. But for this same reason remained in the same state and never progressed. They don’t realize that to get ahead sometimes it takes a little bit of ingenuity and hard work. But God forbid someone should have to work hard to be successful.


Day 126

Unexpected day-off

Today was an office day but it’s hard to do work in the office when there is no electricity. So I gave myself the day off and went to town (literally) with Henry who was my escort that day. We wandered around and enjoyed the surprise day-off. We strolled through the city centre and found a cute little bookstore owned by a South African. I was excited to learn they had new titles and standard classics. I had missed perusing the used bookstores in Toronto and getting lost in a mound of books.

On our way back I wanted to pass through alleyways I wouldn’t go on my own. Since I had Henry with me it wouldn’t be as dangerous. I found myself bombarded by peddlers who swarmed me with shoes, purses and blouses. They were all over me like paparazzi on Lady Di, and I let myself be engulfed in their frenzy to make a sale. I bought a couple of items I didn’t really need just for the thrill of striking a bargain. I wouldn’t have had the guts to do this if I had been alone. Looks like the guy’s escort services were paying off after all.

When we passed by the office on my way back, the power still had not been restored so I didn’t feel bad about playing hooky. It wasn’t a productive day at all but I still felt I made good use of it just by taking more time to enjoy the city.


Day 127

In the company of men

I’m the only girl on our team of field officers and at times it’s frustrating working with all guys. As great as they are to work with some days it gets tired. I never considered myself a “one-of-the-guys” kind of girl, but I’ve found myself hanging out with them more often outside of work and I hardly notice anymore that I’m the only girl in their company.

What do I know, I’m just a girl

Sometimes working with the guys makes me wish I had a penis just so I could be taken seriously. I’ve worked with guys before, in fact my summer job throughout university was with guys and I never had to deal with any of the issues I’ve been dealing with here. [Rob, Andrew or Mike, if you’re reading this, you guys were awesome, thanks!]

It’s not one particular thing but a series of little things that drive me nuts. For example:

During meetings where we debrief on our work from the field to our boss, I have to compete with them to talk at all. They don’t let me get a word in edgewise and completely dominate the discussion. When I try to cut-in to give my opinion, one of them will brush it off and further elaborate on what they thought I was trying to say when in actuality it doesn’t even come close.

Baraka is the worst of them all. In the field, he insults my intelligence when he explains work plans and procedures to me that I, in fact, wrote myself. If I question anything or voice a concern, he smiles at me like I said something amusing as he reaches out to brush my hair behind my ear and answers, “don’t worry about it, just let us take care of it”, of course ‘us’ being the guys, because what do I know, I’m just a girl. I wish I could hack his hand of when he does that.

When we’re returning from he field and I’m directly asked how a job went, he’ll act like my personal spokesperson and answer for me. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination but some days I think he purposely pulls the most degrading assertions out of his chauvinistic hat:

“She found it tough today, poor thing”, when we had just come from a crowded hospice full of dying people, of course I would find it tough, doesn’t mean I can’t do the job.

“She’s too tired now to explain, let her rest a bit”, when we had just done a full days work in the scorching heat

“Our little girl’s doing just great”,...little girl? Seriously?

“She was a good girl today and helped us finish early”, maybe because I don’t run on African time where everything is done in the most inefficient way!

One day I had had it with them and silently protested. When it was time to pack-up I sat with my arms crossed refusing to lend a hand. When they asked for my help I replied “oh sorry, but I can’t, I’m just a girl”, as I looked down to study my nails.

As they looked up at me from their work I saw tiny light bulbs spark to life as comprehension slowly seeped into their feeble brains.

At least I thought I did.

They just shrugged their shoulders and Baraka replied “Ok sweetie, if you say so”. Seriously?? I wasn’t in the mood to be placated. I gawked at him for a second before I lunged at him. The others had to hold me back and when I had calmed down the relentless teasing began.

It doesn’t matter that I have never given them any reason to doubt or undermine my skills or ability to do the work. I know I’m good at what I do, I was chosen out of hundreds of applicants across Canada to come out here and do the job. But these people are still stuck in the stone ages where the mentality is ‘what do girls know, they’re just girls’.

Africa is still a man’s world and unless you have a penis you just can’t freakin’ win.

Goodbye Baraka

Today was Baraka’s last day as a programme officer at TANOPHA. He was one of the temporary officers whose funding had run out. Temp employment is pretty much the norm here, especially in the NGO sector because most of the jobs depend on funding from donors.

He was pretty eager to leave, frustrated with the politics, constant budget constraints and lack of resources to work with. And I wasn’t at all sad that he was leaving either. As good a friend he is, I couldn’t stand working with him. But despite the constant disagreements and arguing in the field we’ve grown close and he’s become my “rafiki wakaribu” (best friend) since I arrived. I’m grateful for his friendship, which will now be able to thrive now that we don’t have to work together.


Day 128

Blast from the past

Looking around at how people live here in Tanzania, it’s almost as if people are still living back in the 50’s when everything was basic and simple. I’m amazed at how people can get by on so little, and do work with very rudimentary tools and unsophisticated equipment. It’s startling when you compare to how advanced we are at home.

For example, any sort of extensive digging back home would be done with a sophisticated digging machine that would dig as deep as you would need it. Here, everything is done manually. If you need to dig deep into the ground to start any sort of construction, you hire about a dozen men, supply them with shovels, and in a week or two they get down as deep as a machine would in a day.

If you need cement to lay bricks or whatnot, you make your own. Collect the right type of rocks and crush them using a sledgehammer then mix it up yourself. If you need new furniture like a bed, sofa, chair, shelves etc, you don’t wander into your local Ikea, you seek out your local woodworker who will custom fashion for you whatever you need.

Conversely if you are that small-time local woodworker who agreed to deliver the furniture, but don’t own a vehicle, you deliver using your bike-wagon (bicycle with wagon attached at the back). You somehow balance the bed frame or couch across the wagon, tie it securely with lots of rope and pedal as far as you need to with the weight behind you, to deliver your service.

Other things that throw you off and make you forget you’re living in the new millennium:

Dirt roads
Soda comes in glass bottles instead of cans
Modestly dressed women in long skirts, and African dresses
Traditional Maasai walking around in traditional wear
Market places, fruit stands, and women carrying baskets
People carrying and transporting sacks in top of their heads
Other bigger things are transported via bicycle or wheelbarrows
Old vans from the 60’s now used as public transport
There are post offices instead of mail boxes
Mud huts and straw houses in the rural areas
Donkey used for transport in the rural areas
Manual plows in rural places
Old fashioned water pumps
Rustic living –charcoal stoves
Garbage is burned
Shoe-shine and repair stand at almost every corner you see
Clothes ironed using old fashioned irons you have to heat on a stove and kept hot by containing charcoal
You have to go some nights without power and light candles
All laundry is washed by hand, using wash boards
Tailors to make dresses
Manual sewing machines with the manual foot pedal
Animals are kept in the city:
Chickens freely roaming around
Goats herded along the streets
Random cows moo-ing out of nowhere
Roosters waking you up at dawn


Day 129

T-shirts, T-shirts, T-shirts

T shirts are a novelty here, and wherever you go it’s a plethora of walking commercial advertisements, campaign slogans, political statements, social representations, and other propaganda. Granted, a good chunk of t-shirts may have arrived via Goodwill or Salvation Army canteens, but in a way it can be seen as a measure for whose t-shirts have wondrously made it this far out in the world.

Some wear them casually and probably don’t have a clue what they are wearing. As far as t-shirts go for the poor, they are simply just garments you wear. But to others they are worn with dignity and pride of the cause they stand for. Especially in the NGO sector, there are t-shirts with just about every imaginable human rights cause you can think of. My co-workers proudly bear their “Test for HIV/AIDS NOW!” t-shirts and many other varieties of messages promoting testing and fighting stigma of HIV/AIDS.

A growing trend I was happy to see, are t-shirts for gender equality and women empowerment. I’ve seen women and men alike sporting these T’s at various functions and meetings. I only hope the significance of the messages goes beyond the t-shirts worn.

T.O. represent

Of course when I spot random Toronto t-shirts you couldn’t find anywhere else, you just have to make note of what’s out here:

TD Canada Trust
Goodlife Fitness
TO Raptors –lots and lots of jerseys: old purple ones, and new red ones
TO Blue Jays –not as numerous as Raptors, but come to think of it, I’ve barely seen any Toronto Maple Leafs compared to the other two sports
SickKids
CIBC Run for the Cure breast cancer
YWCA Toronto
Canstar bites Basketball, Ontario (I know, totally random!)
General Toronto t-shirts with the skyline of the Skydome and CN Tower
Harveys makes your hamburger a beautiful thing!

Other random T-shirts:

Basket Robbins
Boys and Girls Club
McDonalds
Wendy’s
What would Jesus do?
Fat Albert
No Fear - yes your old t-shirts ended up here
Ché -this guy gets around a lot, people sport him here and probably have no idea who he is
Castro – I saw the classic one of Castro in his fatigue and cigar, and it was worn by a teenage Muslim boy who had his head covered.
Bob Marley –of course it’s only mandatory that every Rasta sport this dude to show their true devotion
Lots and lots and lots of soccer jerseys galore -it’s almost mandatory for young guys to wear these: most popular teams are Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool and Barcelona.


Day 130

Acts of desperation

After coming home from work today I found a new guard holding the gate open for me instead of Christopher, the usual guy. I asked the new guy what happened and he didn’t mince words with me. “Your friend wasn’t getting paid enough money to support his family so he had to steal some things to get by. He got beaten up a little by a mob, but the police came on time and now he’s been arrested”. Sadly, I believed it.

I remember several occasions where he would come to work sick because he desperately needed the money, and still couldn’t afford to pay for medicines he needed. Those days I’d offer him a few aspirin to help him get through his day, but other than that there wasn’t much else I could do.

He is paid to protect our home and for our general security should anything happen, and for this invaluable service he provides he gets paid a whopping $50 bucks a month.

$50 bucks a month is bullshit. But it’s the norm. And they wonder why people are driven to commit acts of desperation and steal to eat. To top it off, they condemn people for it by beating them and burning them alive when they are caught.


Day 131

Gender festival

Today I attended the 8th Gender Festival put on by the Tanzania Gender Networking Programme (TGNP) and Feminist Activist Coalition (FEMACT). The theme this year was “Gender, democracy and development: African Feminist Struggles In the context of globalization”.

The festival is meant to be an open forum for the like-minded individuals and organizations to share experiences, knowledge, build capacity and plan collectively for feminist transformation with a gender perspective. Everything from feminism, activism, academics and art, are being integrated into one another, to get the message across.

The festival is widely known throughout Africa and during opening ceremonies, different delegations from across the continent were called upon and introduced. We were joined by the whole East African community including, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Congo, Zambia, Malawi, Mozambique, there were also Nigerians, Sudanese, Ethiopians, South Africans, and Botswanans who had large representations -it was like the “United States of Africa”. It was inspiring to be among a large crowd of strong women from different parts of Africa and have come together in their struggle for gender equality.

The opening ceremonies included keynote addresses from the Minister of Justice and Constitutional Affairs, and the executive director of the Kenya Human Rights Commission, Mathoni Wanyeki, who actually went to university in Canada at Dalhousie.

Sexual Rights

The workshop I attended looked at the right to body integrity, sexuality, reproductive health and maternal health. We discussed African traditions that continue to hinder these rights for women including FGM (female genital mutilation), spear sex, and widow inheritance. There are more legal initiatives to eradicate FGM but traditionalists hide from authorities and continue to do these practices in private where young girls are at an increased risk of infection, haemorrhaging, shock from the procedure and even HIV/AIDS. We looked at different countries where laws have been implemented to convict those still performing FGM, but those uneducated, particularly the young girls undergoing the procedure are not aware of their rights, and so the incidence of FGM continues in many African countries.

Most outreach initiatives to raise awareness are geared towards women and girls to know their rights, but what about men? Men are the reason this practice continues in the first place. They believe, that unless this practice is done, a girl is not pure and therefore not worthy to wed, or that sex will not nearly be as pleasurable. There is still a long way to go before FGM can be completely eradicated internationally.

Spear sex involves one’s entitlement to sleep with another man’s wife as a gesture of courtesy and fellowship. This was a touchy topic and many of the older women who may have come from tribes where this was tradition, were defensive and denied that it continues today. Finally widow inheritance involves a man’s entitlement to the deceased’s widow in order to secure the bride price paid by their family. It is still hard to believe that something so sacred and personal such as one’s own sexuality is a commodity controlled by the leadership of the community. This is not only an issue in Africa but also other countries throughout the Middle East and Asia.

Body integrity and sexuality were the main focus of discussion and we agreed that if we can work towards solutions to restore both of these rights to women, reproductive and maternal health will be much easier to address. In the end discourse must involve both women and men, girls and boys to come up with positive change that will help these communities to re-think their traditions and perhaps even explore new ones in this modern age.

Gender and Generation: Girls to Women

During the plenary sessions, there were open discussions on Gender and Generation: girls to women. We had the opportunity to hear from Tanzanian’s youth. Teachers brought their classes to the function to participate in the sessions and gain some insight on gender equality in Tanzania and we got to hear perspectives from young girls. We discussed girls vs. women’s role in the community at different levels, including the home, education sector, and progressing to bigger realms, such as work place, government, and international development.

There isn’t enough guidance counselling implemented in schools to help students in career planning. Assessing interests and areas of strengths to build on career options would be very valuable for girls and give them direction. But there were a good number of girls who raised some valuable points. Women usually have to sacrifice a lot more than men in order to achieve half as much, so many girls already feel that setting lofty goals just isn’t practical. As in many cultures, unless there is a physical problem, choosing not to have children is unheard of. Children are an extension of who you are, and to make a conscious decision not to have children is out of the question. When the time comes to explore baby land, women are often just beginning their careers, therefore most girls have resigned themselves to the fact that unless you can clone yourself, you just can’t have it all and it’s one or the other.

This is not an issue unlike what we are facing in the west. However in the west the growing trend of postponing family is not such a big deal when there are so many available options for alternative health to stay healthy and fertile. Women are conceiving and giving birth later without any problems, if not otherwise exploring alternatives to reproductive development. But we forget most of these things are not available throughout Africa. And before one can even consider these alternatives, African women are up against much more when you think of the quality of health care they receive and its’ effects on maternal health and infant mortality.

On the other hand marriage and children should not merely be milestones one reaches to validate one’s existence and considerable planning should go into both. There are still a number of girls with very little education, who will rush into marriage and start popping out children they don’t have the means to provide for and continue the same cycle of poverty. It was agreed by all that it is important to continue education for younger girls to build on healthy attitudes for empowerment and community building.

Thanks Mom, Part III

My mom who grew up during an age where girls around her aspired to be housewives and raise their husbands children, is a lot more progressive than I give her credit for sometimes. She once said to me, “Never settle for a simple life because you’re much better than that, and don’t be afraid to want more because you deserve it”. I wasn’t sure what she meant at the time, but now that I’m getting older and the ‘simplicities’ of life are starting to beckon at me, I’m finding the ‘simple life’ less appealing.

I never understood those girls who were so enchanted with the cookie cutter life of “first comes love… then comes marriage… then comes the baby in the baby carriage”. It has become so mundane and these days, looking around, it seems as though people go through it, because it’s the ‘thing to do’.

Girls still can’t wait to walk down the isle, like it’s the epitome of their existence. From the big rock they sport that was most likely dug up by a starving 12 year old who was captured and bashed around by another 12 child soldier, the cheesy engagement pictures they take by a fake duck pond where they pretend to dreamily gaze into each others eyes, to the frills and hoopla of the big day in which the program always includes the same typical line-up of cheesy jokes and sappy music, to the continuous chatter about it incorporating the topic of their engagement/wedding into every conversation long after the whole shebang is already over … it’s been done a billion times already it’s all so conventional. I wonder if when all is said and done, the happily-ever-after couple then turns to each other and asks “Ok, what next?”, and neither of them have a clue.

I’m not anti-marriage, but it is distressing how some girls are driven only by the thought of getting married and fool themselves into thinking once they attain that cookie cutter life their lives are complete. Of course there are those who whole-heartedly yearn for this life and if they can honestly say they are truly content with what it has to offer, then all the power to them. But on the other hand there is so much more out there to experience why lock yourself down only to look back and regret the many adventures you missed out on, and opportunities that have passed.

It seems as though girls are still reluctant to want more, afraid that wanting more will cost them the provincial life they have already mapped out for themselves. But does wanting more necessarily displace other things you desire in life? For far too long we’ve lived in a world where if a man wants more, his drive and ambitions are praised but when a girl desires more in life, she’s selfish and egocentric. After all we’ve been through, after years of oppression and humility because of our sex, doors have begun to open for us and yet we still hesitate to walk through. We haven’t yet completely evolved past our instinctive meekness.

After travelling across the globe and observing the world’s underprivileged girls who don’t know what they are missing, my mom’s words hit me hard. Up until recently I wasn’t yet sure where I was headed, but I get it now and have a clearer picture of what I want in life. Or rather, I have a clearer picture of what I don’t want, and the cookie cutter life isn’t for me. I know I will be unhappy and left wanting more.


Day 132

Swahili thus far, part III

I now dream in Swahili…

Enough said.


Day 133

Children will always be children

Everywhere I’ve been in the world so far, children seem to think alike. Young boys enjoy wheeling a tire as they run along beside it, and keep it wheeling by using a paddle. I’m not sure how this universally came to be the village community game, but I’ve seen this in every developing country I’ve visited so far in 3 different continents.

The other common trend among young boys is to turn empty plastic bottles or cans into cars. I’ve been pretty impressed with the structures they’ve come up with. Who knew a simple bottle or tin can could turn into a car!

Other games I’ve seen that appear to frequent the world include jacks (using rocks and bottle caps), marbles, ring-around-the-rosie (sung differently but the same concept where you hold hands round a circle, and sing while going ‘round), duck-duck-goose, and hand-clapping-rhyming games. Of course you have to include the games that involve dirt: hopscotch using a twig to sketch the boxes in the dirt, sketching pictures in the dirt, and using dirt to pretend you’re baking a cake. A poor man’s sandbox is simply the dirt around them.

I never stopped to think about how amazing it is that children’s imaginations are similarly programmed to play games that are analogous to what their environment has to offer them. Children here have never seen the fancy playgrounds we have back home that include the typical formulation of swing-set, slide, monkey bars, seesaw, and maybe a tire-swing. Yet somehow they will find a way to teeter-totter on a fallen tree branch balanced over some fulcrum, and there you have it, a makeshift seesaw.

Children who have never seen the complexities of a jungle gym, simply climb on their version of monkey bars –a low tree with wide branches, where they hook their legs around and hang upside down. I saw two girls doing the hand-clapping-rhyming game upside town while they were hanging off a tree branch. And I thought that was a game my generation invented.

It’s amazing how even with so little, children will find a way to be happy and play. You don’t need a fancy playground, jungle gym or swing set, you most certainly don’t need Sony Playstation or Wii to keep kids happy, all you need is to encourage their imaginations and let them do the rest.


Day 134

Happy Birthday Malik!

Today Malik celebrates his 10 year anniversary of his 18th birthday.

Office Politics, Part III

I decided to surprise Malik with a cake I picked up from a local bakery. Big mistake. Unknowingly I had stolen Neema’s thunder and she threw a fit. She and Malik had been having a fling no one new about…until now. And then I had to go and do a stupid thing and steal her thunder by buying a cake for a guy on his birthday. I mean, what was I thinking? By doing that, she couldn’t buy a cake. And what’s the guy going to do with 2 cakes? Eat it?

From that moment, our friendship was instantly terminated and I have now been forever barred from her company. All this time I thought she was still sore from her break up with Moses. Damnit I could kick myself for not being able to read her mind, and for not yet discovering the fling they were keeping a secret.

Needless to say, today it was I who was instrumental in the tension in the office that had now developed into a full-blown cold war. Malik didn’t seem bothered by it. He was enjoying the two girls bickering over him and the whole day had a silly grin plastered on his face. I hope he enjoyed his 28th.


Day 135

Fasting for Eed

My weekend marathons are on hold for the next few weeks as fasting for Eed has officially begun and Hassan is one among the fast-ees. I’ve lost a jogging partner for the next while but don’t feel comfortable jogging on my own because even with Hassan by my side, guys still harass me with catcalls and inappropriate comments. It could be a number of things that make them inclined to do so. For one thing, I’ve never seen any other girl other than myself go outside jogging in our area. And second when I’m out jogging I’m also usually wearing shorts and a tank-top which would be considered revealing here.

Dress-wear in Tanzania

Tanzanian’s day-to-day wear is very modest. Even in the hottest weather, men in the workplace will still wear long-sleeved dress-shirts with a tie and slacks. To top it off they wear an undershirt underneath. It’s supposed to keep the sweat from absorbing onto their shirt, but doesn’t another layer of clothing just add to the heat? Women also dress modestly –even at the gym, most wouldn’t wear short-shorts, and wear track pants. In the workplace, even more so; they wear blouses, dress pants or skirts, despite the hot weather.

They take a lot of pride in their appearance but it’s just a tad disappointing how some of them go out of their way to absorb the trends of the west. It’s not surprising anymore to see women here wear blazers and business suits in 30-degree weather in order to look “professional”. You would think they are working for some big corporation on Wall Street, instead of a modest NGO run out of an African country whose GDP could easily less than the value of Paris Hilton’s wardrobe.

The way I dress here is very respectful of their culture and I try to blend in as much as I can, not wanting to draw any more attention than I already do. The only time I’m remotely inappropriate is when I’m out running, but I’ve got Hassan, my jogging partner to protect me if I get harassed. In fact, I’ve absorbed much of their culture and have dressed in traditional African style clothing the way young women here do. I wear the kanga sometimes, which is a traditional wrap women wear as a skirt. The locals are very appreciative of it and compliment me when I do and I think it also helps them to be more respectful and receptive to me as well, which I appreciate in return. Dressing similarly to locals definitely helps in cross-cultural situations, not to mention helps reduce unwanted attention.

When I’m working out of the office I’ll try to dress as professional as I can, but in clothing still suitable to the weather -I’ll wear tasteful tank tops with capris, or a skirt, which is still not as modest as the women here, but modest enough. If I’m in the field working with locals I’ll try to cover-up more, but wearing pants is out of the question unless it’s pure cotton or linen. I found a place in town where the clothing is a bit pricier but they specialize in hot-weather clothing and I’ve built up a good wardrobe of cotton and linens.

Back home during the summer I abandon jeans because wearing them in the heat is just too much, but here labourers and other common workers wear jeans and continue their work with ease. From the peddlers on the street, to the market merchants, to the industrious women who cook food on the side of the street, they are all covered up in either traditional African dress or long pants/skirt and modest top.

Clubbing wear

All modesty is abandoned once you hit the clubs. It’s a whole different ball game. I have been to a wide range of clubs from the sketchy, raunchy local clubs where you find local men bargaining prices with hookers, to the exclusive, sophisticated bourgeois clubs where business men and diplomats have a few upper class hookers fawning over them at once.

Girls at the clubs are dressed to kill. Hemlines are raised and tops are lowered to show as much leg and cleavage as one can get away with. Scandalous outfits are appropriately sported in these environments and they go hand-in-hand with the dancing. At some joints I’ve seen, it’s all but sex. Young guys and girls will basically dry-hump on the dance floor and some of their moves makes my jaw drop I feel like such a prude. At the upper echelon clubs on the other hand, it’s basically the same shit, different class. I’ve walked in on girls snorting up coke in the bathroom, groupies gushing about which diplomat they want to go home with that night, and pretty young girls on the arm of an old, bald, wrinkly foreign guy who you know bought them out for the weekend. Clubbing has now become an intriguing anthropology assignment simply observing the behaviours around me.


Day 136

Malik’s Fast Break

Malik invited me to a feast his family prepared for their fast break during the first week of Ramadan. I’m not sure if my participation in their feast warrants as blasphemy since I didn’t do any fasting. But I feasted and it was delicious.

I arrived well and hungry at about 6pm only to find out they were not allowed to eat until 7pm. Malik’s family welcomed me into their home and introduced me to the rest of the family. Malik comes from a family of working professionals. His parents are both medical doctors in Tanzania who encouraged him to go into a worthy cause to help the poor, such as HIV/AIDS. They’ve done a fine job instilling good values in him and stressed to him the importance in giving back to his community. I also saw where Malik got his warmth and affection, and from then on began to tease him as an ‘mtoto a mama’ (mama’s boy).

They did a lot of singing while they merrily prepared the meal and laid down the dishes. I had only had brunch that day and was saving myself for this feast and was starving. I can only imagine what they were feeling having fasted the whole day.

Once the clock struck 7pm, everyone sat down on the mats they had laid down on the flour in their common room, and as the food was being served they sang a sombre tune. They served a good assortment of hearty and simple dishes. The staples included: chipate -a wheat flour flat bread, pilau -rice with peas and beef mixture, and ugali -corn flour dough you eat with your hands. The main dishes were beans baked in a sweet, delicious sauce made of tomato, coconut and other spices, roasted goat (that I learned had just been slaughtered earlier that day), chicken (also slaughtered that day), a rich carrot and beef stew and cooked spinach.

The foods they serve are pretty typical and even for special occasions such as a religious feast, they don’t prepare different dishes that are out of the ordinary. They prefer to eat their familiar, home, comfort foods and simply spend more time in the preparation of them. In the case of a feast to kick-start Ramadan, they will prepare traditional foods with extra care as part of their many rituals. If there any animals involved they would be ceremoniously slaughtered that morning with thanks to God for their opening of Ramadan.

It was a wonderful gathering of fellowship and I began to appreciate the unity and discipline of the Islamic faith. After filling our bellies with delicious soul food I made my way home both belly and spiritually satisfied.

I thanked him for including me in a special family affair. It was yet another priceless cultural exchange.

Ulahu akbad chugua


Day 137

Love-hate relationship

I try as much as possible to be positive about everything rather than dwell on the negative but still can’t shirk the bad stuff and take it to heart sometimes.

I’ve developed a love-hate relationship with the work I do. Some days, I love being here and there isn’t a doubt in my mind I’m in the right place, doing the right thing. Other days, like today, I hate this God forsaken place and want to give up and forget places like these exist.


Day 138

I’m a phoney.

I do a good job of pretending I’m brave and strong when the truth is I can’t handle it. Maybe I thought I could, but I really can’t. I’m not strong; I’m traumatized by the site of a dead man on the street who had been beaten to death by a mob, I can’t bite back tears when I watch people who’ve been knocking on death’s doorstep for God knows how long, take their last breath, and I crumple in despair when I say goodbye to a dying child who I’ve grown to love and care for.

I’m not brave at all, I’m chicken shit.


Day 139

Smile and the whole world smiles with you

Smiling as I have been told is the universal language for Africans. Everyone wears a smile on their face despite other emotions they may be concealing. The amount of pain, suffering, poverty and death I have seen around me so far is already enough to break your heart. Yet, as I walk the streets I smile as I see others smile. Although smiling may not be an indicator of cheery happiness, it is just something people wear on their faces.

I see mothers at the local market stands with their children trailing behind them, trying to make the little change they have stretch out to buy enough foods to feed them for the week, smiling and laughing with the vendors. I’ve seen workers doing backbreaking labour and probably getting paid peanuts, yet they take the time to greet people as they pass with a cheerful smile.

I have listened to countless conversations about struggling to make ends meet, how the sick at home are dying because there isn’t enough money for food much less medicines, how a young mother has found herself pregnant for the 4th or 5th time and does not know how she will possibly provide for another child, young girls who have been locked into an abusive relationship but continue to take beatings from their partner because it is their only means to have food to eat and roof over their head. Some days I wonder with the grief surrounding them, why anyone bothers to smile at all.

What is even more wondrously soul shattering is how sick children whose days are numbered can smile so brightly. I indulge sick children to get a weak laugh that probably takes up all their energy, but I act merrier than Santa Claus himself hoping somehow it will shield them from what I know their fate will be. When they innocently giggle I feel my heart breaking more and can’t stop thinking about all the things they will be missing out on.

They will never travel the world; much less see their own country. The only world they will ever know is the dirty yard at the back of the dusty orphanage, if not the grimy hospital walls. They will never learn the subjects they could have been brilliant at, they will never discover their passions whether it is music, art, soccer, or astrophysics, they will never know the thrill of excelling at it and the satisfaction in overcoming their challenges, they will never attend the greatest music concert of their life, they will never have a great archive of beautiful and amazing moments to look back on, they will never meet their one true hero, and they will never meet the love(s) of their life.

It is one thing to have been born of poverty and not have many opportunities but you still get to experience life and make what you can of it. You still get to overcome challenges, build relationships with people and maybe as you do, touch each other’s lives in ways you don’t realize. A tough life, but a life with its’ own set of challenges that you build character ploughing through is better than none at all, isn’t it? But for these children their cruel fate robs them of so much and yet, there they are smiling and laughing as they indulge in games they muster enough strength for. I guess when you are as young as these children you have not yet understood what death means, let alone what life is about. Perhaps for this reason they don’t fear death as much as we do, and can afford to smile so brightly.

And so people smile, they smile though their hearts are aching and the world smiles with them. What we don’t know is when the world isn’t watching people are sorrowfully weeping in their homes.

DAYS 94 - 113

Day 94

Psychosis may be developing

I’m quitting Larium. I figure my exposure to malarial parasites the first time I got malaria has given me some sort of immunity. Also, I heard the first time is always the roughest and subsequent infections are easier to handle. The side effects of the drugs are getting to be too much. It could very well be psychosomatic but I don’t want to wait around and find out.

Vivid Dreams:
The dreams are getting more vivid, absurd and repetitive. They remind me of Run Lola Run only they’re more cerebral and nonsensical. I’ve also noticed the voices in my dreams seem louder than usual. Like the volume is turned up to maximum when people talk, I could swear they are real voices.

Every so often they are gut-wrenching nightmares. I have run away from Janjaweed, set on fire and burned inside a straw hut during a village raid, and sought for dead by hostile Maji Maji. Sometimes I remember things but forget it was a dream and think it actually happened in real life. I’ve had moody days because of drama that unfolded, and grudgingly stalked around, angry with people who have made appearances and caused a ruckus. On occasion they are very unspeakably sexual… those days I wake up either giddy and energized, or frustrated…

Paranoia:
I’m beginning to develop an unreasonable fear of HIV/AIDS. I work on the front line with people who are seriously affected by it and seeing the worst cases has made me somewhat apprehensive of the disease and even frightened of the possibilities of contracting it somehow.

The other day I was working in the field in a really horribly shady part of town where people lived in very poor conditions and were suffering badly from infections. Something sharp got into my sandal, which I stepped on, and drew a tiny spot of blood under my foot. I panicked right away and broke down thinking perhaps there was a chance it might have infected me with HIV. I demanded to get tested right away even though I knew that on the slim to nil chance that I had contracted infection, it would not yet be detectible at this stage. I tested negative but still even now, am not the least bit reassured

Other episodes of paranoia:
I think the maid and the guard are doing it. Not that they’ve done anything to make me suspect so, I just have a feeling that they are. I also think the maid is stealing my underwear and I’ve began counting them to make sure they’re all accounted for. The old gardener creeps me out. He’s pretty innocuous and probably harmless but he still creeps me out for some reason.

Depression:
I get bouts of depression every now and then. Of course, who wouldn’t be depressed with the things I see everyday. But sometimes I can’t shirk the dismal feeling, and the depression takes its toll especially when I’m alone at night. Some days when I’m really down and talking to family and friends on the phone about what’s going on I don’t feel they actually understand how disheartening things are and how dejected I really am.

I don’t feel anyone could truly understand what I see unless they see for themselves. I’ve grown resentful of this and gloss over details and sometimes don’t bother sharing at all, afraid what I’ve seen or experienced will be devalued if it isn’t truly appreciated. I can relate with other cooperants experiencing the same things as me, but it isn’t often that I get to see them. I debrief with the friends I’ve made here, who I’ve grown close with, but in the end I still feel alone. At the end of the day, I cope by crying a lot by myself.

General Crazy-ness:
I’m convinced mosquitoes have magical powers, how else do they get into my net? Or has the net magically become permeable, engulfing mosquitoes and allowing it to feed on me? And when I mysteriously get new bites without even feeling it I begin to wonder if they just magically appeared on my skin.

The best one yet:
I’ve caught myself singing along to the Muslim prayer that wakes me up every morning at 5am. It’s not a melodious tune, and yet I find myself humming along like it’s any common jingle. Little do I know it’s probably blasphemous.

So I’m taking my chances and I’m done with Larium. I think I’d rather get malaria again then go crazy.


Day 95

Field work rolling in, Part II: Orphanages

We have been working out of select orphanages across the city doing needs assessments and developing work plans to submit for more grant proposals. Hopefully we will be granted some funds to improve the conditions of some of these facilities cause some places are in dire need.

The children for the most part are well cared for and happy. They are so innocent and hungry for love and attention. As soon as we walk through the gate the little munchkins run up to you to swarm you with hugs and greet you. They beam at you when all you do is pat them on the head or pay them the slightest bit of attention.

On Saturdays sometimes I go back and visit some of the centres to hang out with the children and play. The entertainment I provide has become Origami at every place I’ve visited. The children adore it and think it’s magic. I am now known as the Mchina girl who can turn paper into anything. (I wish that were true, I’d turn it into cash. Lots of it.)

I never cease to be amazed at how little it takes to make them happy it’s demoralizing. They genuinely cherish the folded paper boats and animals we create together with a unique fondness unlike the complacency of children back home who toss away their furbies, tickle-me elmo’s and gameboys as soon as it’s an hour out of date.

There are a few places we’ve visited that are not very well equipped to support the children in their care. They live in poor conditions that are downright filthy and disgusting, I’ll bet anything animal shelters back home are cleaner. In one particular place children were sleeping in doubles on bunk beds and you were considered lucky if you got a spot on the bunk bed at all. The rest huddle on dirty and worn out foam mattresses across a dusty floor.

Most places are small houses that started off by opening up to a few children who had nowhere else to go. Gradually more children were taken in under their care and eventually they register themselves as an orphanage. The most cared for in these small independent facilities are 30 children of which some grow old enough to help out with running the orphanage.

Most are able to send their kids to primary school. But not everyone makes it to secondary school because school fees are too high that facilities can’t afford to send all their children. I can’t even imagine how they begin to choose who gets to continue onto secondary school while the other kids are left behind. Some places are more industrious and find the roundabout way of doing things. They venture into practical trades and teach their children different skills like tailoring, dress making, wood working, basket weaving etc. and try selling their products at the market.

In the end, the children are still miles behind other children who grow up with families. They’re even more screwed over if they are HIV positive. Because it’s a known fact HIV positive children do not live long, caregivers are not willing to invest much into their education. Knowing they won’t live to make it to the end of secondary school anyway, and won’t likely live to be the next Nelson Mandela, it’s just not worth the little money already stretched out for essential resources.

I think this is the saddest part of all.


Day 96

Tanzanian Holidays

It’s a national holiday tomorrow so we’ve got the day off. It’s called “Nane nane” in Swahili which means “eight-eight” because it’s the 8th day of the 8th month. It’s supposed to be a ‘farmers day celebration’. I was given a very vague explanation as to what and how they celebrate. The soundest reason I got was that it is a holiday to give farmers a day to catch up on harvest before going to market. But sounds to me they picked the date out of a hat and choose to give themselves the day off.

Last month we also celebrated another national holiday “Saba Saba” which means “seven-seven” because it was the 7th day of the 7th month. I still have no idea what it was we celebrated and why… whatever, I’m going along with it if I’m given the day off. I’ll look out to see if there is a “Tisa-Tisa” next month (nine-nine)


Day 97

Nane Nane

I’m gonna do like the other Tanzanians today and take the day off. Happy Nane Nane!


Day 98

Rice ‘n Beans, Rice ‘n Beans, Rice ‘n Beans

Rice ‘n beans has been my staple everyday. I’m not a fan of ugali, chipate I find too heavy and potatoes made me sick the first time I had it here so try to avoid them. I’ve learned to eat very simply and rice ‘n beans isn’t too far off from what I eat at home where rice is also our staple.

Breakfast is usually cereal or toast with a bowl of fruit, sometimes I’ll boil an egg. If I’m working out of the office, lunch is the rice ‘n beans with spinach, peas and a bit of beef from a stew. If we’re working in the field I’ll pack myself a PBJ sandwich and try to vary it up; PBB (peanut butter & banana), PBA (peanut butter & avocado), PBC (peanut butter with cinnamon), and PBM (peanut butter & mango).

Dinner depends on what’s going on. I’m lazy and don’t cook so if I’m on my own I’ll just crack open a can of tuna and slice up some veggies to throw-in for a very basic salad. If I’m really really lazy, I’ll just eat the fruit I bought from the fruit stand, usually mango, pineapple or bananas, and either spoon peanut butter or scarf down a handful of ground nuts. If I’m not feeling too lazy I’ll use the blender to make fresh fruit smoothies. I add fruit, a cup of soy milk, a couple spoons of sugar to sweeten it up, and a cup of water to thin it out.

I’ve come up with every mixture imaginable I could probably start my own smoothie stand and drive Orange Julius out of business: Avocado-banana, mango-passion, pineapple-passion, papaya-mango, pineapple-mango, banana-mango, pineapple-jackfruit, jackfruit-papaya, coconut-papaya, coconut-banana… I welcome other suggestions!

If I’m having a meal at a friends place, it’s usually rice & beans again. If my other Canadian friends are in town we vary it up and take a break from the usual rice ‘n beans we eat on a daily basis. We venture to different restaurants in town and each night is a different cuisine ranging from Ethiopian, Somalian, Indian, Thailand, Italian, and Chinese. These restaurants cater mostly to foreigners and tourists because locals don’t really care for such foods. When it comes to food, Tanzanians are not very receptive to trying new things and very reluctant to venture outside their selection of foods.

A friend of mine said he had never had pasta before so I tried surprising him one night and cooked him a fancy pasta dish. He didn’t seem very impressed and wasn’t at all excited to try it. He would’ve rather had rice ‘n beans. Similarly I tried inviting a group of friends from work one weekend to go out for Thai food, I knew they had never tried it and I was craving a good pad thai. They suggested a ‘better’ place to eat and we ended up at a local eatery eating ugali and roasted goat.

Even during special occasions, gatherings and celebration parties, the food served is the same as what they would eat any other day at home –roasted goat, roasted chicken, roasted beef, chipate, rice, pea soup, greens, but nothing special or atypical.

Bring it on

For me, I’ve learned to let go of all my inhibitions when it comes to food and will eat almost anything. Almost anything. I don’t think finicky eaters can survive nor can they afford to be choosey cause food is part of the whole experience. I try everything at least once and it’s definitely an integral part of the adventure of living abroad -trying peculiar foods you’ve never seen, heard of, or can’t pronounce properly. I’ve had entrails of goat and pork, boiled cow mandible soup, boiled cow tongue, cow brain, (Tanzanians, especially Maasai tribes really love their cow), chicken gizzards and other insides, bull testicles (which wasn’t very pleasant but at least I can say I’ve had it once and lived to tell), and crunchy locusts, among the weird exotic African dishes.

I’m always game to try new things so whatever it is, bring it on.


Day 99

How time flies

Tomorrow I’ll celebrate my 100th day here. The days here vary just like anywhere else. Some days are incredibly long, and others too short. But overall time really does fly when you’re inundated with so much at once.

265 to go.


Day 100

Dar Annual Charity Goat Races

My fellow Canadians also living here organized an outing to attend the Dar es Salaam Annual Charity Goat Races. It was held at an outdoor field that had been turned into a fair ground. It was organized by Europeans in Dar and benefited a select number of organizations around the city including one of our partner orphanages, Friends of Tanzania.

The place must have been flooded with what seemed like the total ‘Mzungu’ population of Dar es Salaam. These included the entire fleet of high commission workers, expats, ambassadors, diplomats, financiers, and other foreign interest workers in Dar. It wasn’t until today that I took real measure of how big that gap we always talk about between rich and poor, really is.

To begin the parking lot was flooded with cars whose total worth could easily wipe out the debt of a couple African countries. Snooty children roamed around while their nannies chased after them to reapply sunscreen, which they pulled out of designer diaper bags. Trophy housewives showed off their latest frock, and stuck out their necks out to show-off rare gems strung across, that probably kept the Janjaweed well stocked with arms for village raids.

Meanwhile, their wealthy financier husbands huddled in clusters swigging imported beer, probably discussing how else they can monopolize more of other country’s resources and make lucrative deals with locals who are willing to sell-out. They pulled business cards out of engraved, silver plated business card holders to write down additional details with their Omega fountain pens they extracted from their starched original Lacoste polo then offered it to their colleague with their outstretched hand bearing platinum Rolex watches.

It was just like the snobby rich characters out of the movies who live extravagantly in Africa, attend big parties and mingle with other aristocratic socialites… totally disconcerting.

I’ve gone off on a tangent.. where was I.. oh yea the Charity Goat Race.. so basically it was a bunch of rich, predominantly white people standing around, placing bets on goats, watching them race while getting plastered. The goats weren’t actually racing, but ushered around a ring, but on occasion they’d get excited and charge ahead of the others.

When it came to placing bets the stakes were driven high by the upper echelon bourgeois folks who wagered big bucks. Since it was going to charity it didn’t count as squandering though this was no doubt an event for the nobles. Winners also had the option of either purchasing the goat or donating it to their charity of choice, which they all did.

It was quite lively and there were lots of other things to see and do on the fair grounds. People tried their hand at the pottery stand where for a small fee you were taught how to make clay pots yourself and got to keep it afterward. Artisans set up shop with lots of cool art pieces and artefacts, and lots of demonstrations of tribal rituals performed for entertainment.

Go Pussy!

The highlight of the day was the victory of “Pussy”. We had long lost interest in the races when suddenly there was a blast from the loud speakers that compelled us to rejoin the rest of the spectators. The commentators perked out attention with their choice of words commentating on Pussy, the winning goat:

“And look there she goes, creeping up on the others, Pussy’s in the lead, would you look at Pussy go, isn’t she a beauty, what lustrous fur, she’s picking up speed, she’s coming, she’s coming, she’s coming! And we have a winner folks! Congratulations Pussy and would Pussy’s winning bid please step up and collect your Pussy!”

I had run out of battery on my camera, but man that would’ve been an awesome video, just the audio alone would’ve been priceless.


Day 101

I’m a heretic

Halima woke me up when she called bright and early in the morning to invite me to attend church with her. It was 7am! Isn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest!? I politely declined then went back to sleep. I met her later in the day for lunch and thus began her revelation of me.

“What church do you attend”, she asked me? “No church”, I answered. Perplexed, she asked “Why not? Don’t you believe in God?” “Possibly” I answered, “So why don’t you go to church?” she asked again.

Oh dear, I thought... Religion and philosophy are weighty subjects I don’t have enough Swahili for; I had to dig deep.

So I began the impossible task of explaining my a-religiousness. I started off, “Sure I believe in the possibility of God, angels, saints.. but I just choose not to make a practice of it”. She gave me a blank stare, and it wasn’t because my Swahili was wrong.

I tried again, “Well, no one really knows if he exists or not so why waste my time believing in something I’m not really sure exists?” Another blank stare, still, she didn’t get me.

I wasn’t about to give up, I was determined to make her understand but I didn’t have enough vocabulary to express it and hoped the words I handpicked would help her at least understand the general essence of what I was trying to get at.

I thought, perhaps I should go further back and give her some history. “I went to church when I was a child and attended Sunday school every week. But we were taught not to question anything, and that by questioning we are displaying a form of ‘unbelief’. That to question is to doubt his existence. I couldn’t be bound by this and blindly accept everything I’m told, so when I was old enough, I decided not to continue.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, her eyes widened in dismay.

At this point I could feel my head tightening from the strain for words to explain where I was coming from. I wanted to tell her, as I got older I explored other trains of thought and philosophies. That I learned about different faiths out there besides Christianity, I attended debates on accident vs. intelligent design and lectures on mathematical proof for the existence of God, and after learning and discovering all sorts of interesting ideas and concepts, I decided when it comes to God, I prefer to neither believe nor disbelieve. I prefer to dangle in possibilities where there are no absolutes and I can question freely without any constraints of a right and wrong, good or bad, black or white. I felt that that religion in some ways, particularly evangelical Christianity, hinders this.

But in the end I realized even if I had been able to explain all this, it wouldn’t have mattered. Her incredulity wasn’t due to my limitation of the language, but because of her strong and devout belief that everyone should believe in God and attend church, no questions asked. Otherwise you’re a lost person, a heretic, a person with no destination, and you will surely burn in hell. Especially because I had once been part of a church and left, made it much worse for me.

So instead I shrugged my shoulders in surrender to what I knew she was thinking -I’m a heretic. She sadly shook her head at me and I couldn’t help laughing. I can just imagine her tonight, praying for God to save my soul.

Out of Africa

The ‘Out of Africa’ theory holds no weight here. I was rather disappointed that Africans themselves, who are living in the very place where it all began, where humanity was born, where we began to walk upright, don’t embrace the wonders of evolution and Africa’s famous role in it.

One of the many things that interested me in coming to Tanzania were the famous anthropological sites including the Rift Valley and Olduvai Jorge. Before I got here, these were unreachable places I had only read about in paeleoarchaeology textbooks. This may sound nerdy but now that I’m here I continue to be amazed that I’m walking the ground on the oldest land, where australopithecines might have inhabited a few million years ago, the birthplace of Lucy, where the Leaky family poked around.

What’s disappointing is that Tanzanians themselves don’t appreciate what this means. Long after their emancipation from slavery and years of oppression, they continue to wholly accept the religion that white men imposed upon them and so creationism supersedes evolution. Missionaries did a mighty fine job programming their faith, and instilled so much fear in them that now to do otherwise and go back to their pagan routes would be a disgrace.

I’ll still take carbon dating over blind faith.


Day 102

Foods I miss

Non-tropical fruits like strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, apples, pears, peaches, apricots and plums
Non-African vegetables like asparagus, broccoli, & cauliflower
Japanese sushi and tempura
Chinese dimsum
Filipino chicken adobo
My grandma’s spring rolls
Vietnamese pho
Gelato
Tim Hortins ice caps
Bubble tea
Waffles and Crepes
Future’s Bakery cakes

My mouth is watering…


Day 103

Office politics

I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with office politics here, but apparently it’s everywhere you go no matter where you are in the world.

There have been petty, personal issues that have affected the work environment. Moses, a programme officer and Neema, one of the admin secretaries started dating not long after I arrived in the country. They were in their own romantic dream world for the first month but it didn’t last and they just recently broke up. It’s caused a lot of tension in our already small, confined and close-nit office. We’ve all tried to remain neutral with them both, but Neema has made clear that you’re either on her side, or his. They go out of their way to ignore each other it’s silly the lengths they go through just to avoid saying hello.

It’s a good thing we’ll be doing more fieldwork, which will take us away from the office so we can avoid the awkwardness.


Day 104

Ahhhh, kids

On my way home from work today there was a cluster of children about 6 or 7 years old. They had had just been let out of school and were walking ahead of me.

Child 1: Looks behind, sees me, then nudges the rest of the kids loudly whispering, “Look! There’s an Mchina walking behind us!”
Child 2: Conspicuously also looks back and exclaims, “Oh yeah, it’s an Mchina!”
Child 3: “Let’s say hi to her!”
Child 4: “How do you say hi in Chinese?”
Child 5: “Just say ‘good morning!’” [it was 4 o clock in the afternoon]
Child 2: “What if she gets angry, Mchina’s know how to fight, I’ve seen it on television!”
Child 3: “Stupid! Only Mchina men know how to fight, that’s only a girl, she won’t know!” [I think to myself, only a girl, huh.]
Child 1: “If you’re not afraid than you say hi!”
Child 4: “Ok, let’s say hi together!”
Children 1,2,3,4,5 in unison: “Mchina! Hi, good morning, how are you?” [in English]

I’m laughing by now, I smile at them, wave, then answer back in Swahili:

“First of all it’s afternoon, not morning, you should have said ‘good afternoon’, and second, why do you kids think only Mchina men know how to fight? Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”

They stare at me for a second and all begin giggling hysterically while covering their mouths then run off ahead of me and turn the corner.


Day 105

We’ve got furniture!

Up until today the house I’m living in had no furniture other than the beds in our rooms. Hoyce, the girl I’m living with is never around and always travelling and didn’t have time to furnish the place so I was always left in a very sterile home.

I couldn’t invite friends over cause there was no place for them to sit. The living area was completely empty your voice echoed and bounced off walls. I would eat my meals over the kitchen sink, and when Hoyce wasn’t home and I was bored at night, I would do cartwheels across the bare floor back and forth.

Today we got a shipment of furniture and the place feels like a home now! We got couches and chairs, end tables and a coffee table for the living room, a dining room set and even area carpets! I’ve never been so excited over furniture before!


Day 106

Overheard in Dar

I secretly listen in on other people’s conversations to see how much I can understand. Not cause I care to know what they’re talking about, I just use it as a tool to test my comprehension of discussions that may not be as simple as “hello, how are you”. Though I have to admit sometimes it’s rather entertaining but other times I’m taken back when the conversation is crass and uncouth. For eg.

Conversation between two guys in their early to mid 20s on the bus:

Guy 1: “Bwana (the equivalent of ‘dude’ in Swahili), I was bargaining with her and I said her price was too expensive. I told her I won’t be any longer than 10 minutes, so I shouldn’t have to pay that much for only 10 minutes!”

Guy 2: “If I had gone with you we could have bargained for her to take us both to save on time so she can get more business”

Conversation between an older lady and younger guy at market:

Guy: “Shikamoo Mama (greeting to elderly person in Swahili), how have you been, haven’t seen you in a long time”

Old Lady: “Yea, yea, just tell me, anything yet?”

Guy: “Mama, we just got married 2 months ago!”

Old Lady: “I knew it, you need to control your wife! She needs to learn to keep her mouth shut and legs open”


Day 107

African Weddings: Send-Off

There are three different celebrations for weddings here in Tanzania. The first is the Kitchen Party where only women attend to advise the bride-to-be on the ins and outs of marriage. The second is a traditional ceremonial event called the Send-Off where you ‘send’ the bride off to her husband. Back in the old days, it used to be a literal send-off. It was during this ceremony that the bride would ceremoniously leave her tribe to go live with her husband and his family and enter his.

Marrying within or outside your tribe has its set of pros and cons. In the old days women were preserved for prospective suitors from outside tribes who held status and it was a rather lucrative arrangement that would help improve trade relations and gain allies. On the other hand, marrying someone from within will help strengthen your bloodline and you don’t have to leave your tribe for another.

Traditionally the send-off would also be the event to solidify the marriage, and thereafter you would be considered married at this point. However influences from missionaries have made people adopt the traditions of the west. Not long after colonization, women began to have typical church weddings, walked down the isle in white, and held grand receptions in banquet halls afterwards. This formed the third and final wedding event.

Screw send-offs

I was invited to Hoyce’s send-off, which was my 2nd send-off, and 5th wedding event. She is getting married to a Zambian. Now that I understand more Swahili than when I attended my first send-off, I was able to follow the ceremony. Though it was interesting to learn more about Tanzanian culture, I had major beef with it.

They were telling her, “you are no longer part of the Chaga tribe, and you are no longer a Tanzanian, you are now a Zambian, and part of your husband’s tribe. Say farewell to your tribe, and go be with your new tribe. Go help multiply your husbands tribe as your children will be descendants of his tribe.”

It was like they were doing her a favour, liberating her of her own identity as an independent woman, and christening her into her husband’s tribe she was to adopt as her own. I couldn’t stop myself from scoffing and snorting at the things that were being said throughout the ceremony. Baraka, who was my date that night, had to jab me in the ribs a few times to get me to shut up.

I know they’re a patriarchal society but sheesh, get with the 21st century! Why were they booting her out of her own tribe? Who are they to tell her she can no longer be part of her tribe? It’s like if I get with a Vietnamese dude and I’m told I am no longer Filipino or Chinese, that I have to leave it behind to join my partner and become a Vietnamese. That’s a load of crap.

We’re equals now, why can’t the man leave his tribe? Why can’t the woman still be considered from her original tribe she was born unto? She grew up living and breathing her tribe, their different cultural values, beliefs and practices, just to leave it all behind once she marries? And what about the children? What if she wants to impart some of her roots to her children? Are they not descendants of her tribe too? Why should they automatically be considered offspring of only their father’s tribe?

The ceremony got me worked up I was highly offended when Baraka jokingly said “If you keep up this insolent behaviour, no man or tribe will want you period.” I wasn’t amused. Whatever, if that’s the case I don’t want to belong to any tribe, I’ll start my own damn tribe.


Day 108

Worst place to have a mosquito bite:

I think I’ve got authority on this, I’ve gotten them nearly everywhere and it’s the very bottom of the foot right where the sole is. It itches but it tickles to scratch it!!!

Arrrrrrgh…..


Day 109

Are you Chinese, Japanese?

I’m reminded of the King of the Hill episode where Dale asks the Asian newcomers “are you Chinese or Japanese?”

“I am Laotion!” Khan responds,

“Is that Chinese or Japanese?” …….

It’s not uncommon here that I get the typical mocking sing-song “Chinese, Japanese” or ‘hee-haw’ noises from people I pass on the streets. Young children push the corners of their eyes up and down, as to make ‘chinky-eyes’ at me and young boys mimic kung-fu and “haaya!” at me. I understand that most people here are not very exposed and worldly, plus I do tend to stick out when I’m in communities where it’s rare for foreigners to pass through. That’s why I’m usually tolerant of it and respond without offence to “Mchina”.

However, for this same reason it’s a shame that in Canada where we boast a higher level of education, where every child attends school, and by grade 2 everyone should be conversant of the world map, I still encounter these type of racist gestures back home. Until now, I hadn’t stopped to think how disappointing it is.

I remember during the ’06 World Cup the night England won a match, Anthony and I were sitting in a coffee shop minding our own business when a group of meathead guys celebrating in their car, were stopped at a red light in front of us. Through the window, they began making the ‘chinky eyes’ motions at us while mouthing “Chinese, Japanese”.

Granted they might’ve been drunk but nonetheless, Anthony and I both looked at each other and thought the same thing, we haven’t had that done to us since grade school. Anthony was less tolerant than I was and if I weren’t there he would’ve probably charged at them. Part of me doesn’t blame him; they were too old to still be doing those things.

Another similar incident happened when I was with my sister, Sarah. If you know Sarah, you know she’s got quite the mouth on her, and won’t hold back to put you in your place when you deserve it. We were strolling through Ikea when a couple of school-aged kids did the same thing. What made it particularly unsettling was that their parents were not the least bit reproachful and laughing loudly, practically egging them on.

We gave them a chance and tried ignoring it for a while but they kept it up so finally she responded by loudly berating them in front of everyone within earshot:

“Excuse me but do your children attend school? Cause if they’ve ever studied the world map they would know by now that China and Japan are not the only countries in Asia. It’s pretty pathetic if that’s all they know. I recommend you teach your children some geography cause it looks like they have a lot of catching up to do to the more intelligent ‘Chinese/Japanese’ kids their age.”

The parents stood there embarrassed for a second before ushering their children down the isle.

Messing with People

When “I’m Filipino-part Chinese-born in Canada”, becomes too daunting to explain each time I’m asked if I’m one of either “Chinese or Japanese”, I have fun messing with people and pretend to be from other places it raises eyebrows. It’s rather funny seeing their reactions especially when it’s a country they’ve never heard of and they take my word for it.

I started off with Asia and worked my south and gave different answers each time: I’m Laotion/ Burmese/Thai/Vietnamese/Cambodian/Malaysian/Indonesian. It’s almost like a survey of sorts cause I’ve learned out of these countries people are most familiar with Vietnam and offer a tsk-tsk with a ‘pole sana’ (sorry), cause of the war.

I ventured to the outskirts of the orient and passed myself off as a Mongolian and Nepalese, then hopped over to the Middle East to see how convincing I was from the “Stan’s”, then Persia. Mongolia was the funniest reaction cause for some reason people couldn’t fathom I was from such a place called ‘Mongolia’ and laughed.

When it came to ‘Stan’s’ other than Afghanistan, I would get the similar King of the Hill response:

“I’m from Kazakhstan”
“Where did you say? Afghanistan?”

When I got bored of Asia I tried out Latin America and worked my way south. People were blown away to finally meet a Mexican! Forget Central America, no one was aware any of those countries existed. In South America I had luck with only Argentina and Brazil thanks to the World Cup. Otherwise, you can forget the rest of S. America, people don’t have a clue those are real countries you’re naming.

It’s actually pretty fun pretending and re-inventing yourself. I could even try to pretend I’m royalty and maybe people will believe me. Everyone should try it sometime.


Day 110

Itching to bang

I’m aching to touch a piano right now. I didn’t think I’d miss it this much but I do. When I’m feeling low it’s my therapy. Now instead I’ve found solace in writing. Though I’m not much of a writer, I’ve found it’s really quite therapeutic releasing my thoughts and clearing my mind at the end of each day.


Day 111

Got nothing tonight, I’m turning in early

Usiku mwema


Day 112

I’ve been neglecting myself

My iron’s low. Before anyone asks, yes, I hold a degree in human nutrition. Yes, I work in community health, yes it’s my job to implement health and nutrition programs, and yes I’m good at what I do, I really am. But I’m only human. I’ve been on the go the past month and I guess from travelling out in the field everyday and going out every weekend, it really does a number on you.

Bring on the leafy greens and red meat.


Day 113

I’m so tired.

Days like today make me feel like it’s me against the world. I don’t know if we’re gonna make it anymore. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make but these days I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up.

Maybe I’ll just stay here and get an African tribe to adopt me. I’ve already gotten all sorts of offers -herds of cows, goats, and sugar cane plantations. That’s one hefty bride price very few African girls are offered.