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.