Before I head off again here are some pictures I recently got from friends. I'll be leaving for Arusha to go on a 2-day safari at Lake Mnara and the Ngorongoro Crater and then to Moshi to hike around the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro. From there, we may head to Mwanza on Lake Victoria and then for a few days into Rwanda.


Me holding a baby like a Tanzanian Mama. You can tell from my real hair that this is a while back. I've realized lately that I haven't seen this sickly baby for weeks and wonder what happened to her.

Some kids we met at the Ngozi Crater Lake

Me and Julie at the crater

Tony shows off the beautiful Kaporogwe Falls

On the ferry, Julie and I emerge from our cabins to see the beach

View from the ferry

"One of Africa's great journeys"

Sorry for the super long post, but it’s been a while…

“One of Africa’s great journeys”

An approximate map of our travels

These simple words from a Tanzanian guidebook, which we misquoted as “greatest journey” led us to the MV Songea, a small cargo and passenger ferry, which travels overnight down the Tanzanian side of Lake Nyasa. Great can connote either something incredibly positive or something simply large and impressive. The first part of our adventures through Southern Tanzania was great in the first sense. The ferry ride down the lake epitomized the second sense of great.

With nothing pre-arranged but our bus ticket, we began our travels last Saturday at 6 AM on a Scandinavian Express bus, a more reputable bus company with comfortable seats, snacks, and weird old movies playing on a screen in the front. In Mbeya, 13 hours later we found a cheap hostel (we paid about 7 dollars per room for 2 rooms between 5 people). The next day, we woke up early and reveled in the chill air of the mountain town after Dar’s humid heat. Although tour companies were closed on Sunday, we found a guide who may have ripped us off a little, but didn’t rob or injure us (although he is the first Tanzanian I’ve met to like President Bush better than Obama) and he led us up a strenuous hill to the breathtaking Ngozi Crater Lake.

The next day, we moved on to Tukuyu, an even colder town. We explored the market until a strange man followed us declaring his love for Mzungu (my white friends) and Mchina (me of course). That night, hanging out at the hotel bar, we used our new favorite defense against predatory Tanzanians—tell them us 4 women are the one man, Tony’s wives. People seem skeptical, but because some Tanzanian tribes allow polygamy, they generally ask if they can have one of us. I sometimes worry a little that he’ll actually sell me someday.

From Tukuyu, we used a legitimate tour company for a change and took a private van to Kaporgwe Falls, where we ate a beans, rice, spinach, and chapatti in a cave behind the falls. Three of us decided to swim a little in the cold fresh water, but I had trouble breathing and swam to clutch rocks on the side of the pool. Meanwhile, our van driver tried to join us, but didn’t know how to swim. He grabbed on to my friend, who thought he was either teasing or attacking her. Luckily, Tony pushed her to the edge and helped the driver to safety, but we journeyed back in a more somber mood. I’m learning that there is a different concept of safety here. Many Tanzanians never learn to swim and yet have no fear of the water. In the van, my friend linked her arm in mine and I was grateful she was safe, but wished I hadn’t felt so powerless to help her when she was in danger.

After Tukuyu, the trip transitioned to the second definition of great. To catch the ferry at Itungi Port, we had to spend one night in the hot, dusty town of Kyela in a cheap hostel, which we now believe is rented by the hour. Noises of all sorts kept us up until late at night. The next morning, we negotiated a lift to Itungi Port. Before the boat ride, we prepared ourselves mentally for the adventure, the sketchy bathrooms, and being the only non-Tanzanians aboard, but not fully for the incredible sea sickness. Despite buying “first class tickets” so we were able to sit outside on the top floor of the ferry unlike most passengers, who ride in the belly of the ship, within 10 minutes of sailing, I was leaning over the side, willing myself not to feel ill. Within 3 hours, I had run to back of the boat, accidentally kicked a live chicken, thrown up over the edge, started feeling sick again, and gone to bed, where I spent most of the next 22 hours. All four of us girls either slept or felt sick the entire trip, while Tony tried to convince us that sea sick is a state of mind. It was exciting to peak out at night when we docked and watch whole villages come out to receive their weekly shipments of soda, sugar, soap, cement…etc…and local women wade in the water to sell cassava and fish to ferry passengers out of buckets attached to sticks. Otherwise, I laid in bed, hoping the boat wouldn’t be tipped over by a big wave while smelling our peanut butter that had fallen off the shelf, broken and spread all over the floor in water from a water bottle that also fallen and cracked.

We were delighted to finally dock at Mbamba Beach, a tiny town, where we ate cheep grilled corn, had no electricity, and were followed by crowds of children. I felt like the Pide Pipelin of Hamlin as we walked along the beach surrounded by 30 kids, who tried to hold our hands and sing for us. They were certainly never told not to talk to strangers.

It took us two days to bus home and the last bus we took back was an appropriate end to our adventure. We got back to Dar within 13 hours, the time the journey was supposed to last (punctual buses are unbelievable in Tanzania), but we drove so fast and stopped so rarely (as we drove through towns, local vendors would run to bus trying to sell grilled corn, cookies, nuts, drinks, and fruit through the bus windows, but as they got close, we would speed on past), that I spent the journey wondering whether I was trapped in the movie, “Speed,” and fearing that we would either drive off the edge of a cliff or tip over before returning to Dar. But more or less, we made it safely back and were pleased with our adventures, but also pleased to shower and sleep in our own beds that night.

I’m glad we found the courage to take a real adventure. The farther south we went, the less nice hotels, less running water, white people, and English-speaking Tanzanians we met. It made me glad to be able to speak a little Swahili and want to learn more.

Back in Dar, school won’t start until the end of September. I keep myself pretty busy playing at the orphanage, teaching English to wood carvers at Mwenge Market, studying Kiswahili, exploring Dar…etc…but I still feel like school should be starting soon. I’m hoping that I’m learning to relax a little and live with unstructured time, and am glad I’ll have time to travel some more before classes start. We’ll probably be heading out again sometime next week to hike around the base of Mt Kilimanjaro and take a short safari.

Yeah D-Sam! Thanks for writing.

Sorry again for the extra long post.

Hola From Buenos Aires

Hello Everyone,

Sorry I have been slacking on my part of this blog. I arrived in Buenos Aires on August 4th, and everything has been a whirlwind from then on.

I live with a host family, which I absolutely love. Everyday when I arrive home my host mother gives me a kiss and asks how my day was. My host sister Mariana is seventeen. Her english is much better than my Spanish and she helps me out when I really can´t communicate. My host Abuelita comes over a lot. She is always giving me extra portions of food and candy. But, for the life of her, she cannot remember I am a vegetarian. Being a vegetarian here is turning out to be rather difficult, especially in restraunts. My family cooks dinner for my every weekday night, and they have been super cool about the vegetarian thing. My HostMom always goes on and on about how good it is for health and how much she loves it ( and she is not being sarcastic). The other day I got to cook my own soy milenesa-which was super delicious after I figured it out. My host Mom tried, but she accidentally burnt it.

Cousins, sisters, nieces, and friends are always coming over. I love this because it reminds me of my own crazy and large family at home.


Everyone thinks I can speak Spanish because of my accent, which is fun. The other day this kid from my program revealed that he didn´t know NM was a state. I pronounced my name correctly, then he started speaking to me in Spanish. Then he asked me if I liked the American students and why my English accent was so good. I told him it was because I was from the US. Then I had a rather good laugh at his expense---pobrecito [poor guy]

My accent works really well in cabs, which is great because sometimes they rip you off if they think you aren´t from Argentina.

I have made friends with people from my program. My friends are a pretty good representation of geographic and racial diversity. Which is pretty rare for this program. Its pretty funny because I have been having reverse culture shock. I lived with people of color all summer, and now the program is almost all white `people. Funny. Its been lots of fun hanging out with my new friends, and we usually do most things together. My people don´t go out that often, but we usaually go out on the weekends. But, it is insane because people here stay out till at least 6 in the morning -eek!

I will write real, and reflective blogs more often- This is just a short intro to my life.

i would love to hear from you,
besos
denicia

Low-Budget Safari

Swahili class is finished this week and university classes don’t start until the end of September so one quick entry before I’m off on vacation. The others students from my program and I are going to visit the south and see Lake Nyasa. It should be less touristy than the north and a real adventure.

I peer out of the window of our rented Dhaladhala as sunlight first breaks over my first national park. I didn’t see any animals, just a hilly horizon filling with light over the acacia trees. We couldn’t see well out of the Dhaladhala windows and wished we were observing the scene from a jeep or truck, but I was still excited about the prospect of seeing giraffes, zebras, elephants, and lions in the wild. I slid the back window open as far as I could and hung my head into the cool morning air.

At first, those of us who had never been on safari jumped at each new animal citing, grabbing our cameras and running to the windows, but after a little while, we stopped taking pictures of ever swala or zebra, but we waited with bated breath to see a lion. I had to climb over a professor to take pictures, but I loved watching the graceful giraffes eat and the baby zebra play. Finally, we got stuck behind a crowd of jeeps full of Wazungus and Indians. We were able to join the throng and spot a sleeping male lion, which disappeared down a hill after a few minutes. Unfortunately, we had to wait another ten minutes for the other tourists to disperse.

If I’m able to afford it, I’m considering going on real safari up north, where I could sleep on the Ngorogoro crater and see the animals really close. Going on safari, even just to see animals, feel a little colonialistic. It is certainly not an authentic experience of a Tanzanian. We complain about paying higher prices than locals, but coming here no matter how hard we try to live the life, we’re able to do things locals can’t. However, going on a real safari may me a once in a life time opportunity. I guess we’ll see how much I have left after this week in the south.

Check out my friend, Rachel's, blog for more pictures:

suckitupandsmile.blogspot.com

Small Talk

View from a boat ride to a little island off the coast of Zanzibar

Tony, Conner, and me in the village on the other side of our Zanzibar beach hotel

Shosti- a Swahili slang term for a woman’s best female friend.

One morning, we were buying coffee and chai at the coffee shop near Swahili class and one of the employees taught my friend, Michelle, the word, Shosti. Since then, a group of us grab snacks and coffee almost daily.

When any of my friends go into the class, we have a conversation like this:

“Mambo shosti,” a female employee asks.
“Skopa shosti. (a slang response that elicits a laugh),” we reply.
“Habari za wikendi shosti? (how was your weekend),” another woman asks.
“Nzuri, na wewe shosti? (good and how are you?),” we ask back.
“Nzuri sana shosti (very good),” she replies.
“Baadaye shostis (later),” about five employees (including male ones) wave and shout.

In Tanzania, its all about greetings. They are the first lessons in every Swahili book. It’s perfectly acceptable to stop and ask strangers about them, their family, their day, their afternoon, where they are from, where they are going, what tribe they are, what’s their religion…etc…

Although I’m usually shy, sometimes I enjoy these easy chances to practice Swahili. One day, I stopped to buy fruit from Kennedy, my favorite fruit vendor. I asked him how he was and what his little son’s name was. When his wife walked up and tied the baby to her back in a kitenge, I told them how I wanted to carry a baby in the US like that. As I was leaving, he threw two tangerines in the bag with my mangoes.

It’s these moments that shape my life in Tanzania. After a month, I’ve learned to accept certain realities of life here. Almost everyday, I explain to at least one person that I’m not from China or Japan, avoid some man trying to hit on me (now I get to hear how cool my rasta braids are), and have some kid stare at me in terror when I greet them. But having a café full of employees call me best friend daily and getting delicious fruit free makes me love life here.

Zanzibar in Brief

I'll have a longer post soon, I'm just eager to show pictures. I hope it makes sense...I'm a little distracted with my first mild food poisoning. I tried to put up more pictures, but am giving up on the internet connection for now.

Zanzibar was breathtaking. From the narrow streets and intricate Arabic doors of Stonetown, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, to the delicious smells of the spice tour and the white sandy beaches, the island is amazing. It's not quite Tanzanian--there's actually an active independence movement, but really worth a visit. There is a much more valuable tourist industry here than on the mainland, other than maybe the safari circuit of the north. There are so many more Wazungu wandering around. Locals often greet visitors with "Jambo" and "Hakuna Matata" phrases rarely heard in Dar and probably never heard by locals. They say the "Swahili" terms tourists expect to hear. They put on a show, but its a profitable one.

One of our Spice Tour guides showing off a dye and me showing off my "Tracy Chapman hair."

One of the coolest things you can do on the "spice island" is go on a spice tour to see where they grow and sample ginger, saffron, cinnamon, vanilla, coffee, cardamom, and many fruits. I'm loaded with teas and spices to bring home. I also stocked up on Zanzibar scarves. The Muslim island has made an industry of lovely, light scarves that can cover your head.

A coconut tree climber singing "Jambo Bwana" and dancing for us on the spice tour

As for my hair, it took forever to get done, hurt for the first fews days, and took a while to get used to, but I think I like it. I'm a little uncomfortable getting called "Rasta" mainly because I once heard a Hampshire student rant about white people pretending to be Rastafarian and not understanding the religion or culture. I don't like pretending I'm anything I'm not...or I'd just tell people I'm Chinese and make it easier on myself. But I've decided to put aside my overly PC Black Studies major sensibilities and take things as they are while I'm here. So maybe I'm being a cultural appropriator, but I won't worry about it now. My friends have dubbed my hair "Tracy Chapman hair" and for the next month, I'll be rocking long, black, plastic braids.