Being back in Mwanza is very refreshing!! First of all, it's about 10 degrees cooler and there is no humidity so it is much more comfortable. I've had my best sleep here since arriving back in Tanzania. The noises are familiar to me. The Maasai playing with the ring tones on their phones and making strange noises, singing, laughing.. talking endlessly about who knows what. Shuffling along in the mornings while they sweep the sand and that damn Rooster. Won't someone just eat it? Please. Eat it. I can't believe it's still alive!!
I forgot just how cold the water is in the shower at the house in Buswelu. The tank on the roof doesn't seem to get the sun during the day so it doesn't warm up. Getting in there first thing in the morning takes balls, and I don't normally mind cold showers when it's hot out.
The children were happy to see me, excited.. confused!!! Shy!!! Curious!!! I could describe it in many ways but at the end of the day it's so great to have come back to suprise them.. they are super confused about where Denise is because to them we come together so despite me trying to explain that she is in England and will come to see them one day they don't really get it and still chant her name (together with mine) when I walk into the compound. Super adorable..
A lot has changed since we left and again, nothing at all. I expected the kids english to be a bit better than it is, but I don't think they have had consistent teaching since the six months that we have left (actually, the kids complained to me that they aren't getting taught anymore).
Also, the electricity is still not running (despite it being paid for with receipts to prove it). Apparently the 'bribe' was not high enough. Yup, despite paying for it we didn't bribe enough to actually be high on the list for the electricity to be connected so we are still waiting. Everything is in place and it's been wired.. but (as Leo famously stated "this is Africa"). It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but Joel assures me that he will get a credit on the rent when they move out, so essentially the money went to help with paying the rent for the orphanage. I'm okay with that. I guess. I'm not sure what else I can be.. In the meantime they have organized solar panels which will ease the cost of the fuel needed to run the generator.
Last time I was here we had to come to peace with the fact that when you get involved in something like this it won't be perfect.. but I can assure you that the children are happy and they are going to school and in my mind that's the most important two factors.
5.15.2008
Beaches, Rainbows and Christmas Cards..
I love the drive back from the beach to Stonetown (we just spend the weekend at Kendwa beach resort). The drive is only about an hour and it's the best if you do it an hour before sunset so you have that perfect soft golden light touching everything as you wind your way past the villages to town. Today in particular it is beautiful because it's raining but the sun is still shining and the sky is clear. There is a perfect rainbow arching over us as we weave along the road; both ends disappearing into a jungle of dense palms far off in the distance. A few small children, about six years old, are walking in a line down the road. They are using giant palm leaves, as big as they are, like umbrellas in a futile attempt to keep dry. They are totally drenched! I saw them earlier this morning playing in a field. Same palm leaves to sheild themselves. Still soaking wet!
The steet is busy, people are walking and bicycling in every direction. Going to mosque or coming home from a visit with family or from work. I have no idea. Two boys sit on the back of a makeshift wagon with one wheel which is being pulled by a donkey. They look incredibly amused with themselves and have an empty cart. Likely they are finally on the way home after a long day of delivering firewood or fruit. Or something.
Back in Stonetown we are treated like the tourists we appear to be, despite the fact that everyone I am with lives and works on the island. The colour of our skin makes us a constant target. They have surrounded our car as we get out and are trying to sell us spices, cd's and necklaces. "Crack-pot Harry" is trying to sell us a Christmas card. It's the only thing he has. I laugh to myself wondering where on earth he picked it up and again at how funny it is that he is trying to peddle 'Seasons Greetings' in the middle of April on the predominantly Muslim island of Zanzibar. (In hindsight, perhaps I should have bought it). In any case, I am soaking wet and still covered in sand from our day at the beach and look a bit out of place standing in the middle of town while Mardia haggles our taxi rate for the day.
The 'other' local crazy decides to follow us as we find our way home and is temporarily thrown off his plan of action when we split into two groups heading in different directions. He's mumbling incoherent Kiswahili to us but decides to follow Katie and I. We loose him moments later as we (while laughing) kick it up a notch and start into a sprint and dodge around a few corners and through alley ways to find our street where we live. He's totally harmless but there is no need for him to know where we live. That's the thing about Stonetown though. After a few days here they know who you are, where you stay, if you have a nice camera and laptop and what your daily routine is. It's a little bit unnerving at times, but if you're smart you should be fine.
I am home now to pack because tomorrow I'm heading to Mwanza to visit the children. I can't wait to see them but I still have some weirdness about the fact that this time I'll be there without Denise! It's ridiculous that I'm actually craving Kuliana's pizza and rolls just as much as the roasted corn and rice and beans that I can get in Buswelu Corner for pennies. I will have to hold out on the mendozi with chocolate bars and sugar dip because (as tempting as it is) it just isn't right without Denise, Suzy and Jessica to ease my indulgant guilt!!!
My first two weeks back in Africa have been really, really (I stress again the really part) relaxing. I spent my first week trying to adjust to the time difference, the heat and the noise. Getting my travel legs back I guess. Unfortunately, my second week was spent sick which threw me for a loop! I'm used to having more of an iron stomach from all of the travelling but I guess it's not as tough as I thought it was!
The steet is busy, people are walking and bicycling in every direction. Going to mosque or coming home from a visit with family or from work. I have no idea. Two boys sit on the back of a makeshift wagon with one wheel which is being pulled by a donkey. They look incredibly amused with themselves and have an empty cart. Likely they are finally on the way home after a long day of delivering firewood or fruit. Or something.
Back in Stonetown we are treated like the tourists we appear to be, despite the fact that everyone I am with lives and works on the island. The colour of our skin makes us a constant target. They have surrounded our car as we get out and are trying to sell us spices, cd's and necklaces. "Crack-pot Harry" is trying to sell us a Christmas card. It's the only thing he has. I laugh to myself wondering where on earth he picked it up and again at how funny it is that he is trying to peddle 'Seasons Greetings' in the middle of April on the predominantly Muslim island of Zanzibar. (In hindsight, perhaps I should have bought it). In any case, I am soaking wet and still covered in sand from our day at the beach and look a bit out of place standing in the middle of town while Mardia haggles our taxi rate for the day.
The 'other' local crazy decides to follow us as we find our way home and is temporarily thrown off his plan of action when we split into two groups heading in different directions. He's mumbling incoherent Kiswahili to us but decides to follow Katie and I. We loose him moments later as we (while laughing) kick it up a notch and start into a sprint and dodge around a few corners and through alley ways to find our street where we live. He's totally harmless but there is no need for him to know where we live. That's the thing about Stonetown though. After a few days here they know who you are, where you stay, if you have a nice camera and laptop and what your daily routine is. It's a little bit unnerving at times, but if you're smart you should be fine.
I am home now to pack because tomorrow I'm heading to Mwanza to visit the children. I can't wait to see them but I still have some weirdness about the fact that this time I'll be there without Denise! It's ridiculous that I'm actually craving Kuliana's pizza and rolls just as much as the roasted corn and rice and beans that I can get in Buswelu Corner for pennies. I will have to hold out on the mendozi with chocolate bars and sugar dip because (as tempting as it is) it just isn't right without Denise, Suzy and Jessica to ease my indulgant guilt!!!
My first two weeks back in Africa have been really, really (I stress again the really part) relaxing. I spent my first week trying to adjust to the time difference, the heat and the noise. Getting my travel legs back I guess. Unfortunately, my second week was spent sick which threw me for a loop! I'm used to having more of an iron stomach from all of the travelling but I guess it's not as tough as I thought it was!
Ma-hm-bo Vi-eh-phi Ra-h-mboo!
I am staying with a Muslim family in an apartment somewhere in the midst of the maze that is Stonetown. I have a 'self-contained' apartment on the top floor (there is not technically what I would consider a real door seperating me from the family but I don't think they go to the upstairs part). There are two bedrooms, a massive living room, great kitchen space (a fridge!) and a flush toilet. Cold water showers only but it's 25 degrees with 100% humidity. Who needs hot water! I have been covered in sweat since arriving but I really don't care. It feels good, familiar. $100 per month.
Sleeping peacefully in the mornings is presenting itself a challenge and I usually find myself with my head wrapped up in my sweatshirt to try and block out the noises for just a few more minutes of peace. The first call to prayer begins at about 5am. I love the haunted, eery sound of it. I try and sleep a few more hours but people start walking past my window and the noise gradually increases to a maddening choas of voices and customary greetings as people pass each other and start their days. A motorbike screetches to a stop narrowly missing an older woman as she shuffles through the streets and two men compete (every morning) to win the title of 'loudest bicycle bell'. Men and boys of every age sit together looking bored, contemplating life. Children scream and laugh and chase each other through the streets and I give up and drag myself into the shower. First thought.. coffee.
I walk down the two flights of stairs to the street (wearing a scarf to cover my shoulders) and rip it off and stick it in my bag the second I get out of the house. I'm already sweating and I know I should keep it on but ug..the heat. I wind my way through the narrow cobblestone streets greeting the artists and shop keepers who are trying to convince me to come in to their shop. I love you, please will you be my friendy, where are you from. You are never anonymous in Africa.
Sitting in Livingstones (sipping on coffee) and the place is literally deserted..it is the rainy season so tourism is low. I feel like (if I was a writer) this would be the place I would haunt. Insufferable humidity made (only the slightest bit) easier by rickety cieling fans. Dramatic skies threatening thundershowers, a view of the ocean and the cargo ships unloading potato sack after potoato sack (how can this tiny island possible need this many potatoes?). A fifty (plus) woman does her best to hide her age behind sunglasses that practically cover her entire head, wearing touristy clothes that are just a bit too young and (intentionally) too tight. She swings to the music while paying the bill. The twenty-five year old beach boy accompanying her does his best to look amused and treats her like she is the most beautiful woman in the world (bored to tears when she's not looking). The life of a beach boy, made easier by a European woman twice his age on a two week holiday with cash to burn. Can't really blame him.
Mardia tells me I look 'cleaner' than last time I was here. I'm not sure what that means exactly (Mardia is known for speaking her mind) but I do assume it's a good thing. I do have the same daily shower thing that I did last time I was here (even sometimes twice - I swear! In fact, Denise was the one who loved to revel in her own filth for days and brag about how long she'd gone without a dribble of water to clean herself - hahah!!). It must be the clean fingernails and manicured toes that are throwing her off.
We are spending today at the 'sandbank'. Literally, it is a mile long stetch of sand that is only visible during low tide. There is nothing on it.. only birds. It's a twenty minute boat ride from the town and we are the only people there. Snorkeling and suntanning. Tough life this is..
Sleeping peacefully in the mornings is presenting itself a challenge and I usually find myself with my head wrapped up in my sweatshirt to try and block out the noises for just a few more minutes of peace. The first call to prayer begins at about 5am. I love the haunted, eery sound of it. I try and sleep a few more hours but people start walking past my window and the noise gradually increases to a maddening choas of voices and customary greetings as people pass each other and start their days. A motorbike screetches to a stop narrowly missing an older woman as she shuffles through the streets and two men compete (every morning) to win the title of 'loudest bicycle bell'. Men and boys of every age sit together looking bored, contemplating life. Children scream and laugh and chase each other through the streets and I give up and drag myself into the shower. First thought.. coffee.
I walk down the two flights of stairs to the street (wearing a scarf to cover my shoulders) and rip it off and stick it in my bag the second I get out of the house. I'm already sweating and I know I should keep it on but ug..the heat. I wind my way through the narrow cobblestone streets greeting the artists and shop keepers who are trying to convince me to come in to their shop. I love you, please will you be my friendy, where are you from. You are never anonymous in Africa.
Sitting in Livingstones (sipping on coffee) and the place is literally deserted..it is the rainy season so tourism is low. I feel like (if I was a writer) this would be the place I would haunt. Insufferable humidity made (only the slightest bit) easier by rickety cieling fans. Dramatic skies threatening thundershowers, a view of the ocean and the cargo ships unloading potato sack after potoato sack (how can this tiny island possible need this many potatoes?). A fifty (plus) woman does her best to hide her age behind sunglasses that practically cover her entire head, wearing touristy clothes that are just a bit too young and (intentionally) too tight. She swings to the music while paying the bill. The twenty-five year old beach boy accompanying her does his best to look amused and treats her like she is the most beautiful woman in the world (bored to tears when she's not looking). The life of a beach boy, made easier by a European woman twice his age on a two week holiday with cash to burn. Can't really blame him.
Mardia tells me I look 'cleaner' than last time I was here. I'm not sure what that means exactly (Mardia is known for speaking her mind) but I do assume it's a good thing. I do have the same daily shower thing that I did last time I was here (even sometimes twice - I swear! In fact, Denise was the one who loved to revel in her own filth for days and brag about how long she'd gone without a dribble of water to clean herself - hahah!!). It must be the clean fingernails and manicured toes that are throwing her off.
We are spending today at the 'sandbank'. Literally, it is a mile long stetch of sand that is only visible during low tide. There is nothing on it.. only birds. It's a twenty minute boat ride from the town and we are the only people there. Snorkeling and suntanning. Tough life this is..
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