Demon Baby Attacks!!
Here is a 24 week ultrasound of our child. I can't help but to think he/she looks like a demon who is scratching at my womb...
I love my demon baby.
Lured back into Bloggville...
I'm being harassed into returning to my blog. I've been wanting to put up a new post, but I was planning on scanning in my ultrasound photos before I did so. Laziness has prevented both Sam and I from reconnecting my old, slow, illness-prone desktop computer, and we tend to just use my laptop all the time. Laptop, however, isn't connected to the printer. Guess it's time to do a little finagling.
So, stay tuned for baby photos.
I'm now officially in my 7th month of pregnancy. It's really good right now. I've been depressed, terrified, sick, angry, elated, anxious, and have happily settled into peaceful acceptance and thrilling anticipation. I can't wait for this new chapter in my life, in our life, to start. It's gonna be a doozy, and those who know me know I've had PLENTY of doozy chapters in my life already. I'm afraid nothing will be quite like parenthood. I cannot wait.
However, in the meantime I think Sam and I are packing in as much childless fun as we can. Sam went on tour last month, replete with literally blowing the doors off a club they played in downtown Atlanta. Okay, a tornado actually blew the doors off, and the heating units on the roof, and parts of the roof, and most of the windows out of their tour van, but it's more fun to blame it on rock n' roll.
I went to San Diego with my mom and sat on the beach doing nothing but reading. Everyone knows that that's WAY more fun than being on tour. At least when you're not in a band anymore. I got a tan, bonded with my mom, it was lovely.
This June I'll be taking 4 classes over two weeks at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. Sam think that's "fun" for me, and I guess it kinda is, but mostly it's a career advancing move, and someone else is footing the bill, so why not. I don't think I'll want to go anywhere for two weeks once I have the baby, so I might as well do it now.
Some of you may know that I'll be transferring to Washington University this fall. The George Warren Brown School of Social Work and Wash U's School of Medicine are jointly starting an Institute of Public Health. My mentor is leaving SLU to GWB, and I'm going as well. I'll transfer in as a second year PhD student, and it shouldn't change too much for my coursework and timeline. I'll keep doing the work I'm doing in cancer communication, but now I'll have everything paid for and get a stipend that isn't even linked to work. Sweet, sweet deal. You gotta love rich institutions. I'll continue to work part-time in the Lab as well, after I get back from maternity leave, perhaps mid-October. But school starts August 27th, and I won't miss a beat of that. Hooray for grandmas and aunts.
I'm trying now to hook up the printer. Stay tuned as baby is on the way...
Yes We Can...
I don't know if you all have seen this, but I think it's a beautiful representation of what we can have if we exercise our right to vote today. If you don't, I hope you understand that you'll carry the burden of the fate of this nation for the next four years...at least.
Sit back and listen to an amazing man -- eloquent, passionate, and ready to work for us.
I want change.
Tanzania videos on You Tube!
I've put 31 videos that I took in Tanzania up on You Tube. Now you too can listen to our crazy ramblings as we wander the Serengeti, the streets of Arusha, and the bus stations of eastern Tanzania. I recorded quite a few songs performed by the students at school as well.
Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=keddens
If this link doesn't work, try looking up "keddens" on You Tube.
Enjoy.
News from the abyss...
Hi everyone, I know I've been a total slacker on the blog. But, I did promise certain people that I would not be a "blogger" upon my return, and that the blog was simply an easy way to communicate from Tanzania. But, I've had several out-of-town friends say they check the blog to see what's up, so I figure a few new posts now and then wouldn't actually make me a blogger. I hope.
Updates: Started PhD. Got married. Got pregnant. Went on honeymoon to Montana.
Baby Meyer is due July 24th. I promise to put up photos when the day comes.
For now, I figure I'll put up some photos from the wedding, and a link to ALL of my photos from Tanzania. I may still post a few here, but there are over 1800 photos. I know. Out of control.
http://www2.snapfish.com/photolibrary/t_=43301127
School starts again next week, so I'm sure I'll be busy as hell. But, right now, I'm sitting on my butt watching Veggie Tales. Seriously. I didn't do it on purpose, but it came on after Saved by the Bell. Welcome to pregnancy.
An old one: Everything else, summed up
Here's a post I wrote when I returned but never posted. It gets you mostly through the safari:
I realized that by getting lost in my travels I didn't saw a word about the day camp graduation. It was a full day of pomp and circumstance, which meant that we had plays and simosas and songs and a PA system. The kids had a blast, and a few sets of parents showed up. The afternoon was filled with every single student wanting their picture taken with us. I have a great collection that i plan to send over to the school in an album. It was sad to leave them. I felt like if nothing else, the kids loved having us there, asking us questions, playing the games we taught them (stretching was still, oddly, their favorite), and trying to learn what they could from us. I know that the kids in my class will be well taken care of. their teacher, Miss Paul, kept as much of our flip charts and note cards and displays as she could to use while teaching in the upcoming year. I didn't like bumping down that long road, hitting my head on the ceiling, only one last time. But, I wasn't too sad, since I knew I was going to the coast.
In the interest of time, I'm not gonna go in to the rest of the trip in a lot of detail. And by time, I mean now that I'm back and have a wedding to finish planning, a job to go to, research to do and books to read for class, I'm losing that precious commodity quickly. I miss the days when most of your time was spent hanging around, deciding what to do next, or reading a good book. Rest assured, the rest of the trip to Pangani was beautiful, relaxing, and I almost got bored from all the doing nothing. I finished another book, and got a little too much sun. The bus ride back was a little worse in that we didn't stop at all in the 8 hours, but I prepared by not drinking or eating much. Amazingly, after being sure that I was going to make it through six weeks in Tanzania without seeing Kilimanjaro, even after hiking on Kilimanjaro, it peeked through the clouds just as we passed through Moshi. I shook Kyle awake and snapped a billion pictures.
Sam's first few days were spent overcoming the overwhelming feeling of being in a third world country. He never showed it, but every once in while I'd just check and see how he was feeling. It took him a little while to relax, as it did for all of us in the beginning. We hung out in Arusha, seeing the sites, eating good food, hanging out with Kyle and Dan, mostly. We stayed at a hotel, and at my mama's. We spent one day at the UN's International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. The first courtroom we saw had returned from their morning break and the defendant was feeling very tired and didn't want to continue for the afternoon. The magistrate granted his request and they adjourned for the day. In the second courtroom, we saw the beginning of questioning of a defendant, before they closed the courtroom to protect the gentlemen. It was amazing to watch. Here was a man accused of unknown atrocities in Rwanda in 1994. The lawyer had requested the whole session be closed, but the magistrate asked if she could do at least a few sessions for those of us who were watching. The guests sit behind a glass wall. There are monitors and cameras displaying the proceedings, and you can see through the glass as well. You wear headphones and can listen to the tribunal in English or French. The lawyer proceeded with her questioning, mostly clarifications of place and time, arguing with the defendant a little, and ending with the question "Is it not true that you, Sir, are a Hutu?!" He admitted he was indeed a Hutu, and then the courtroom was closed to the public. The tribunal brings a lot of income to Arusha. Everyone who is a part of it lives and spends money in Arusha, The Tribunal has been going on continuously since 1994 with "the sole purpose of prosecuting persons responsible for genocide and other serious violations of international humanitarian law committed in the territory of Rwanda and Rwandan citizens responsible for genocide and other such violations committed in the territory of neighboring States".
The next day we took off for safari. Sam and I, Kyle, Matt and Meghan who were at my school as well, and Drew. The six of us, a cook, and a driver took off in a Land Rover to Ngorongoro Crater and the Seregengeti. The first day we arrived at Ngorongoro, about 3 or 4 hours away, and dropped off the cook (Maliki) and all of our camping gear at the camp up on the rim of hte crater. The driver (Joshua) took us to meet an armed guide to do a walking tour still above the rim. We hiked for maybe two hours, through trees and rolling hills spotted with Maasai bomas and herds of cows. We wazungu were still a strange sight for the Maasai children, so when some of them spotted us, there was a group of ten or so screaming children running at else yelling "mzungu!" and bowing their heads for us to put our hands on them. They were absolutely filthy. Ashy bodies and crusty noses with tattered and muddy clothes. They seemed absolutely happy. I know that some street orphans from the cities sometimes come out and live with the Maasai on the plains, and they readily take them in, so they may be happy just o have family to live with, and food to eat. Regardless, they were having a good time talking to us: "Good morning! How are yoooouuuu!"
We got back to the camp, eventually, and the cook had popcorn and cookies waiting for us with tea, coffee and hot chocolate. There was an elephant just hanging out near the campsite, so we went and had a look, took some pictures. We settled in and waited for dinner, reading, playing cards, and other boring stuff. As the sun went down, it got cold. And I mean mzungu cold. St. Louis cold. It was probably in the low 40s or high 30s when we went to bed. I wore two pairs of pants, a shirt, a hoodie, a jacket, and a scarf to bed, and I still froze. That night, there was a zebra in the campsite. The next night, a water buffalo and hyenas, and the last night, and elephant. The elephant was maybe 20 feet max from our tents. We couldn't' go to sleep cause we were afraid that he'd step on us! We just watched him eat from the branches of this tree int eh middle of the campsite. He started walking closer to us at one point and we all moved backwards in a line, bumping into all of the people behind us, kind of scrambling over one another, but then he stopped and grabbed more leaves from another branch, breaking the whole branch off with his trunk and opening his huge mouth. We all turned on our headlamps and gazed into his maw. Dang. Big teeth and a giant tongue that you wouldn't want anywhere near you. Eventually he moved towards another tree away form the campsite and we felt safe enough to sleep. The second night, I woke up int he middle of the night to the sound of what seemed like a dozen or more hyenas whoop-whooping at each other. I freaked out a little, but knew they were hyenas and were probably not gonna bother us. At another point, I felt something pushing against the tent, at my feet, at my head...I shook Sam awake and said something's trying to get into the tent! and he said, yeah, the wind. Then I heard a growling sound and said wind my ass, what was that! and he said someone zipping their tent. so i tried to go back to sleep...I convinced myself that the tent was made of pretty durable canvas, and it looked like it could withstand some claws...But when we woke up there was animal poop all over, and Kyle had woke up and almost peed on a water buffalo in the bushes, so I'm not so sure it was just the wind that night.
Anyway, the day we woke up on the rim of the crater we drove to the Serengeti. It's about another 2 or 3 hours or so through Ngorongoro conservation area to the Serengeti National Park. Serengeti means "endless plain" in the Maasai language and man, is it ever. There are some photos of us where all you can see in the distance is the horizon. No bumps, no trees, no grass really, just an occasional gazelle, and then eventually a LOT of gazelle, until you start to see a green hill in the distance, which is the check in point for the park. We stopped there and had lunch, checking out some great pink and blue lizards and a beautiful blue and brown-chested bird that I later found out was the pigeon of Africa. It was annoying, and it wanted my lunch. Food on safari is cooked at the campsites by the cooks, and they also have box lunches if you are eating on the road. Box lunches are usually made of the following: a Blue Band (a cross between margarine and Crisco...delicious) and carrot sandwich on white bread, a vegetable samosa, a boiled egg, a chicken leg/wing, cookies or a muffin, and a chocolate wafer bar. Drinks are mango or orange juice boxes. Generally, a very good lunch, however evil for those of us with Celiac's disease. I did my best to explain my gluten allergy to the manager of the safari company to no avail. I could trade for lunch, my sandwich fr your egg, my cookies for your chicken leg, but not so much with all the other meals. So, I enjoyed having spaghetti and bread for the first time in over a year. Oh man, toast with butter is one of the best things in the world. The first morning I had severe stomach cramping. The next few days I had the kind of issues that aren't really too bad when you're on safari and don't have good access to toilets. By the time I go tot Zanzibar I was a mess. But, that didn't stop me from enjoying some delicious (oh my god, nectar of the heavens) pizza blanca in Zanizibar. I figured I mgiht as well, if I'm already suffering. But I digress...
We drove through the Serengeti every which way. I don't' know if we were north or south or east or what, but we saw everything. We saw a male lion, guarding his territory, and then, just next to him, another sleepy lion stood up and stretched and we all went ooooo.....and then, even better, yet another lion lifted his head to see what his brothers were doing. Man was it awesome. We took a bunch of pictures and moved on. Now picture the same, but with giraffes, leopards, cheetahs, (leopards and cheetahs apparently only sleep and only exist in trees), elephants, hopi, impala, gazelle, warthogs and wildebeests. We stirred a lioness from her sleep and she walked off her branch and passed us closely. Later we came across another lioness who had been in a recent fight. She had a gaping wound on her shoulder and a large flap of skin hanging off of her leg, red and bloody and swinging with her step. She walked right next to our truck. It was incredible. Going on safari is a lot of driving around, looking at stuff, scanning the trees and the horizon for something furry, telling the driver to stop, telling him to go again, letting him explain what the animals are doing and why, chasing other safari trucks who look like they've found something, getting hot, getting cold, having to pee in the middle of the plains...it's awesome. At one point, actually not a mile from where we saw the first male lions, we got a flat tire. It was great. I made up a song called "stuck in the Serengeti with a flat tire." Our driver went off to find help (there's one thing you don't see a lack of on safari and that's Land Rovers and Land Cruisers) but not before telling us not to venture far from the truck since we're in simba (lion) territory. A Land Cruiser tried to come to our rescue but the bolts on a Rover are too big for a Cruisers tools. We eventually got help and watched the guys change the tire. I held some bolts. Sam was in there trying to help, as always. No matter where we were, Sam was helping. The driver, Joshua, told him he works like a soldier. Sam doesn't know how to not work, even on vacation. Setting up tents, packing the car, whatever he can do. The driver and cook both began calling Kyle American soldier because he wears so much camo. And he has a buzzed head. He go that a lot in Arusha too. So we fixed the flat, Matt peed on that part of the Serengeti (he peed all over Africa) although we advised that it may not be a good idea to mark the simba territory. We moved on to the hippo pool, which smelled something awful. I mean, hippos stink. They're also huge. They kill more Tanzanians than any other animal. Apparantly a hippo is fast, even on the ground, and aggressive. It will attack people when they're walking form village to village and get in the hippos way.
Be patient...
I'm trying to upload photos that illustrate each blog, so I have to re-post the blogs with them attached. And apparently you can only do 5 for each, so I'm trying to choose ones that correspond well. Below you see photos from Pangani: the view of the dhow from the shore at low tide, to which we had to walk, the sun shining on the low tide beach before we walked out, the dhow crew, Pepi the dhow at the sand island, and a view from the sun shelter on the sand island.
It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me...
...and I'm feeling good.
I'm sitting here, at my computer, at home. In St. Louis. Connecticut and Arkansas. Represent.
And it's weird.
I've washed Africa off my body, my hair, my clothes. Reluctantly. Okay, it's true, I REALLY enjoyed the long hot shower I took this morning, but I did think about how much water I was wasting for at least 30 seconds. Thankfully, Africa is here to stay in my mind, my heart, my everything. And in my cup of coffee. I brought back the world's greatest instant coffee: Africafe. It's awesome. I don't even drink coffee anymore, but I did a lot of things in Africa I don't do anymore. No worries, not THAT. Or that. Or that, either. But there's nothing like a cup of Africafe to jolt you into life every day.
I've unpacked, done laundry, sorted gifts, began going through email and the mound of real mail. I walked around the neighborhood, going to the bank, the health food store, Jay's international supermarket, picked up lunch at Bread Co. It's nice to have a "real" salad. Every time I need to say "excuse me" in my brain I say "samahani" and I have to think to say it in English. I stopped saying "thank you" back on the second plane ride home because I can't say that in English yet either, and "asante sana" could mean something totally different than thank you to the lady working at Jay's. I've loaded my photos on to the computer. They seem really boring to me, because I feel that very few of them actually captured what I was looking at at the moment. I'm actually really disappointed in them. Hopefully I can lock those images in my brain, burn them into my hippocampus and tell them to get comfortable cause I need them to stay. I think the photos will be neat to others, but I may need an objective eye to tell me which ones are interesting, cause pictures of the streets and the city and the shops all just look like normal stuff to me now.
And to those who asked, no I didn't lose any weight. So much for the Africa diet. Unfortunately an Afrikan mama would rather die than let you go home skinnier than the way you came. Not to mention the instinct to eat everything you can when you're served cause you're not really sure when you'll be eating again, like on safari. So it's the 8 week oh-god-i-hope-i-can-fit-into-my-wedding-dress diet for me now.
But regardless of the physical weight, I feel lighter. I have a different perspective. I realize the way I've been living has been crazy. It's barely living. It's the life of an insane person. I rush around through life like a tornado, trying to fit in everything I can while I'm still young. I think I'm getting old. I think I'll die young. I think I'll miss out on something if I don't do it all, and do it now. It's the same way I used to live in my previous life but without all of the self-destructive substances. But is that really true? Now it's work, school, degrees, papers, accomplishments, marriage, being better, the best... But it all does the same thing, right?
Before I get way too philosophical or introspective for a public forum, let me just say that I've done a lot of thinking. Sam gives me a hard time because it takes me so long and is so difficult for me to make decisions. He was teasing me while we were gone that I even keep questioning my decisions after I make them, so it's like I still haven't made a decision. I thought about it, and realized this: I spent the majority of the first 25 years of my life making really bad decisions, and I'm lucky I survived. So now when I make decisions, it's a big deal to me. I'm terrified of making a choice that will make me unhappy. That said, I also realize that few choices we make are irreversible. I know I'm in charge of the actions, but not the outcomes. I feel that I have a well-developed awareness of what I need and when I need to change something, and the ability to make those changes when necessary. Being in a calm (internally, at least) place for the last six weeks, away from the stresses of daily life as an American, I realize I need to take care of myself more. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. My health needs to come first. So I've been making some decisions. In due time we'll talk about those. Suffice it to say that things are going to be different. Subtly, but different none the less.
But you all don't come here to get inside my neuroses, you come to hear about Africa. So I'll continue where we left off, on the beautiful coastal village of Pangani...
I think the day we woke up in Pangani was June 30th, a Saturday. At 8:30 am we walked across the low tide, probably about 1/4 mile or so into the ocean to alight our trustworthy sea vessel: "Pepi" the dhow. There was a large group of us, Kyle and I, 3 Scottish medical students, 8 or 10 other college-aged American volunteers, 4 Germans/South Africans (which means I think the grandparents were German, but lived in Arusha, the daughter was somewhere in between, maybe a German living in South Africa, and her kid was all South African), and a couple of unknown origin who spoke fluent Swahili, and were so beautiful and gentle and had brought three young Tanzanian boys along. The children were from an orphanage in Moshi, but we never figured out whether they were a family now, or the couple simply worked there and brought the children for vacation. Regardless, it's a full ship. There are 2 crewman, effortlessly working the ropes and the pulleys and the sail, and the rest of us, just watching the water turn lighter and lighter shades of blue as we head out from the sandy grey waves near the shore, seeing the coconut trees and thatched roof huts slowly diminishing, little hash marks on the shoreline where people are trolling the beaches and tide pools for some sort of personal treasure, the horizon dotted here and there with the tiny triangles of other dhows, no doubt on far more noble missions than ours. But that's fine with me. We're going snorkeling.
The Tanzanian crewmen shout "Mambo!" and we all respond with a hearty "Poa!" The sun was hot, much hotter and direct than in partly-cloudy-all-the-time Arusha, but the breeze took the edge off. I didn't even sweat. The dhow is an amazing structure. Completely efficient and effective in its simplicity. There is a single mast made of the trunk of a former coconut tree, perhaps. A rope loops around the mast and is strung through a pulley, and there are two single ropes connecting the sail's boom (is that what it's called?) to the mast. (In my gurnal I have a lovely little line drawing here, but I think when I get the chance a photo will be much more illustrative.) We motor out for a while and then unfurl the sail which billows out proudly, ready to puff its way to India. Or Pemba, which is much much closer. After a while we stop and the crewmen jump in to see whether this is a good place to dive. We all get in, snorkels and flippers and all, but I can't see anything. The flippers are annoying and I can't get my mask on because the waves are too strong. So I just swim around for a bit in this amazingly warm but refreshingly clean blue bathwater. We get back in, sail on, and eventually approach the sand island where we'll be chilling out and having lunch. Just offshore is a good place to dive. We all go overboard and we look like a pod of strange fish, all buoyant butts and snorkel tops, flipping water up when we paddle about, looking at the coral, and the fish, and the beautiful sandy sea bottom.
When we get to the sand island, we make our way through the clear blue calm and collapse, in turn, flat on the sand, and just soak up the sun for a while. I flip, and stare at the horizon for a while. I needed this break. At least once every 15 minutes I am completely astounded that I am here. On a sand island. On a dhow. Snorkeling. In the Indian Ocean. In Africa. It's overwhelming, to say the least. How did I get this life? There's shade set up on the island for us light-skinned fish, and we sit under it and eat our lunches of sandwiches and chips mayai, which is basically an omelette with french fries, and the only gluten-free thing on the boxed lunch menu. The crewmen sleep soundly on their sides, lying close to the water on a spot of dry sand. They're incredible fit and muscular, as are most of the young men in Africa who do physical labor. They can't be more than 22 or 23. Ernest, who works in the restaurant, says he only likes working here so-so because he gets malaria about 4 times a year and he doesn't like that. No kidding. Who would? Malaria is the biggest infectious disease I see here. I know several Tanzanians just since I've been here who've gotten it. It really needs more attention and more money. But I'll save that rant for another post. The crewmen are up now, jogging laps around the island and doing pushups. I get in the water and Kyle and I decide to swim laps around the island, but the plan changes when we see something dark and suspicious in the water that we don't want to cross paths with. So we swim back and forth on one side of the island for a while, the waves carrying me one way, then turning on me when I go against them, crashing into my face and mouth and body. I get stung by a jellyfish and Kyle offers to pee on it. Uh, no thanks.
I'm tired of typing. I'm copying some of this from my journal, and I'm too verbose for my own liking, and for my wrists' liking. There's a lot more interesting stuff to write about. I thought Pangani was paradise until I got to Zanzibar...oh, momma. More to come.
I'm sitting here, at my computer, at home. In St. Louis. Connecticut and Arkansas. Represent.
And it's weird.
I've washed Africa off my body, my hair, my clothes. Reluctantly. Okay, it's true, I REALLY enjoyed the long hot shower I took this morning, but I did think about how much water I was wasting for at least 30 seconds. Thankfully, Africa is here to stay in my mind, my heart, my everything. And in my cup of coffee. I brought back the world's greatest instant coffee: Africafe. It's awesome. I don't even drink coffee anymore, but I did a lot of things in Africa I don't do anymore. No worries, not THAT. Or that. Or that, either. But there's nothing like a cup of Africafe to jolt you into life every day.
I've unpacked, done laundry, sorted gifts, began going through email and the mound of real mail. I walked around the neighborhood, going to the bank, the health food store, Jay's international supermarket, picked up lunch at Bread Co. It's nice to have a "real" salad. Every time I need to say "excuse me" in my brain I say "samahani" and I have to think to say it in English. I stopped saying "thank you" back on the second plane ride home because I can't say that in English yet either, and "asante sana" could mean something totally different than thank you to the lady working at Jay's. I've loaded my photos on to the computer. They seem really boring to me, because I feel that very few of them actually captured what I was looking at at the moment. I'm actually really disappointed in them. Hopefully I can lock those images in my brain, burn them into my hippocampus and tell them to get comfortable cause I need them to stay. I think the photos will be neat to others, but I may need an objective eye to tell me which ones are interesting, cause pictures of the streets and the city and the shops all just look like normal stuff to me now.
And to those who asked, no I didn't lose any weight. So much for the Africa diet. Unfortunately an Afrikan mama would rather die than let you go home skinnier than the way you came. Not to mention the instinct to eat everything you can when you're served cause you're not really sure when you'll be eating again, like on safari. So it's the 8 week oh-god-i-hope-i-can-fit-into-my-wedding-dress diet for me now.
But regardless of the physical weight, I feel lighter. I have a different perspective. I realize the way I've been living has been crazy. It's barely living. It's the life of an insane person. I rush around through life like a tornado, trying to fit in everything I can while I'm still young. I think I'm getting old. I think I'll die young. I think I'll miss out on something if I don't do it all, and do it now. It's the same way I used to live in my previous life but without all of the self-destructive substances. But is that really true? Now it's work, school, degrees, papers, accomplishments, marriage, being better, the best... But it all does the same thing, right?
Before I get way too philosophical or introspective for a public forum, let me just say that I've done a lot of thinking. Sam gives me a hard time because it takes me so long and is so difficult for me to make decisions. He was teasing me while we were gone that I even keep questioning my decisions after I make them, so it's like I still haven't made a decision. I thought about it, and realized this: I spent the majority of the first 25 years of my life making really bad decisions, and I'm lucky I survived. So now when I make decisions, it's a big deal to me. I'm terrified of making a choice that will make me unhappy. That said, I also realize that few choices we make are irreversible. I know I'm in charge of the actions, but not the outcomes. I feel that I have a well-developed awareness of what I need and when I need to change something, and the ability to make those changes when necessary. Being in a calm (internally, at least) place for the last six weeks, away from the stresses of daily life as an American, I realize I need to take care of myself more. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. My health needs to come first. So I've been making some decisions. In due time we'll talk about those. Suffice it to say that things are going to be different. Subtly, but different none the less.
But you all don't come here to get inside my neuroses, you come to hear about Africa. So I'll continue where we left off, on the beautiful coastal village of Pangani...
I think the day we woke up in Pangani was June 30th, a Saturday. At 8:30 am we walked across the low tide, probably about 1/4 mile or so into the ocean to alight our trustworthy sea vessel: "Pepi" the dhow. There was a large group of us, Kyle and I, 3 Scottish medical students, 8 or 10 other college-aged American volunteers, 4 Germans/South Africans (which means I think the grandparents were German, but lived in Arusha, the daughter was somewhere in between, maybe a German living in South Africa, and her kid was all South African), and a couple of unknown origin who spoke fluent Swahili, and were so beautiful and gentle and had brought three young Tanzanian boys along. The children were from an orphanage in Moshi, but we never figured out whether they were a family now, or the couple simply worked there and brought the children for vacation. Regardless, it's a full ship. There are 2 crewman, effortlessly working the ropes and the pulleys and the sail, and the rest of us, just watching the water turn lighter and lighter shades of blue as we head out from the sandy grey waves near the shore, seeing the coconut trees and thatched roof huts slowly diminishing, little hash marks on the shoreline where people are trolling the beaches and tide pools for some sort of personal treasure, the horizon dotted here and there with the tiny triangles of other dhows, no doubt on far more noble missions than ours. But that's fine with me. We're going snorkeling.
The Tanzanian crewmen shout "Mambo!" and we all respond with a hearty "Poa!" The sun was hot, much hotter and direct than in partly-cloudy-all-the-time Arusha, but the breeze took the edge off. I didn't even sweat. The dhow is an amazing structure. Completely efficient and effective in its simplicity. There is a single mast made of the trunk of a former coconut tree, perhaps. A rope loops around the mast and is strung through a pulley, and there are two single ropes connecting the sail's boom (is that what it's called?) to the mast. (In my gurnal I have a lovely little line drawing here, but I think when I get the chance a photo will be much more illustrative.) We motor out for a while and then unfurl the sail which billows out proudly, ready to puff its way to India. Or Pemba, which is much much closer. After a while we stop and the crewmen jump in to see whether this is a good place to dive. We all get in, snorkels and flippers and all, but I can't see anything. The flippers are annoying and I can't get my mask on because the waves are too strong. So I just swim around for a bit in this amazingly warm but refreshingly clean blue bathwater. We get back in, sail on, and eventually approach the sand island where we'll be chilling out and having lunch. Just offshore is a good place to dive. We all go overboard and we look like a pod of strange fish, all buoyant butts and snorkel tops, flipping water up when we paddle about, looking at the coral, and the fish, and the beautiful sandy sea bottom.
When we get to the sand island, we make our way through the clear blue calm and collapse, in turn, flat on the sand, and just soak up the sun for a while. I flip, and stare at the horizon for a while. I needed this break. At least once every 15 minutes I am completely astounded that I am here. On a sand island. On a dhow. Snorkeling. In the Indian Ocean. In Africa. It's overwhelming, to say the least. How did I get this life? There's shade set up on the island for us light-skinned fish, and we sit under it and eat our lunches of sandwiches and chips mayai, which is basically an omelette with french fries, and the only gluten-free thing on the boxed lunch menu. The crewmen sleep soundly on their sides, lying close to the water on a spot of dry sand. They're incredible fit and muscular, as are most of the young men in Africa who do physical labor. They can't be more than 22 or 23. Ernest, who works in the restaurant, says he only likes working here so-so because he gets malaria about 4 times a year and he doesn't like that. No kidding. Who would? Malaria is the biggest infectious disease I see here. I know several Tanzanians just since I've been here who've gotten it. It really needs more attention and more money. But I'll save that rant for another post. The crewmen are up now, jogging laps around the island and doing pushups. I get in the water and Kyle and I decide to swim laps around the island, but the plan changes when we see something dark and suspicious in the water that we don't want to cross paths with. So we swim back and forth on one side of the island for a while, the waves carrying me one way, then turning on me when I go against them, crashing into my face and mouth and body. I get stung by a jellyfish and Kyle offers to pee on it. Uh, no thanks.
I'm tired of typing. I'm copying some of this from my journal, and I'm too verbose for my own liking, and for my wrists' liking. There's a lot more interesting stuff to write about. I thought Pangani was paradise until I got to Zanzibar...oh, momma. More to come.
More about paradise
I just read an email from my dad in which he told me, while he understood my feelings, that I sound a bit paranoid about impending doom in my blog posts. While I don't necessarily truly think I'm going to die here, it's on my mind often, and I just happen to express it to you. So, don't' worry, the altitude hasn't done any permanent damage. I do, truly, breathe a sigh of relief every time I get off of public transport. I don't worry the slightest about being mugged, or violent crime, or being eaten by a lion, but if you have ever experienced transportation in a third world country, you understand. It is actually a leading cause of death in Tanzania. And you see burning bus wrecks on the news every night where 26 people have died, then you get into a crowded dalla-dalla and think that this could be it. But, just to reassure you all, I'm pretty sure I haven't lived through all the things in my life to die on a dalla-dalla in Africa. Although my friend said that actually, no one would remember that I died on a dalla dalla, just that I died in Africa helping people, and that was a pretty noble way to die. Great. There goes that reassurance. Kidding, kidding....these are the jokes, folks.
Anyway, I decided that GSC doesn't deserve my internet time until I get home, so here I am writing again. I'm trying to get something out before Sam comes down for breakfast.
So, Pangani...
After paying our cab driver an extra 2000 shilingi to get us to a reliable and safe bus, we settled in for our 7 hour bus ride. Since I can't read in cars cause it makes me sick, I mostly listened to my iPod and stared out the window. What an incredible, incredible view. We drove first through the North Pare mountains, and then the South Pare mountains, and then through the Usumbara mountains. The 7 hours actually flew by quite quickly. We only stopped once to use a bathroom, adn the bus' horns went off while I was still washing my hands, so it was a really quick stop. I had brought along some vitumbua (delicious rice pastries) and Nutella to eat along the way, but also took advantage of the vendors that display their wares at each bus stop. the bus probably stops 20 or more times on the way. SO every once in a while I'd buy an orange, already peeled, from a boy out the window, or a bottle of maji baridi. It was a nice ride. Our bus left Arusha at almost 10:30 am, and we arrived in Tanga, on the coast, around 5. I was thrilled as the bus headed south to feel the air getting warmer, to see the palm trees take over, and to know that soon I'd be on the Indian Ocean. When we got to the bus station in Tanga, it was another 10 minute battle to find a cab to take us the remaining 20 or 30 k to Peponi Beach Resort, which is just north of Pangani. The dalla-dallas had stopped running to Pangani already, and the swarm of cabbies were telling us 30-40000 shilingi for the ride. We got a guy to agree to 20000. I'm pretty sure he was just a guy with a car and a buddy. They drove around and got gas, then met up with some guys at a corner, argued with them for a minute (while we waited inside, and I asked "kuna shida?" is there a problem? But they finished their exchange and took a tire from the man's trunk and put it in ours. Hmm. Okay. About 20 minutes alter I knew why they did that. We drove down by far the worst road we have driven yet. It was hilarious. Our heads were actually hitting the ceiling, and I can' say how often we bottomed out. About an hour and a half later, around 7, we made it to Peponi.
Oh. My. God. Paradise. It was dark by then, but the moon was almost full so it seemed like dawn. Everything had a blue glow. We checked in, and ordered dinner from the restaurant. Outdoors, sand floor, thatched roof, wonderful. We checked into our banda. It was exactly what I was hoping for. I can't describe it really, without photos. It was paradise. That's it. We walked to the beach (maybe 50 meters from our banda) and just stared. There was the Indian Ocean, lit by the moon, a lone dhow undulating in the water just offshore. The tide was out, and it seemed like you could walk to India. It was amazing....
I have to check out of our hotel now, and I better make sure Sam is awake. I'll finish this later, possibly after I return home, but hopefully before. I've been trying to capture as much as I can in my gurnal (heh heh...) so I can write about it on the blog later. Kwaheri!
Anyway, I decided that GSC doesn't deserve my internet time until I get home, so here I am writing again. I'm trying to get something out before Sam comes down for breakfast.
So, Pangani...
After paying our cab driver an extra 2000 shilingi to get us to a reliable and safe bus, we settled in for our 7 hour bus ride. Since I can't read in cars cause it makes me sick, I mostly listened to my iPod and stared out the window. What an incredible, incredible view. We drove first through the North Pare mountains, and then the South Pare mountains, and then through the Usumbara mountains. The 7 hours actually flew by quite quickly. We only stopped once to use a bathroom, adn the bus' horns went off while I was still washing my hands, so it was a really quick stop. I had brought along some vitumbua (delicious rice pastries) and Nutella to eat along the way, but also took advantage of the vendors that display their wares at each bus stop. the bus probably stops 20 or more times on the way. SO every once in a while I'd buy an orange, already peeled, from a boy out the window, or a bottle of maji baridi. It was a nice ride. Our bus left Arusha at almost 10:30 am, and we arrived in Tanga, on the coast, around 5. I was thrilled as the bus headed south to feel the air getting warmer, to see the palm trees take over, and to know that soon I'd be on the Indian Ocean. When we got to the bus station in Tanga, it was another 10 minute battle to find a cab to take us the remaining 20 or 30 k to Peponi Beach Resort, which is just north of Pangani. The dalla-dallas had stopped running to Pangani already, and the swarm of cabbies were telling us 30-40000 shilingi for the ride. We got a guy to agree to 20000. I'm pretty sure he was just a guy with a car and a buddy. They drove around and got gas, then met up with some guys at a corner, argued with them for a minute (while we waited inside, and I asked "kuna shida?" is there a problem? But they finished their exchange and took a tire from the man's trunk and put it in ours. Hmm. Okay. About 20 minutes alter I knew why they did that. We drove down by far the worst road we have driven yet. It was hilarious. Our heads were actually hitting the ceiling, and I can' say how often we bottomed out. About an hour and a half later, around 7, we made it to Peponi.
Oh. My. God. Paradise. It was dark by then, but the moon was almost full so it seemed like dawn. Everything had a blue glow. We checked in, and ordered dinner from the restaurant. Outdoors, sand floor, thatched roof, wonderful. We checked into our banda. It was exactly what I was hoping for. I can't describe it really, without photos. It was paradise. That's it. We walked to the beach (maybe 50 meters from our banda) and just stared. There was the Indian Ocean, lit by the moon, a lone dhow undulating in the water just offshore. The tide was out, and it seemed like you could walk to India. It was amazing....
I have to check out of our hotel now, and I better make sure Sam is awake. I'll finish this later, possibly after I return home, but hopefully before. I've been trying to capture as much as I can in my gurnal (heh heh...) so I can write about it on the blog later. Kwaheri!
Below is my imitation of a Corona commercial, but with a pineapple Fanta, dhows at sand island, our banda from the path to the beach, the restaurant, and the view looking up.
I'm not dead, Sam's here, and 4th of July Afrikan style
I just wanted to let everyone know that I am still alive, albeit barely, since I could have died a thousand times on the way to Pangani and back. It was quite an experience. And Pangani is probably the most incredible, beautiful place I've ever been. It was overwhelming, and otherwordly. It took me two days to realize it was real and then we were gone. There was no internet there (thankfully), so I had no access then. We returned Monday and in a rush I got a taxi to the airport shuttle, made it to the airport, and waited for Sam. I almost had a heart attack waiting for him because he was one of the last people through. I figured he had died in Amsterdam or gotten hurt and had no way of telling me, or they were going to come through calling my name, saying he was in a hospital somewhere, or they were going to bring him out on a stretcher, or he didn't make the plane...then I saw him walk through, in one piece, here, in Africa. Awesome. I was very excited. We've spent the last few days running around Arusha trying to take care of business before we leave here. Despite being completely wide-eyed and overwhelmed the first day, he's gotten used to it already. I know this because yesterday he brought up moving here for a while. My plan worked....
Oh yeah, 4th of July party last night was pretty lame. Some of the new crop of volunteers got drunk and started singing America the Beautiful, to which us old volunteers rolled our eyes and muttered, "amateurs." Our friend Gerald (Tanzanian) asked what our motto was for the 4th of July and someone told him "America, f**k yeah," so the poor guy was walking around saying that to everyone until he was told that he may not want to say it to the Brits, at least, or any random wazungu on the street. I proposed that we just burn trash int he gutter, because that's what they do here anyway, so no one would think anything of it, however strange it may be to have a bunch of white folks standing around a burning trash pile celebrating. Sam did at least light a napkin on fire and I threw it on the ground and we watched it burn while mimicking the sounds of fireworks. Exciting.
Today I have to do my exit interview for GSC, go to the craft market to pick up some gifts, make sure Sam has an Afrikan lunch and not a mzungu lunch, and that he gets noma choma (more on this later). We're also going to the Rwanda criminal tribunal today, which I'm very excited about. We stay at my mama's tonight, and she's making us ndizi stew. Tomorrow morning we leave on safari to Ngorogoro Crater and Serengeti until Monday. Tuesday morning we leave for Zanzibar. So, I'm not sure when I'll be able to write again. I'm thinking they don't have the internet in paradise, once again.
I made it to the internet yesterday, but spent 45 minutes trying to log onto the blog, and managed only to send one email to my mom letting her know Sam was here and we were alive. Plus, Sam's not so interested in sitting around while I write home. So I'm in the internet cafe in our swanky (for Africa) hotel, while he's still asleep. I'll do what I can. I need to fill out an online form for GSC (no, I have no idea why they would give us an online form when we have sporadic and unreliable internet access. Complaint number 865.) and then I hope to return and write more about bus rides, paradise under a full moon, snorkeling, jellyfish stings, card games, kitcha Africans, watching a goat get slaughtered, and much much more. I am REALLY not ready to leave...
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