The day I learned the word "punda".

This story happened a long time ago so some of you may have heard it via skype or emails, but it’s a good one nonetheless. 

One day the boys and I were taking a walk along the spring when we saw a strange grey lump in the distance.  Intrigued, we ran ahead to discover a dead donkey, a punda, completely bloated, pregnant, that had been apparently dragged out of the water and left by one of the cattlemen. 

Quickly Nani came out and the four of us cautiously poked around trying to guess how it died and what on earth to do with it.  We needed to dispose of it soon, largely because of the imminent smell of a rotting carcass, but also because a distraught French guest at the tented camp had seen it moments before and had called Nani in a huff about a “dead antelope” in the water. (Still not too sure how she mistook a donkey for an antelope, but anyhow…) It was quite unsightly, possibly diseased, and right in front of the camp, so we started thinking of where to take it.  But the greater question was how?  Unfortunately I had no prior experience in disposing of 300 pound animals, believe it or not. 

Eventually we were able to get a bunch of the men from the village come down to drag it away.  We tied a chain around its neck, climbed into the bed of the truck, and proceeded to pull it about a mile down the lake shore, conveniently placing it at the base of a beautiful acacia away from any houses or camp.  Why was it convenient, you ask?  Well, Nani and I had conspired to place it somewhere that we could easily set up the motion-sensor cameras.  Like excited little school children, we ran home to get the cameras, placed them before sunset, and tried to sleep through our excitement of what might be caught on film during the night.  We raced over in the morning, cautious that no scavengers were left lingering, and couldn’t believe what the cameras had captured; one in video, one in photos. 

In the middle of the night a curious, yet hesitant, spotted hyena came sniffing the donkey.  Within minutes there were three of them, obviously lured by the smell and the distinct call of their friends, and in no time they had started to feast as numerous onlookers fearfully stared in envy and desire.  They ravenously ate away in a frenzy, and at one point one of the hyenas even jumped at the camera (probably intrigued by the smell of human and the small infra-red light), but luckily this time it was unable to get away with it. 

With its innards spewed about, and having gotten a temporary fill, they eventually dragged it away to a more secluded location.  A few cautious striped hyenas and mongooses scavenged the remains, but weren’t as lucky as their larger competitors. 

It was so amazing to see; I felt like there was a National Geographic movie being filmed in my own backyard.  I’m absolutely enchanted by the wild freedom of the African bush.  I mean, where else could you get away with bating animals by dragging around a dead donkey?  Maybe Kentucky.  

Hadzabe

Although the ultimate place of relaxation, Lake Eyasi is far off the beaten path and is frequently missed by many safari-goers only desiring to return home with pictures of the Big Five.  Those who do venture all the way out here usually come in search of a more cultural experience and are given the amazing opportunity to glimpse into the life of the Hadzabe, one of Africa’s last hunter and gathers.  They contently live day by day, sleeping directly under the stars, killing the food that they need or otherwise eating berries and tubers.  With their 10,000 year old way of live and beautiful click language, they have become a tourist attraction from which they now get paid (although unfortunately most is spent on alcohol, since they have no other need for money, which is causing devastating damage to the tribe…but that’s a story for another day).  Since I am by no means an historian, nor do I intend to pretend to be an expert on this tribe, I’ll simply recount my recent experience. 

The other day I finally went hunting with them, after living here for over three months.  I’ve met a handful of other Hadza through researchers or ones who have left living in the bush and now work for Nani and Chris, but this was my first “touristy” Hadza escapade. 

I woke up around 5am to head off on the back of Sadi’s motorbike (the same guy who bought me the African dress and has recently taken to being my personal guide) on a search for them through the mountains and endless bush.  Since they’re hunters and gatherers they have no houses and tend to move around when the depending on the abundance of food in the area, we weren’t positive where/when/if we would find them, but thankfully Sadi is a pro and we able to find a camp of about 20 of them huddled around a fire preparing for the morning hunt. 

We eventually set out with four young Hadza boys for a hunting “walk”.  And by walk I mean I was nearly at a jog getting stabbed by thorns and caught on trees and so busy watching where I was walking that I couldn’t even see what they were pursuing.  Even standing I barely have the eye to spot some of these small birds and animals.  I was so impressed to see these young Hadza flawlessly negotiate the bush, running through in their tire sandals without taking an eye off their prey.  I have no idea how they do it. 

Within minutes of the hunt one got a little canary, from which he removed his arrow and quickly slung the victim through his belt loop so as not to lose pace.  About an hour later they managed to kill two squirrels, thanks to their dogs trapping them under some rocks.  Satisfied with their hunt for breakfast, we went to rest by a large baobab tree, where they made a fire (using the impressive skill of rubbing a stick of hard wood against a plank of softer wood)  and proceeded to smoke bees out of the hollow tree and extract one of their favorite treats: honey.  It was delicious. 

Satisfied with our sweet appetizer we headed up the mountain a bit to build another fire to cook the food.  Within minutes a little fire was blazing, and they through the bird and two squirrels directly on it- fur/feathers and all.  We all gathered around, and they generously offered me a piece of squirrel.  I felt bad taking what little food they had- 3 tiny animals is nothing split among four hungry boys- but I so desperately wanted to try it.  I convinced myself it would be rude to decline their offer and graciously accepted.  And I have to say, it was pretty good, especially for being cooked right on a fire with no seasonings or anything. 

Happily we all walked (jogged) back to their home, where I spent some time beading with the women.  Apparently Sadi took a nap on the ground by one of the fires since the night before was Georgie’s wedding and he had stayed up way too late. 

After partaking in their traditional dance (touristy but fun nonetheless) I thanked them with my pathetic attempt of speaking Hadzane and we sped off through the mountains and bush, past all of the Tanzanians staring in awe at a white girl on the back of a motorbike, and arrived home in time for lunch. 

I’m really looking forward to another chance to go hunting with them when my parents come for a safari next week, especially since I forgot to charge my camera and only managed a few pictures before it died.  

Wedding in the village

 I officially made it through my first (and likely/hopefully only) Tanzanian wedding.  I always feel fortunate to be able to experience any ceremony, festival, national holiday, tradition, what have you.  When I travel I like to actually see what local life is life.  So when Georgie, the first friend Chris ever made as a youngster in Tanzania, decided to get married (to the woman with whom he has lived for nearly 20 years and has two kids), I was elated. 

Chris was not. 

He hates these sort of events, but would give his life for his Tanzanian partner so he “happily” stuck it out.  Only for Georgie.  Nani and I enjoyed the people watching and local food almost as much as watching Chris suffer through the nuances of the day.  But after the long dusty drive to the church (I was piled into the back of the wedding-party car with Nani and the boys), a three hour ceremony, a sweaty ride back to the village, a giant feast, a reception with enough trumpets blaring, dance performances, and inappropriate jokes from the MC to last a life time, we snuck off much more conspicuously than we would have like(but being literally the only white people it’s kind of hard to make a stealthy exit).   I couldn’t believe we had lasted 8 hours.  Apparently the actual reception went four more hours after we left (until about 9pm) and the music and dancing went until 2 in the morning.  I don’t know where these people get the energy. 

I’ll spare everyone the extensive details of this never-ending festivity, but as most weddings now have cross-cultural ties I think it best to just highlight the differences that I found particularly interesting.   

The venue:

The ceremony was at the church of the Spanish mission a few miles away, but the reception was held in the village in a structure specially constructed for the day.  This past week they had built a huge hut out of wood and palm leaves and tarps that stretched well over 100 feet long.  It was immaculately, albeit tackily, decorated and furnished with wooden planks on beer crates for benches along with a few plastic chairs for the wedding party, the mzungus, and the families of the couple. 

Wedding party:

Unlike the weddings I’ve been to at home that seem to have endless bridesmaids and groomsmen, this one was lacking in that department.  Georgie had a best man and Maryamou had a matron of honor who had a little boy and girl, respectively, that looked similar to what we would have as a ring bearer and flower girl, but who served no real purpose.  Although I found this interesting, the real difference was in the wardrobe choice.  The bride wore an completely synthetic over-the-top white gown, and so did the matron-of-honor, and so did the little girl.  As for Georgie and his best-man, they matched exactly down to their red ties and fake boutonnieres.  And the little boy was dressed in their same ill-fitting brown suits.  At first sight it looked like a double (or even triple if you could the little kiddies) wedding.  Certainly not what I was expecting. 

Guest list: 

Although most people got some sort of invitation to the official wedding at the church (not that it stopped people from constantly coming and going throughout the ceremony), the reception is open to anyone and everyone.  I’m certain that around 4pm there were at least 500 people. 

Food:

The endless guest list also means endless food.  Everyone got in a line (they always insist that mzungus get their food first which is eternally awkward) to go down the buffet line school-lunch style.  White rice, brown rice, goat, beef, cooked banana, potato, vegetables, and fruit, all slopped on top of one another is succession.  I wasn’t quick enough to use my Kiswahili for “only a little” and got slopped with at least 5 pounds of grub, although Chris asserted this was still a relatively small portion for their standards.  Still, the difficulty of eating all this food with only my hands left me stuffed and extremely messy.  Delicious nonetheless. 

Performances:

I kept waiting for the dance floor that so infamously describes the American wedding reception to erupt, but it never occurred (or at least not during the five hours we lasted).  Instead of an open dance-party among the guests, there were a serious of musical and dance performances.  There was a small brass band, a church choir, and an eclectic (but quite good) singing and dance group.  Although I enjoyed the entertainment and definitely picked up a few excellent dance moves to bring back to the states, after a few hours in the hot, smelly, confined space with an overpowering sound system, my head was throbbing. 

The cake:

About 4 hours into the reception, they brought danced out the three tiny cakes.  Although there wasn’t enough for everyone in attendance, the cake is part of a symbolic tradition of uniting the families.  First, friends presented the cake to the bride and groom.  The second cake was presented from Maryamou to Georgie’s father; the third from Georgie to Maryamou’s father.  Then the feeding of the cake began, similar to the tradition of the bride and groom feeding each other the first bite of the cake.  However, this went on for about an hour and included the entire family and more, proceeding as follows: Maryamou feeds Georgie, Georgie feeds Maryamou, matron-of-honor feeds Georgie, Georgie feeds matron-of-honor, Maryamou feeds bestman, best-man feeds Maryamou, best-man and matron-of-honor feed each other, and then Maryamou had to feed a piece to about 15 of Georgie’s relatives (many of whom fed her own in return).  It was quite comical.  Until we became part of it, that is.  All of a sudden the MC was shouting at Chris and Nani and me to get fed from Maryamou.  I was grateful to be a part of the wedding, but with limited Kiswahili and 1,000 eyes staring at me I felt a bit awkward as a middle aged woman dressed to the nines fed me a piece of dry and overly-sweet cake.  Despite my unexpected participation and sympathy for the bride having to eat over 15 bites, I still found the symbolic gesture to be a really nice tradition. 

Sentiment of the bride and groom:

The overwhelming difference to me was the way Georgie and Maryamou acted.  They looked miserable.  Or sad, terrified, almost vacant at some times.  I couldn’t understand why they never (save a handful of times) smiled, laughed, or even touched.  Turns out, they’re not supposed to look jovial, for it’s a serious day.  Marriage is a serious matter and therefore someone who laughs the whole time isn’t taking it seriously.  Woah.  Every once in a while I saw the two of them sneak a giggle but quickly cover it up as to not have the elders notice.  I hope they enjoyed it as much as everyone else… it appeared as if they thought the wedding was the worst decision they’d ever made, but Chris assured me it went off without a hitch and Georgie was thrilled. 

What a long, exhausting, interesting, entertaining day.  

I am not ashamed that this is the 5th entry referring to animal fecal matter…

The other night we went to a lovely spot near a pond about ten minutes away for a relaxing “sundowner”.  The kids were fishing while we drank our wine as the sun melted into the escarpment.  But as we’re all kids at heart, we quickly chucked our maturity aside and started throwing dried cow poo at each other in a full on war.  I can actually claim that I have battle wounds (literally, I have scratches all over my arms) from poop. 

Aren’t I refined?

No power? No hot water? No fuel? No problem.

The other evening Chris and I were relaxing on the porch, our respective books in hand, while Nani was at camp schmoozing the guests.  We started talking about life in Tanzania, about how hard most of the people work, about how little they ask for, and yet how they all appear to be extremely happy (almost unnaturally happy) but it’s so genuine that you have no choice but to believe them.  We quickly concluded that no one laughs like a Tanzanian.  They’re always singing, giggling, whistling, boisterously laughing and telling stories.  I can’t help but share in their joy when I’m I their presence.  Still, so many people who come to stay here feel bad for these poor Tanzanians.  They’re quick to judge their minimalistic lifestyle and often pity them.  But they laugh so much more than all of us.  It seems like we’re the ones who they feel somewhat sorry for.  Their lives are simple, but good.  What more could you want?

As Notorious B.I.G. so eloquently put it in his hit 90s rap song, “Mo’ money, mo’ problems”. 

The day by day “hakuna matata” lifestyle has certainly made me question things and realize that there is a fine line between comfort and excess, over which most Americans have jumped headlong into the latter.  During my stay here I have at least come back to teeter over the line, or so I’d like to humbly believe.  In light of all the power outages that have been occurring on the east coast due to the bizarre temperament of mother earth as of late, I thought it would be fitting to post about amenities here.  It may sound mundane, but it’s actually quite interesting to see such basic differences.

With the exception of a few random days, I have electricity in my house all the time.  For a girl just out of college, I’m living the life of luxury in my own solar-powered house.  However, since I have reliable power, people mysteriously come from all over to charge their phones here.  At least 3 people I don’t recognize creep around my house to find the outside outlets or (much less discretely than they think) ask the two people who work in my house to find an outlet inside.  It doesn’t much matter to me, although this has caused the power to drain once or twice. 

Hamna shida.  No problem. 

In my opinion I’m in no position to complain seeing as Nani and Chris don’t even have power all day long.  They run on a generator and actually only have power from about 6:30-10:30pm, as in four hours each night during which they all rush to charge their computers and watch movies. 

The tented camp that Nani and Chris run is a beautiful and luxurious place to safari, so it has power 24/7.  If all goes as planned that is.  It runs mostly on a generator but has a few solar panels as well, and for the most part works without any problems.  A few months ago the camp received some famous guests: the Dutch Royal family, or at least Princess Maxima, the Crowned Prince, their three little princesses, and about 15 other family members and security guards.  It was extremely top secret and they booked the whole place for the weekend.  All the staff had been preparing for quite some time and each was afraid that they would be the one to screw-up around the Royals.  The night before they arrived the generator blew.  Literally died.  Done-zo.  They had had it forever and it apparently decided that was an opportune time to say goodbye.  Somehow they managed to get to town and buy a new one and set it up in time for their arrival.  It was certainly a crazy weekend.  And yes, I met them all.  Two of the princesses definitely tried to drown me in the swimming pool.  I would share more gossip but I’d prefer not to get a letter from the Dutch government about any of the slander I could potentially disclose. 

Back to electricity and whatnot…

Being out in the bush, I somewhat expected to have limited power, but I was surprised to see that Arusha (the nearest small city which is about 5 hours away and a population of 300,000) has even more problems than we do here.   Due to the shortage, they have been getting power cuts for about 10 hours a day mandated by the government.  In fact now we don’t really have bread since the flour factory closed due to the power cuts so they can’t bake new loaves. 

About a month ago we went to Arusha and stayed at a friend’s house and were without power the entire day and night.  Recently, they were even out of fuel for a few days (although this was largely due to the gas stations boycotting price mandates by the government) which caused lots of problems to say the least. 

Arusha is so short on water that you can barely properly wash your hands without someone sneering at you for being wasteful.  Thankfully we’re near water so we don’t have a problem, but heating the water for a nice warm shower is another story.  The water  needs to be heated by fire (which I have to get one of the workers to set) and then it takes about a half an hour to get warm, but only stays hot for a short while.   Between my pathetic Swahili and the lackadaisical African concept of time, it’s nearly impossible.  So I’ve resorted to expecting cold showers, and end up extremely happy when I happen to get lucky and still have hot water available or have managed to accurately communicate when I’d like hot water. 

I think I’m starting to understand the Tanzanian happiness; when you don’t have much it becomes much easier to be delighted with the little things.  Expectations only lead to disappointments.  Many foreigners see it as the Tanzanians being lazy or poor, but I have found it to be that they are just extremely content.   Probably the most common phrase here most easily explains their outlook: hamna shida or hakuna matata. 

No problem.  

An American Girl or Maasai Warrior?

It seems like wherever I go there seems to be something funny about my name.  I recall having a similar post in my Plastino Blog when from when I was in Indonesia.  Usually the case is that no one can pronounce my name since English is about the only language that doesn’t have the letter I make the sound ee, rendering me “Leeza”. 

However when I tell Tanzanians my name, it often evokes a chuckle or outright laughter, as apparently my name is a somewhat common name in the Massai tribe.  For a man. 

At least they pronounce it correctly. 

So I’m proud to say that upon hearing my name people, depending upon where in the world they are from, picture an eccentric and out-dated woman singing showtunes, a tall dark man wrapped in his red fabric herding cattle, or just assume I’m named Lisa.  

The Assassin

Unlike the National Parks where one is seldom allowed to walk around and is banished to the dusty confines of a Land Rover, my area is pretty safe to explore anywhere anytime.  Although Tanzania is known as the heart of African wildlife, many people opt to spend a day or two around Lake Eyasi for a unique cultural experience with the nearby tribes: the Hadzabe and the Datoga.  The former is the more well-known of the two being a group of nomadic hunter-gatherer bushmen who have a language that utilizes intriguing click sounds.  They are truly a fascinating group of people, and frequently Nani and Chris open their home to researchers from around the world who have come to study them. 

Although I would love to wake up in the middle of the night to hear a lion or an elephant or see a Giraffe munching away on Acacias as I take an afternoon walk, it’s nice knowing I can roam about free from the eyes of a Tanzanian guide.  Nonetheless, there are some pesky little fellows to be weary of. 

First of all there are a plethora of poisonous snakes.  Thankfully the birds and monkeys usually do a good job of raising an alarm, although I did have a minor encounter with an Egyptian Cobra the other day… Long story short I wasn’t paying attention as to where I was walking, almost stepped on it, looked down to see a 4 ft snake with it’s hood spread, but luckily it slithered off instead of striking.  Dylan is extremely jealous and constantly reminds me how he’s lived here for 9 years and has never gotten to see a cobra spread its hood.   

The next thing to fear are scorpions.  I’ve heard numerous horror stories about these tiny devils.  I’m pretty much terrified of them.  The problem is that they’re so tiny and almost transparent and when it’s cold out they sneak inside nooks and crannies for warmth.  I compulsively check my pillows and entire before I go to sleep, afraid that I’ll be stung in the middle of the night by a small thing that is known to make grown men whimper with pain.  I’ve only actually seen two and I’m proud to say that I managed to kill the first on my own.  The second was trapped by one of my watchmen and he sawed off its stinger.  Since most Tanzanians (or at least the ones around here) won’t kill anything if they don’t have to, he then just picked it up and tossed it in the bush to live without its tail. 

Kian always obsesses over rabid dogs and rabid hyenas (they had a problem a few years back) but my true fear is an insect known as the Assassin Bug.  Just the name itself is enough to give you shivers.  But what is even more terrifying to me is the description that I found in a book.  Regarding scorpions it said something to the effect of extremely painful sting, but under Assassin Bug it warned excruciating pain.  After hearing the accounts of scorpion survivors I can’t even fathom what a sting from one of these buggers (pun somewhat intended) would be like.  I’ve spotted about three in my house, but luckily we’ve taken care of them- killing them in various ways. 

Thank goodness my bed is surrounded by a mosquito net, which at least makes me feel like I’m protected. 

As far as the animal game goes, I think the score has about evened up.  And it’s halftime.  I’ll spare all the unexciting stories and details, but between finding a dead donkey that we managed to set up near a tree to fix our cameras and record numerous spotted hyenas devour it during the night, avoiding an attack by that cobra, and daily sightings of the baby striped hyena, I’ve certainly made a comeback.  Nonetheless I think a gecko climbing on the ceiling pooped on me the other day.  Can’t win ’em all.  

Thorns

I remember going to the ever-classy and entertaining Chuck-E-Cheese’s with my whole family many years ago.  I was about 13 years old but somehow got coaxed into accompanying my nieces, who were about half my age and half my size, through those awful mazes of plastic tubing.  I remember fumbling behind them attempting to crawl as their tiny bodies were able to weave and run through the tunnels with ease. 

Every time I go adventuring through the bush to go tracking or find a new tree to climb or  scout out a new spot for our motion-sensor cameras (which is basically every day) I get flashbacks to that day.  Except this time I’m following two skinny and fearless boys through makeshift tunnels in the bush.  And instead of the occasional squif nail that has poked its way through the crappy red plastic, there are thorns.  Everywhere.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect about my new home, particularly regarding location and terrain.  Before I came out here pretty much all I knew was that I was going to be somewhere along Lake Eyasi, which doesn’t say much seeing as I had no city to go on (reasonable explanation being that the closest city that google maps would likely register is Karatu, which is about an hour or two away depending on who’s driving down the bumpy “roads”).   Even more pathetic, I couldn’t figure out for the life of my how to pronounce Eyasi (turns out it’s roughly pronounced ee-yAH-see).  So whenever anyone asked me where in Tanzania I was going, I pretty much said, “The middle of nowhere.”  I knew I was west of Kilimanjaro and in the savannah.  And that was about it.  But honestly, it didn’t really matter to me what it was like as long as it was an adventure (and one that would allow me to further deny the real world and post-college depression). 

In my book, even if an adventure sucks, it’s always a good story. 

So off I went, with pretty much no idea what I was doing or where I was going, just ready to

“do it live”, so to speak. 

Once I finally arrived the first thing that stood out to me was:

Where’s the lake?

But I soon realized that the dry-season turned Lake Eyasi into Eyasi Mud and Dirt Shore. 

Quick next thought:

Holy hell there are a ton of thorns. 

Thorns everywhere. I mean, everywhere.  Tiny prickly thorns, Acacia thorns, two-inch thorns, Wait-a-bit thorns, and all of the brothers and sisters of these nasty thorns.  Even the grass is thorny. 

I permanently have scratches and scars as battle wounds from gallivanting around the bush, also known as my backyard.  And forget about sandals or shorts.  Even with sneakers I often have to stop to remove 3 inch white thorns that have somehow penetrated the thick rubber soles.  I have absolutely no idea how Dylan and the other kids often go barefoot. 

Nearly everyday I go out on adventures around their land (roughly 150 acres) with the boys or Nani or Chris or just by myself, and it’s always a fight.  It’s extremely tough following the boys since they’re so small that they can just squeeze through any hole or past any tree full of thorns without any difficulty.  Hence, the Chuck-E-Cheese maze of the wild. 

Swahili Time

            Apparently in Swahili time is different.  7am is considered to be 1am, which means that noon is 6am, 7pm is 1pm, and so on.  Nani explained this to because she had received a message from one of the workers about meeting at a certain time but she was confused which language of time it was referring to, and in her frustration decided to enlighten me.  I’ve never encountered this before… interesting. 

Thought I’d just add this random tidbit and try to get some more pictures. But alas, I spent an hour and was only able to upload one.

the view from the rock of a dried up Lake Eyasi

Not all animals are enemies

Besides my war with most of the animals, there are a few that I have seen/heard/learned about that are pretty cool.  To date, I have had no negative experiences with any of these three. Let’s hope I don’t jinx myself. 

Go-away birds

            This small bird sits high up on trees and serves as the security system for all of the animals.  If the Go-away bird spots humans or anything that may be of danger, it shouts its alarm, sounding something like, “Go away! Go away!” and all of the animals quickly scatter.  Quite a nuisance to the hunters, but I found it rather interesting and they were all over the bush where we were camping. 

Ant-lions

            These tiny bugs live in the dirt/sand and devour ants and other similar bugs like a lion would its prey (hence the name).  They dig these little cone-shaped holes and wait until an ant falls into it.  It rarely succeeds to climb up because the walls of the hole are so steep and slippery, and additionally the ant-lion will shoot sand up at it to try and knock the ant down.  Once it’s trapped, the ant-lion grabs its victim with its pinchers, sucks all the juice out of it, and then takes it down below the surface to be consumed.  Sneaky little fellas.  The funny thing is that when they move on land they walk backwards and leave these funny little trails that look like worm-trails. 

Honeyguides

            While we were camping Nani told me about this awesome bird.  If you find this bird, it will lead you to a wonderful bee-hive full of honey.  Animals as well as people collaborate with this pretty little bird, sometimes for very long distances, to find this sweet treasure.  However, you must get some honey for the bird as a reward (notably its incentive) otherwise it will reportedly lead you to a snake or hyena den upon your next encounter.  Apparently if you’re following one and you lose sight of it, all you have to do it make it’s call and it’ll come back to get you.  Amazing!  We had some researchers staying at Nani’s house recently who told us they had found one the day before and had successfully gotten honey. 

Washa-washa

            A pretty little caterpillar, but be careful because washa-washa is Kiswahili for itchy-itchy.  While roaming around with the boys I found one and almost picked it up, but Dylan warned me that as soon as you touch one it pees all over you and then it itches for days. Close one.

Fisi

Before coming to Tanzania virtually all I knew about hyenas was from The Lion King and in Disney’s colorful and comical way I was convinced that they were disgusting and maniacal creatures. 

Early on I remember Nani explaining the hyenas in the area and in no time the negative image was shattered and I longed to see this animal that is known in Swahili as Fisi. 

For about seven years numerous striped hyenas lived right on their land and became so accustomed to people at their camp that they were tame, lovable, and absolutely adorable.  From the pictures I later saw, I realized how clean and beautiful these animals really are (shame on you Disney!) and kept hoping to see one.  However, Nani quickly shattered that hope by telling me stories of how a few years ago some hyenas got rabies, Chris had to shoot one, and then they pretty much all fled.  And for the record Nani didn’t tell me the complete gruesome stories until last week, afraid I would pack my bags at once.  (Apparently by now I’ve convinced her that pretty much nothing will take me away from here…)

Anyhow, a few weeks ago people started seeing and hearing the hyena around again.  Most of the villagers and workers were unhappy and scared but Nani and I were elated.  Several mornings and evenings we spotted it coming in from the empty lakeshore, but it was nothing more than a black speck moving in the distance.  I was so eager to actually see it up close, but on the two encounters that it dared to near their house before dark it ran off so quickly as soon as the dogs saw it.  One night it was so calm that I could hear the distinct call of the hyena all night long.  It sounded as if it was just outside my house, but once again I didn’t actually see it. 

After being here nearly two months, I was finally able to have some amazing hyena experiences that (although I failed to have my camera on me) I will never forget. 

The other evening I went up the rock (our Pride Rock, in keeping with the Lion King analogies) with Nani and the boys to attempt to find a hyena in the den that lies just a few meters below.  We quietly climbed up and waited for about a half an hour before we saw movement in the den.  Everyone grabbed their own binoculars and we anxiously looked over to see: a mongoose. womp, womp… So back to daydreaming and bird watching we went.  Sadly Nani had to go back to work, but we had pretty much given up on seeing a hyena by then anyway.  Still, the boys and I decided to stay up for a bit (it’s the perfect place for a sunset and we had nothing better to do than enjoy the beautiful view).  We were no longer quiet and were busy throwing rocks and grass off the cliff when Dylan shouted for us to stop and pointed to the den.  At long last there she was, a beautiful young striped hyena.  I huddled up with the boys and we laid at the top of the rock staring at her in awe as she chewed away at some sort of animal (dog? dik-dik? rabbit?) until it was too dark and we had to leave.  Hiking back down the cliff I was so pumped and we couldn’t help but skip all the way home.

The next day there was a different hyena acting strangely in the area and everyone was concerned.  To make a really long story short, it was running around in daylight, limping, pacing back and forth, etc.  We weren’t sure if it was poisoned or rabid or what, so Nani and I stood watch for hours, and Chris prepared his gun but he really didn’t want to shoot it (for numerous complicated reasons) so he went to the village and within an hour or two a bunch of the local guys came running around with sticks and spears and dogs to take care of it.  Mind you, we were trying to be discreet so as not to scare the guests…

By this time it was evening and to be safely out of the way I took the boys back up the rock to see the events unfold.  Although the wounded/sick hyena had been laying way out on the lakeshore for hours in the same spot (we thought it might have already died) as soon as the people came it ran and ran and ran like you wouldn’t believe.  It was too far away for us to even really see with our binoculars so the boys and I resorted to our own entertainment and were busy playing on the rock when I noticed the hyena from the day before had returned to its den.  We watched for a while but it was just resting and soon we had to return home for dinner.  Turns out the other hyena ran completely out of sight and they’re pretty certain we won’t be seeing it again. 

For going two months without seeing one, these were two pretty crazy hyena-filled days.  This has got to count for some points in the animal war…

Money

Numerous things have surprised me about money since my arrival to the wonderful place that is Tanzania.  First I have to admit that coming to Africa I had the false notion that everything would be dirt cheap.  Perhaps this was naïve and stereotypical of me, or maybe this was just a shock since I could buy an entire delicious meal for $2 in the last two places I traveled.  Although Egypt is on the same continent and I could take the Cairo Metro anywhere for less than a 20 cents, a dollar in Tanzania buys me pretty much the same thing as it does it at home: nothing. Or maybe a pack of gum.

I realize this is a pretty stupid realization, but as in all my blog entries, I pretty much just think aloud.  Anyhow… I know Africa is an extremely vast continent with numerous languages, cultures, and economies.  Knowing that much of Tanzania’s economy is based on tourism (although agriculture is actually responsible for 2/3 of the economy), I should have put two and two together and realized that this automatically hikes the prices up.  Add in a pretty much guarantee to see lions and elephants and giraffe, and you have the recipe for bringing in rich people from all over the world to safari.  The result: everything is really expensive.  Or rather, everything costs about what it does in the states, which relatively speaking is quite pricey.  Especially since 1USD is about the equivalent of 1,500 Tanzanian Shillings. 

            Besides the actual cost of things, the currency floating around gave me more of a shock.  Instead of the beautifully colored national notes bearing stunning and powerful animals, US Dollars are accepted basically everywhere.  Most hotels and resorts ask for payment in USD and no matter what nationality you are, you are expected to travel to Tanzania with Dollars.  I was shocked when some Spanish ladies that were over for dinner started pulling out US Dollars to buy some necklaces from Nani.  Even Kian and Dylan have their own stash of Dollars. 

Good thing I didn’t decide to change tons of my money into Shillings, however Chris did give me half of my first month’s pay in Shillings.  But living in the middle of the bush with all of my meals provided I have spent nothing besides my initial purchase at Shoprite which basically just consisted of peanutbutter.  

Assault on the allies

Recently some friends of the family visited and brought three motion-censored cameras for Nani, Chris, and the boys.  They are an older couple and used to live nearby in Tanzania but have since relocated to the states after they lost their land resulting from an argument with their village.  A year or so ago they decided to buy some of these cameras for themselves to track the animals in their area, however since they now live in Tucson, Arizona (only about a half hour from the border) they largely ended up with pictures of illegal immigrants passing through with the occasional bird or small mammal.  Nonetheless, they thought it would be really neat for around here and the boys couldn’t wait to get their hands on one, already having scoped out numerous places to put it.  I have to say I’ve thoroughly enjoyed them too, and putting up the cameras at dusk has become sort of a ritual around here; last thing before sunset and first thing in the morning the cameras are put up and taken down.  I always look forward to the boys running to school in the morning and telling me what pictures they got during the night: bushbuck, dik-dik, bushpig, anteater, aardvark, civet, what have you.  But if things went according to plan they’d be boring.

            On the third day of having the cameras the boys came panting into my house, barging in on the middle of my breakfast and frantically shouting over each other. 

“Did you get the camera this morning?” Dylan finally asked.

They had gone to get theirs on the way to school where we had placed it the evening before on a tree near a waterhole roughly 100 yards from my house. 

“The camera is gone,” he continued.

But sadly I hadn’t gone anywhere that morning which could only mean one thing: someone (or something) had stolen the camera. 

We searched everywhere, looking for traces and clues, and thought about every possible way it could have disappeared.  The only viable explanation seemed to be that one of the cowherders or village kids gathering grass must have seen it and stolen it.   We knew they had passed there in the morning from seeing tracks and half-eaten palm nuts, but Chris and Nani allow anyone to pass through their land and who’s to say how many people could have come though by 9 in the morning.  Whoever it was, we knew it would be near impossible to catch them, but I was trying to remain optimistic for the boys and tried to convince myself that Nani had retrieved it earlier and was hiding it to play a trick on the boys to teach them a lesson about taking care of their things.  Still, I knew the chances of this were slim to none. 

Disappointed and defeated we headed back to school and attempted to concentrate.  I fittingly changed the Word of the Day to “distraught”. 

I texted Chris and Nani to ask if they had heard anything but as Murphy would have it, the texts didn’t go through and the first they heard of the camera’s disappearance was when we headed over to their house after school.  They were really disappointed and couldn’t imagine why someone had stolen it, but agreed that was probably the case.  What angered them most was that without a computer or another camera, it has absolutely no use to anyone.  Besides the fact it was $150 down the drain… Chris quickly got all his workers to ask around, but they were just as clueless as the rest of us.  They brought some farmers and cow herders in for questioning and Chris was even about to call the police. 

Nani had gone out to look for herself and see if she could do a better job than the boys and I had.  Amidst all the chaos, she came running back. 

“I’ve got our thief,” she shouted.

About 10 yards from where the camera was securely tied to a tree stump the night before she found about half of the camera completely chewed up.  For the next few yards the pieces were scattered about.  We put the chip into the computer and there she was. 

At 2:00am, the pictures show a beautiful striped hyena approaching the water hole, then walking towards the camera and, alas, approaching it from only inches away.  The next series of pictures and white light, whiskers, and grass.  The camera was completely ruined, but at least the chip stayed intact. 

What a day.  At least it wasn’t a person who had stolen it, but I felt bad that we had accused so many people and in the end it was just another animal revolting.  It appears to me as if this little game against the animals has widened.  At least I now have an allied front.  

Teaching

I came here to teach but I realize that I’ve pretty much neglected to talk about school.  I swear I’m actually working out here…

Monday through Friday the boys come over from 9-12:15 for school.  Although they’re only two years apart by age, they are at completely different levels for school.  Kian is 11 but is maybe at the level of a first grader.  He doesn’t even have the whole alphabet down and still can’t distinguish b from d, g from j, and y and q might as well be squiggles in his mind.  With his SID he gets really frustrated with himself, but all in all he’s one of the sweetest kids in the world.  Some days he’s great, but then others he can’t even read the word “the”.  Or sometimes it varies by minute.  Every day I have him read outloud a few pages from a book, and if the same word appears in one sentence twice, he often reads it perfectly the first time, but then completely makes up a word for the second time.  When I tell him to sound it out and not to guess, he often freaks out screaming, “It doesn’t make sense! These letters don’t make up a word! Why would they spell it like that?! Just tell me what it is!” And when I point to the same word earlier in the sentence he often can’t even tell that the two are identical.  Once I make him calm down and take a deep breath he usually can get the word correct in a second.  It makes me so sad to see him get angry like that.  But then there are other days where he gets so excited and hugs the books saying, “I love reading!”  He has certainly taught me a thing or two about patience, something I don’t have much of (which I’m sure many of you can attest to).

Dylan, 9, is wonderful and very advanced for his age.  He loves to read and learn, which is a blessing for me.  In fact, my problem with him is finding new, age-appropriate things that he doesn’t know about!  In the mornings while I’m suffering through a book with Kian I usually just give Dylan things to do on his own (reading, worksheets, etc) which he probably likes better anyways because then I’m not hovering over him.  I have a “Word of the Day” for him, which he loves, and always points out when he hears them in conversations or films, which certainly excites me.  He asked me to teach him Morse Code (he read about it in a Hardy Boys book) so thanks to Wikipedia we had a few lessons on that.. Other than that I’m working on spelling difficult words with him and dictation, division, fractions and so on.  When I give him a book to start reading for a half-hour, he’ll be done with the whole thing in 20!  But I guess that’s a good problem. 

For the first hour and a half we do reading and writing things, and then it’s time for snack! Woohoo!  During this time I pretty much just keep pestering Kian to actually eat because he’s so busy day-dreaming and telling about his nightmares that make no sense and go on for about an hour. 

After snack we do math.   Kian is working on addition and subtraction up to 20.  Although he loves to guess and often tells me that 7 + 8 = 3, or something to that effect.  Dylan is essentially perfect with his times table, and we’re now breezing through division and fractions.  We have these fun computer games that test their math skills, so we often end the schoolday with that.  Pretty sweet deal.  Also, Friday after snack has now been dubbed “Flag Friday” and we each pick a flag to draw and learn about which are now making up a boarder of flags around the classroom.  Nothing like a little coloring and geography to welcome in the weekend. 

In the afternoons on MWF they come over for an hour or two for “activities”.  We watch National Geographic videos, color, play games, look at things under their microscope, do crafts such as making the giant snake, etc.  It’s tons of fun.  Thankfully they both really like school!  So that makes my job easier and Nani seemed relieved that from day 1 things went well. 

When I meet guests at the tented camp they often ask if the kids are actually learning anything out here and assert that it’d probably be best to put them in an actual school with other kids.  But honestly we are absolutely in the middle of nowhere… there’s a town about two hours away and Arusha is the closest main city and it’s about 5 hours away.  Other than that there’s just bush and small villages around, mostly huts made of sticks, mud, and cow poo.  So, eventually they might send the boys to Arusha for boarding school for highschool, but who knows.  I doubt Kian will ever get to that point, sadly.  Although my teaching may not be the best since I’m not exactly qualified (which I told them before they offered me the job!) I truly believe that they have learned more living out here.  They speak three languages fluently (Kiswahili with their friends who are all village kids, German with their dad, and English in school and most of the rest of the time) and know so much about plants, animals, and survival in the bush.  As far as I’m concerned, as long as they can read, write, and do simple math they’ll know so much more living out here.  Dylan wants to be an archeologist, so this is the perfect place for him.  Kian on the other hand would probably receive so much harassment from the other kids if him and Dylan were to go to boarding school in Arusha (the only other viable option) so I think it’s best that he stays out here at least until he has more confidence.  All the village kids treat him so well, but as Nani explained, “He’s white, so he’s automatically weird.  It doesn’t matter if he has a learning disability, in their eyes he’s already different so they don’t care.”

It’s definitely been interesting teaching, and I have learned a WHOLE LOT.  I’ve definitely started thinking like a teacher, because everything I do and see I think to myself, “how could I make this into a lesson??” It’s fun, but I have no idea how people can do it for a lifetime.  Thankfully I have the weekends off to relax and prepare for the next week.  

Backseat Surprise

I’ve been getting complaints that I’m not updating the blog enough.  Apologies, but honestly not too much happens living in the middle of nowhere.  Or perhaps I’m just getting used to the crazy things that go on around here to the point that they fail to seem noteworthy.  I’m also enjoying not getting on the internet very often, and when I do gather up my things to go online it takes so long to load that I quickly get discouraged.  But, with all that said, I’ll do my best to post more often and I’ve decided to rack my brain for interesting/comical/gross things that have happened that I’ve failed to write about thus far.  Let’s start with the latter. 

            First let me explain a little bit more about Nani and Chris.  They help everyone in the entire area.  They are honestly two of the most amazing, generous people in the world and put a huge portion of what they make back into the land, people, and culture.  They’ve lived here together for about 15 years (Chris has lived in the area his whole life) and truly love the land.  Unfortunately much of the area has been taken over by onion farmers (which often leads to the pungent smell of onions wafting all the way to my house when a huge gust comes through) and the natural landscape has been demolished.  Fortunately the land that Nani and Chris bought has poor soil so there aren’t onion farmers right next to us.  This is also the reason that the village was willing to sell them the land, and luckily it is the most beautiful property within miles as it has a huge lookout rock (excitingly similar in appearance to Pride Rock) and a beautiful winding spring. 

Side note: Acquiring land here in an interesting process.  When you want to buy land here, you first have to go to the village and get their blessing to do so.  Otherwise when you go to the local board they will fight against you.  Once you pass that, you have to go through another board or two and it’s a long bureaucratic process.  But essentially if the people in the village don’t like you, you’ll NEVER be  able to get the land no matter how much money you have.  Luckily for Nani and Chris, they have a wonderful relationship with the people in the village, and both parties with go to endless lengths for each other. 

            Back to their never-ending generosity… They also pay for a bunch of kids to go to school, Nani secretly has about all the women on the pill, they pay for pretty much any medicine that anyone needs, they have a foundation for a local high school that they’ve put thousands of dollars into, and they loan their car out to basically anyone who needs it (or have one of their workers drive people where they need to go).  As I said, Nani and Chris are amazing and so genuinely selfless. 

But let me get to the gross story.  About a month ago one of the women from the village (possibly also employed here, but it’s hard to know since they seem to give jobs to nearly half the village in order to help them out) went into labor.  Since they take people to the hospital anytime day or night without question, the woman and her husband took Chris’ giant Land Rover.  However, she didn’t quite make it to the hospital and gave birth in the backseat.  Thankfully the baby and mother are healthy, but let’s just say that canvas seat coverings don’t clean up as well as leather ones. 

The next week we headed to Arusha with a full car so Nani and I piled into the backseat with the boys.  About an hour into the trip Nani got a strange look on her face and we realized that there was a huge, mysterious stain underneath us, stretching across the whole backseat of the Land Rover.  It didn’t take us too long to put two and two together.  We tried to politely explain it to the boys (without going into too much detail about childbirth), somewhat laughed it off, and sucked it up for the rest of the weekend.  Lovely. 

another attempt at pictures

These don't exactly cover it, and are definitely delayed, but with such a slow and unreliable internet connection, it took over an hour to add the three of these.  At least I was able to show what an amazing house I have and get one picture up of the boys.

my house

Dylan and Kian at the snake park

Afterschool Special: Africa style

Without TV and with only having electricity from 6:30 to 10:30 each night (and being completely in the middle of nowhere) the boys have come up with some pretty creative things to do while not at school.  In a similar predicament, I often join them on their adventures and always enjoy whatever shenanigans they and their friends from the village get into. 

So here are some of the things we entertain ourselves with:

Racing poo

            Really.  There is a beautiful spring on their land and farmers come from miles away everyday to bring their cows for a drink.  The result: cow poo EVERYWHERE.  Literally you can’t go more than one step without encountering a huge cowpie and the occasional goat crap.  After tea, the boys and I often take walks to the spring and pick up the old, dried-up cow poop to make “boats” that race down the stream.  The goat poops often serve as bombs and last time we even constructed sails out of feathers as we raced down the stream to the flamingos.  You have to be strategic in your choosing though because otherwise it will become completely saturated and sink.  I am so refined. 

Torturing animals

            The other day Nani came upon a huge monitor lizard (about 4 feet long) that someone had attempted to kill and tie to a tree.  However, it was still barely alive so she brought it home and the boys gladly threw giant rocks at it to finish the job and put it out of its misery.  Once it was dead, the real fun started.  Although, I will point out the fact that from here on out I simply watched.  They hung it to a tree where it was left to drip blood from each and every orifice (sorry, that’s graphic) and then it became a new target for their bow and arrow practice.  Finally a giant fire was started and they burnt it to a crisp.  Mice are also a favorite to burn, often as a sacrifice in some game they’re playing. 

            Other times we find ants and put then in the ant-lion’s holes to watch them get trapped and eaten.  Or there’s the ever amusing termite fights, where we poke around the termite holes, catch them, and then pit them against each other. 

Arts and crafts time (and I don’t mean drawing flowers)

            This week we are in the process of making a life size Black Mamba snake, presumably to scare every poor Tanzanian within a ten mile radius.  Black Mambas are one of the most poisonous, terrifying snakes in the whole area, and are about 3 meters long.  We gathered, cut, and painted fabric and once I’m done hand sewing all 15 feet we’ll fill it with sand and attach some strings to help it slither along.  Oh the things we do to keep ourselves occupied.  Nothing like sitting on my back porch watching the sunset over the mountains stitching up a giant cloth snake. 

And I thought that The Magic Schoolbus was an exciting thing to do in the afternoon when I was their age… 

Animal update:

Dylan cornered the squirrel, but it just ran under the fridge.  So he grabbed it by its tail and pulled (as per my advice) and the tail just popped right off.. oops, didn’t see that one coming.  Since then, I haven’t seen him around but I have discovered a new mouse living in the pantry.  I found his escape route after I chased him around and plugged it with a towel.  Don’t worry, he managed to chew it up and has returned, seeking none other than my beloved peanut butter (which has since sought refuge in a giant plastic tub).   But the monitor lizard has got to count for something…

Also, the other day at school Adam came running in saying, “sister Liza, hyena! Come look!”  So we ran outside but I couldn’t see the hyena anywhere, so I asked him to show me.  He pointed out a twig snake about 10 feet in front of me.  I couldn’t help but laugh at his mistake, but I suppose in his eyes they’re easily confusable: two dangerous animals; what’s the difference? 

But then I realized that this perfectly camouflaged 5 foot snake looking ready to strike is poisonous… Thankfully Adam grabbed some rocks and sticks and did away with it pretty quickly.  So back to school we went. 

For anyone keeping track I think the score is about 8-5, Animals.  Make that 9-5… one of the cows pooed about 3 feet from where I was eating breakfast this morning.  

The Never-Ending Game

Round one

There’s a squirrel in my house.  We tried to catch him in my pantry but failed.

Two monkeys pooped on my porch.  I threw a rock at them but missed.

A giant spider was hiding on my conditioner bottle yesterday. I settled for only shampoo. 

There’s a hyena lurking in the woods by my house.  I’ve been advised to walk a different way home. 

A Blacksmith Plover bird came screeching down at me while I was on a walk and got within inches of my head.  I turned and walked in the other direction. 

This round:

Animals- 5

Liza- 0

I need to work on my Eliza Thornberry skills. 

Round two

The squirrel trap has been set, but I think he already died from a heart attack.  Hopefully my house doesn’t start smelling now. 

As usual the monkeys were trying to drink from the sprinkler that is set up in my yard, so I decided to turn it on.  Nothing like a blast to the face to scare you away. 

I’d been given mace the first day to protect myself from rabid animals, and lately it has stayed much closer

Narrowing the gap, but I have at least 50 bites on my legs and arms from tse-tse flies as a result of our camping trip. 

This round:

Animals- 6

Liza- 3

Thankfully I’m not even to the end of the first quarter.  

the bush (noun): wild land that has not been cleared, especially in Africa and Australia.

This weekend we decided to go camping in the bush.  Most people would say that where we live is the bush, but Chris and Nani wanted to venture even further to one of their favorite camping spots.  Upon hearing out plan, one of the guests joked to Nani, “this isn’t bush enough for you?”  Apparently not.  So we set out for a “family” camping weekend.

If you ever make plans to do something in Tanzania, or at least where I am, within ten minutes everyone in a ten mile radius knows your plan and has already invited themselves along.  But with Land Rovers, there’s always room for one more Tanzanian to squeeze into the back.  So what started out as the five mzungus (white people) quickly turned into a 15 person expedition.  Did I mention that we were driving five hours each way to spend only one night?  This was no deterrence and both the drive and the company proved to be wonderful. 

Our extensive entourage included some pretty great characters.  I can’t help but describe a few of them to help paint the picture. 

Georgie- a 40-something Tanzanian man who is part owner of the tented camp.  Chris has known him since he was 3 and they’re essentially brothers.  He’s an amazing guy, soft spoken and always smiling.  Everyone jokes that he’s the Jesus of driving and Chris is the god.  Honestly, I have no idea how the two of them manage to negotiate the “roads” without getting lost, stuck in mud, or a flat tire.  One of the funniest things about him was that kept climbing the rocks to try and get cell phone reception, but being in the bush he had absolutely no chance.  Georgie also brought his two sons, Poile and Hansi, who had never been camping before because they go to high school five hours away in Arusha.  Poile was dressed in a nice button-up shirt and dress shoes which was evidence enough that he was a rookie to the whole camping thing, but it didn’t stop him from climbing every baobab tree they found, and neither did Hansi’s prosthetic leg for that matter.  They seemed really excited for the whole adventure (which excited Chris because he was certain they would be freaked out by being so far out into the bush) and ended up taking more pictures than I did. 

The Old Man- not really sure who he is.  I don’t think anyone really knows.  Chris is convinced he’s well over 100 because when his parents first came to the area and needed to know something they were told to ask “the old man in the village”, and that was 40 years ago.  Apparently he doesn’t even know to the decade how old he is, but Nani joked that always insists on going camping with them and every year she takes a picture thinking, ‘this is the last time I’ll get a snapshot of the old man with us’, but he seems invincible.  He didn’t say more than two words, just sat there eating and smoking all day, and he slept right on the rocks with only a blanket underneath.  That is what you call a champion.    

The Gardener- One of the guys who works for Chris and Nani.  He’s really only noteworthy because of his outfit.  The whole weekend he looked like an MC Hammer/Will Smith from Fresh Prince wannabe.  Bright magenta pants and a baggy polyester short sleeve button-up in the ugliest bright green I’ve ever seen.  Not sure how he ended up on the trip, but I was definitely not upset with that fashion choice.

Tella- 8 year old girl who can hang with the boys unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.  She’s the tiniest little thing but can eat more than three adults combined. 

Needless to say we were quite a sight.  We all piled into two Land Rovers and took off on the journey stopping for picnics, rock climbing, hot springs, cave drawings, impala sightings, villages, and markets along the way.  The sights were absolutely breathtaking. 

The campsite itself was nothing more than a small flat area on the top of a mountain that is essentially a secret place to all but 20 people in the world.  It overlooked a valley full of baobab and acacia trees, with a huge lake far off in the distance.  Our secluded sanctuary was somewhat bleak, but probably one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever been.  Minus the entire goat that they slaughtered and brought along, it was a pretty modest setup; they boys slept in one tent, myself in another, and everyone else either slept outside or in the cars. 

Tanzania is a wonderful nation with some of the friendliest people I’ve ever seen.  What surpised me most of all on this entire camping adventure was that nearly every person, young and old, in each of the little villages that we passed would run to the road and wave hello.  Not much warms your heart like seeing a three year old Tanzanian wearing only a little t-shirt run out of her mud hut with the biggest smile on her face and wave more enthusiastically at a truck full of people than would appear humanly possible in such heat and desolate conditions.  I’ve never seen such people so genuinely happy to greet another, with absolutely no animosity whatsoever at our varying ways of life. 

Three weeks has already gone too fast. 

Maybe the extension of my visa will get messed up and I’ll have to stay in the bush forever. 

ps- sorry, I planned on adding more photos (and of my house, etc.) but it took half an hour to upload two.  In time, I will gather more patience with this internet.  Until then, this will have to do.