Monday, September 14, 2009 7:24pm

The first thing I have taught to my village (somewhat inadvertently) is how to make brownies. Even today, the day after my lesson, children and adults are repeating to each other the ingredients and proportions of this wondrous Merikani (American) food.

I initially intended to bake brownies (my first try at baking in Tanzania) for the graduation party for the daughter of the nurse who has been so much help to me these past weeks. I had been trying to explain to her about brownies, but the best I could get is chocolate cake which she sortof understood. They don’t have dessert here. The day before the party she asked if I could cook them at her house – because I haven’t managed to buy charcoal yet, and so she could watch.

When they have parties here people all bring over food, dishes, pots, and firewood and women all come to help cook. So when I came to bake my brownies I had quite the audience, and the children of course come to see whatever I might be doing as well. I am so glad that they turned out well, since I was using a recipe out of the PC cookbook and changing it a bit because ingredients like butter just can’t be found around here.

In case you’re wondering, the ingredients are:
9 spoons of blueband (a horrendous margarine I have come to love)
(melt in pan before adding the rest of the ingredients)
1 ½ teacups sugar
9 spoons unsweetened cocoa powder
½ lidfull vanilla extract (they didn’t know what this was but I did
buy it in Same, artificial, but you take what you can get)
2 eggs
¾ teacup flour
tiny pinch of salt if you feel like it but the blueband already has plenty

Make an oven out of a big pot by putting 2 flat stones on the bottom. Put the smaller pot in and make sure that it doesn’t stick out of the top (there should be room between the top of the inside pan and the top of the outside) put a lid on it and put it on the charcoal.

Wait impatiently with everyone watching and peeking under the lid until finished (about 45min to 1 ½ hours) I made 2 batches the first one took forever. . .

The brownies where quite the hit, and the party was pretty amazing. It was asked that I photograph Aziza and her daughter and sister and brother and then since the camera was out I took a number of other pictures as well so hopefully you’ll get to see those sometime.

In the morning, there was a party at the Catholic church as well, for christening and it was asked that I take some pictures there too. The place was beautiful and the singing was amazing. It was packed full of people and I was uncomfortable taking pictures so I don’t know that they turned out well.

I would like to apologize to the people who I wrote letters during the last few weeks, and you will know who you are when you receive them. As promised, the first weeks at site where very difficult for me, but now I feel that I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, I love my village so much and I have so many projects to do that I hope will really be able to change the lives of the people who live here.

This past week has been the turning point for me. I was in meetings every single day as well as a few the last days of the week before. The first meetings were strenuous and frustrating. I would arrive and wait, very patiently, for the rest of the people to come. As promised, meetings usually start an hour or longer after the proposed meeting time. It made no difference to me because people would be talking before the meeting, and I would not understand the conversation. Then the meeting would begin, and people would be talking even faster usually, passionately discussing things of importance, but again, I would not understand a thing going on. A meeting scheduled to begin at 10am would usually get out around 430 or 5pm. No break for food, or anything for that matter. I took to writing down the words that I heard repeated that I didn’t know, then looking them up. Still, the gist of the conversation was usually lost on me.

Sometimes someone would be so bold as to ask me why I was not contributing to the conversation, and over time I answered this question with more evident frustration, as I thought it was quite apparent that I had no clue what was being said.

Tuesday, after one such meeting, I was approached by a young teacher who started speaking to me in English (asking me the dreaded question as to why I had no contributed to the conversation) The meeting that we had just finished was the government and school officials discussing what would happen during the meeting with the parents at the school the following day.

So, Wednesday, at the parents meeting, I insisted on sitting next to the teacher who had promised to help translate. I had to be pretty pushy, as everyone thought I should sit in the place of importance between two very important gov’t officials, but I had had enough frustration, and already missed so much important information.

After that meeting, my eyes where opened to so many things in the village. I was able to discuss many things with the teacher, and it seemed suddenly people understood that I could not understand them, and when possible they would call over someone who knew English (they’ve been hiding – I didn’t know they were here!) and suddenly the communication barrier was all but gone.

With the aid of communication, I have been piling on ideas for projects (and inadvertently expectations from the villagers for immediate action) and all the sudden I feel empowered to get things done. I also feel connected to these people. I have begun to make friends, even despite the communication barrier, find comfort in seeing certain people everyday.

There is this myth that during training we heard over and over again. From our teachers and staff a little, but mostly from current volunteers. They said we’d be bored a lot. That we’d have so much time on our hands we wouldn’t know what to do with it. Now, they might be big fans of PB&J for every meal, or maybe they have villages with fewer needs than mine, but I don’t ever have a second to breath from waking (usually around 430am, as the rooster crows) to sleep (somewhere between 830 and 930pm) I feel bad because for the past week and a half I haven’t studied Swahili (accept ‘in the field’) at all. I haven’t had time. At all. Even this past weekend when I was in my banking town (fri-sat) I spent all of Friday in meetings with different NGO’s and gov’t officials.

That said, I am exhausted. Tomorrow promises to be a long day as there is another meeting. This time though, I already know someone will be coming to help translate for me.

Also I will have someone (and hopefully not every important gov’t official as I am afraid will be the case) come look at my choo, as it does not drain. Which is quite awkward as I am the only one who uses it and thus must take responsibility for all that has. . . piled up.

And with that I will say, good night, Usiku mwema.

Jen slaved at the internet cafe today to get more...

Pictures!!!

(Posted by Dad for Jen)

August 22, 2009 7:25pm

I know I haven’t written in awhile. And I haven’t posted the things I wrote awhile back. Maybe I will post them when I post this entry. They feel so far away now.

Today I arrived at my site. I am cooking my first dinner now, myself, on the kerosene stove that my host family gave me as a going away present. I am starving, and it is cooking slowly. I am making potatoes with tomatoes, onions, garlic, and I might put an egg in at the end if I feel so inclined.  I forgot to buy salt and I have no other spices...


I love my village. I love my district. I love the people who live here, and the people I will be working with. I love my house. I feel so lucky to be here.

Perhaps it is different because I struggled through my homestay. I didn’t connect with my family and often felt at odds with their expectations for me.  I especially disliked my kaka Siafu and was often in his company. I was unsure of myself and stumbled a lot.

Last Monday at 5:20am I left my homestay family. It was a complicated goodbye for me as I wanted so badly to feel, still, like they were family, and connect somehow with them. I appreciate greatly their teaching me how to cook, fetch water, clean Tanzania style, etc, and I appreciate so much them welcoming me into their home and accepting me as family, but I never felt like family.

I traveled from Muheza to Dar es Salaam. I went to the dentist in Dar to get a tooth fixed that I had chipped on shadow week (nothing too bad, don’t worry) and on the 19th we were sworn in as official PC Volunteers.

The shindig was at the Ambassador’s house for the first time in more than 4 years. It was amazingly posh, the food was fantastic, and we had an AWESOME band and we all danced the night away. The ceremony was nice, and we sang a song of our making to illustrate the things we had learned during training. Each CBT created a verse that thanked their LCF and mentioned particular things that had happened during training. I think it was televised so feel free to try to google search it. They were videotaping the whole thing.

(I finished cooking and ate. . . so here is the continuation. . )

August 24, 2009 7:13pm

Today my village officially welcomed me. My VEO (village executive officer) talks so quickly it is like a waterfall of Kiswahili falling onto me, and I don’t understand at all. He knows a tiny bit of English, and sometimes, when he feels especially inclined, he will make sure I know what he is talking about and when I say ‘NO’ that I really don’t know at all, he will translate a tiny bit in English. And then return to the waterfall of Kiswahili.

My village is tiny, at the foothills of the mountains, and very dry. It is beautiful, with cacti and a dabbling of trees, and the mountains rising behind. From about halfway up the mountains there is a forest, and I think the top catches a bit more rainfall than we get here at the base.

I am high enough in the mountains to be cold at night, and sometimes chilly during the day a bit too. I am really glad to have such a warm sleeping bag. I do wish I hadn’t lost my only jacket, though, I am going to try to buy another here soon so I don’t freeze all the time.

I am about a 2 hour walk from my banking town which is the only place I can buy pretty much anything. Here in my village I can buy soap, eggs, salt, and sugar. Sometimes I can find phone vouchers, though it is almost moot because I have no signal here in my village, unless I climb the mountain. There is a ‘public’ truck that goes to town every Sunday morning and returns in the late afternoon. If I want to go any other day I have to go by foot. Which isn’t bad accept that I need to buy all my food in town and many other things I need for my home, and will be carrying them all the way back. . I will be in good shape very soon.

I was told when I arrived in town that jumatatu (Monday) would be “Jennifer Day” So I prepared to be fed (meaning I barely ate breakfast) and prepared a small speech to explain myself to the villagers in Kiswahili. I even bathed for the first time since I got here in lukewarm water which was the best I could make with the tiny pot I have to boil water and the one bucket I have to use for all my water needs.

My house is a duplex that I share with the family of a teacher at our primary school. They have chickens that crow at about 4am, and their doors (and mine) could use a good dousing with wd-40. It took me a while to not jump at every door opening thinking it was my own. They have a new baby, who cries often, and a child about 2 who knows the words mama and baba and dada and says them all the time. The older kaka, Juma, who is 11, is quiet and helpful and often watching his younger sisters. When my door is open during the day he will peer in curiously but not enter.

The wife is a teacher and I do not know what the man does, perhaps he is a farmer? I think they just moved here as well because in Tanzania teachers are moved around a lot by the gov’t. I tried to visit this morning but got the feeling it was a bad time.

As you walk in the house, you enter my sitting room (currently sans chairs). To your left is a room that could be a bedroom or office or otherwise though I don’t have the money to furnish it at all. Past the sitting room is my bedroom on the right. There is a single window that looks out into my courtyard. The windows all have boards halfway up, perhaps for safety (per PC request) and perhaps to keep out the wind which is cold at night.

My courtyard has a rocky concrete floor. A wall separates my courtyard from the family in the other half of the house. Across the courtyard are three rooms. One is to serve as my kitchen, another my food storage room, and the third is my choo/shower room. There is a door to the outside from my courtyard and the wall to the outside is lined with broken glass (again for safety) which glistens and glitters in the sun.

Along the front of my house are tropical looking plants planted in old broken buckets and paint containers and other such things. They are situated to catch the rainwater off the roof so they can get watered occasionally. Nothing is flowering right now, but I pulled all the brown leaves away and they look pretty happy now that I give them my waste water.

My village is tiny, and the houses are spread out over the foothills far away. My house is next to the dispensary and across the street from the secondary school. Both are very well made buildings, and look new.

Our water comes from atop the mountain. I haven’t figured out quite how it works, but we have a faucet and every other day we are allowed to get water from it. From what I understand sometimes there isn’t water. The water is clean, though, very clear.

So this morning I woke up and swept like a good Tanzanian woman (though couldn’t mop because I don’t have enough buckets) and bathed and prepared myself for Jennifer Day. I left my house with trepidation, and stumbled immediately upon so many people who wanted to converse with me. They speak quick and fluid Kiswahili, rolling out at me as if I understood each word. I feel like even when I recognize some words I forget their meaning because I am so engrossed in the timber of the voice.

I understood almost nothing all day.

First, I spoke to the doctor at the clinic after many long greetings with nurses, villagers, teachers, and children. He knew some English, which was such a relief to my brain. He asked me what I was going to do (the giant looming question), and had a list of things that he wanted help with. It was comforting to know that all three things I plan to begin with (at his request) are within my reach. He wants help with rainwater catchment, he wants me to teach about prevention of common diseases in the village (and provided a list) and he wants me to teach about permaculture (which excites me greatly) He was very organized, and I look forward to working with him in the future.

Next, I met with a huge group of village officials, all of whom spoke to me and about me in rapid Kiswahili. For awhile I could see that they were going over what looked to be a budget for the party they were throwing me. Which was awkward to say the least, but here in Tanzania things like that are different. I think they wanted me to know that they are putting money into welcoming me here, so that I know that they want me here and are showing it through lavish reception.

Together, we went on a small walking tour of the village, with the VEO spilling out his beautiful Kiswahili as he pointed here and there at houses and hills and the pocked rocky dirt road. When we returned, the villagers where gathering for my welcoming party. Children where playing soccer in the field, and women were standing in groups wearing beautiful colorful clothing.

A chair was brought out and I was told to sit in it. Students marched out and began singing songs, all about me. I could understand most of the words, and they were about my long journey here to Africa, and about wanting to learn from me, and thanking me for coming. The older children sang first and I was asked to dance with them, which I did, much to the enjoyment of the crowd.

The little children came next, singing more songs about me and thanking me for coming again. I danced with them, as well, and some of the mamas came to dance with us too.

It was pretty amazing to hear these songs they had written, as they were all about me, and how I could help them and how happy they were I came.

I might mention at this point that I hadn’t eaten because I wanted to be hungry for my feast, and it was going on 3pm.

Then a lot of speeches commenced and I was very glad to have prepared mine. I am pretty sure I repeated A LOT of what the VEO had already told the villagers about me, but I said most all of it anyway. They were very happy that I used a Kipare (local language) greeting, and they received me warmly. I feel very welcome and comfortable here.

After the speeches, the children played this strange game where one pretended to be me and another pretended to be a villager and they played out scenarios. I didn’t really understand much of it but everyone laughed a lot, so I did as well. Then there was a question answer session with the children where they were asked questions about me (my name, what I do, when I arrived in town, when I will leave) and took turns answering.

It was hard to concentrate because I was hungry and dehydrated. But it was amazing. It was a good way, I think, for the villagers and children together to learn what this mzungo was doing here in their village.

It was amazing.

Completely amazing.



Then I was welcomed inside for my feast.. So many different things to eat and they were all so good. I like the cooking here better than Muheza or maybe I was just soooooo hungry that it tasted so good. I kept eating and ate too fast that I immediately felt like I was going to throw up. I had to finally not even able to clean my plate, which is bad manners, but I was very afraid that instead I would have to go throw up which would also be. . . bad.

Many more speeches were given and then there was a question answer session which luckily I didn’t have to provide the answers as the questions were about me. The only one I understood completely was basically “how can she help us if she can’t speak/understand “Kiswahili” which is a fair question. The answer was “She’s learning”

I was asked to speak again, and just ended up repeating a few things I had said before and then saying thankyou about 30 times and sitting down.

After the speeches were over, the VEO said I could go home and rest, as I had danced a lot and must be tired.

And I was. But I sadly could not rest, there are always things I need to do.. ..



There is a nurse here that I met the day I arrived. She has helped me through the village and though she knows absolutely no English we have been able to make sense of each other. She is kind and luckily has also been willing to give me a bit of space when I need it. She has the unfortunate habit of ripping my phone out of my hand all the time when I am trying to do something (send a text message or call) and I know it’s because she knows where to hold it exactly to get the signal, but I have to bite my tongue to not snap every once in awhile for her not to do it.

She has gotten me the use of a bucket, though, which is great, and I will use it until I go into town on Thursday and can buy a few more. I really need to do laundry and clean a bit here.

I am still living out of bags and the only furniture in the house in the bed which I am borrowing from neighbors until I can have one made. The PC gave us, from what I have heard, considerably less than previous groups as ‘moving in allowance’. We were told it should be sufficient to buy one bed, mattress, one table, and 2 chairs. I am hoping to squeeze in a bookshelf and something to hold my clothes, but we’ll see. There are many other things for the house that I need. Like buckets. (note to those who haven’t lived w/o running water: Buckets are life. You fetch and store water in buckets, you wash clothes in buckets, you clean the floor in buckets, you do dishes in buckets, you keep drinking water in buckets, etc.)

Tomorrow I will be going to the fundi with my nurse friend after we return from our visit to the hospital. Hopefully I can post all of this soon. . . but I am tired and have written enough for the night.

Usiku Mwema!

August 29, 2009 7:02pm

They have said, and I know very well, that these first three months at site will be the hardest of my service. I do not know if I am more homesick now than I was those first weeks during training. I am even craving things that I didn’t think would be an issue for me at all. Running water. A stove. Right now, furniture to sit on. I am so tired of sitting on the floor and my back hurts. I will have furniture sometime next week or the week after, though.

It was a long day today.

Let me mention a few things that happened this week, though, before I go into it, for the sake of congruity.

The visit to the hospital was a miscommunication, as instead we were a ‘mobile clinic’ which meant we took a box of supplies out into the hills (by the aid of a car) and sat on stools in the middle of nowhere. Women and children came, and the children were weighed, given inoculations and vitamins, and the babies where checked for health. Birth control was handed out (pills) and women even came selling wares and vegetables. Which was good because I really needed some food and I bought some cabbage and mchiche (Mchiche is translated according to the dictionary as ‘spinach’ but it’s just the greens of some plant and it has nothing to do with what we know as spinach, but it’s good cooked. Also, it’s different greens depending on the region)

The nurses (of which there are 4) sat around and gossiped and tried to teach me Kipare which is the local tribal language. I cannot understand them and feel desperately lost. The common verbs they use here are different from the common verbs used in Muheza, and it seems I get lost in the simplest sentence. They also conjugate A LOT which loses me quickly.

All you who know me know that I tend to be quiet around people initially. And it doesn’t help me being the foreigner who can’t talk anyway sitting around quietly. But I observed and took notes and tried to understand what was going on. The questions that I did understand I could not answer anyway, for that reason that I kept trying to insist the PC not place me as they did – the nurses asked me what ages children in the US got what shots, and did we give this shot in the leg or the arm or the buttocks, etc. And I have no clue. I don’t even know what shots I got as a child, only that they have been sufficient to keep me from dying yet.

They even wanted me to help dispense medicine and give shots myself. But I insisted I was not a doctor. And not a nurse. I am beginning to feel like the are questioning my worth to them, wondering exactly what I do.

I guess maybe I am wondering the same thing.

Thursday I woke early to go so Same to buy things. My nurse friend had insisted she come with me, and as I didn’t know how to get there I thought it might be a good idea, though I felt so bad she had to take off work and walk there (a 2 ½ hour walk) although she also negotiated transportation back, which was helpful.

I met a PCV in town who has been here for about a year and he showed me where to buy everything. Of course, despite my list, I forgot some things, but I was at least able to add considerably to my food stores. I now have bread and peanut butter and jelly which has become my favourite meal. I also have some spices, some more buckets, a frying pan, and a lot of other necessary house stuff. (this morning I made peanut butter chapatti and it was fan-tastic) There is an amazing luxury to be able to eat when I am hungry instead of having to light my stove, cut things up, and wait for them to cook.

When I returned from Same, I was tired and dirty. I wondered over to my nurse-friend’s house and talked a tiny bit with her. I wanted to buy some laundry soap from her duka, so I waited for her to decompress a bit from the trip. As I mounted the hill above my house, I saw a ton of people standing around, more than I had ever seen in my village. Seated at a table in front of them where the VEO and Mwenyekiti (Village executive officer ie – head honcho, and the chair person) amongst the other important village officials. The VEO saw me and motioned me over.

So there I sat, in front of maybe a houndred or more people, dirty and tired from my trip, hungry and thirsty, and just wanting to buy some laundry soap.

It turns out that they were reading the list of people who were to get food aid, in the form of corn, the following day. It took me a long time to figure this out, of course, but I sat patiently and observed and wrote down the words I didn’t know, which was most of them.

In the middle of the name reading, the VEO decided to introduce me and then asked me to say a few words. Which was very kind of him, he is a very kind and wonderful man I like him a lot, the problem is he said my name, where I am from, how long I have been here, how long I am staying, and what I will be doing. Which are the only things I really know how to say well in Kiswahili. Which left me with nothing to say. And being tired and hungry I squabbled out a few broken Swahili sentences and then said thank you and sat down.

The name reading continued.

At the end of the list of each subvillage (they read the name of every person in each family, as the corn would be distributed based on the number of people in the family) they had a discussion as to what people found to be inaccurate in the list. People got very angry and where screaming. I couldn’t really figure out why.

The following day I had the pleasure of trying to wash out my newly purchased buckets so I could fetch water with them. See, when you buy a bucket here it was used, usually for cooking oil, already. They sell it to you dirty. So I stood there, at the well, with my bar of soapand washcloth for about an hour scrubbing at the 3 oil covered buckets trying to clean them.

Finally, seeing my frustration, one of the nurses came over and in 5 minutes, with a clump of old rice bag and the same soap I was using, cleaned all 3 buckets and had kids carry them full of water back to my house.

2 days before that I had been quite the spectacle. I had my one big bucket that the PC had given us. I filled it with water and someone told me that the children would carry it for me to my house. Being the independent American, not wanting to make children do my work, I insisted I could carry it. I had carried water on my head before. I had the children help me get the bucket onto my head and immediately realized it was a bucket twice the size I was used to. Still, with my pride intact, I knew I could walk down the hill to my house with it. So carefully, I did. But by the time I got to my house, my neck wasn’t holding out, and I knew then I couldn’t get it off my head by myself. But as no one was around, I had no choice but to try. I thought I about broke my neck, and the water fell everywhere.

And apparently everyone was around, because I heard laughing immediately and every time I come to the well now they recount the story to me. I try to take it lightly, but my neck still hurts.

They gave out the corn yesterday, and as far as I could see, there weren’t problems with the distribution. I did my laundry so I was in my courtyard for a good part of the day, and then I went to my Kiswahili class (more about that later)

Today, though, there were more problems.

I felt like a hermit, a bit, today. I took some time to try to neaten up my belongings which are just piled places since I don’t have furniture. I cooked peanut butter chapatti which was fantastic. I consolidated my lists and then made newer better lists. I stayed cooped up in my house until about noon.

When I ventured out I found myself again the observer of a meeting. I was invited to sit, again, this time amongst a group of perhaps 15 villagers. Almost all where familiar faces. The Mwenyekiti insisted that everyone speak Kiswahili (and no Kipare) on my behalf so I could understand (which was almost moot, because I barely understood a thing) and was super awkward because everyone was angry and yelling.

I was unprepared to observe a meeting so I found a spare second to rush back to my house and grab my dictionary and a pen so I could continue my list of words I don’t know and maybe look a few up as I went. The meeting went on for a few hours. At the end I barely understood. All I knew was that someone was supposed to be getting corn and for some reason did not.

Then, out of some miracle, a man came up to me and in fluent English explained that the women had not been able to carry all of their bags of corn back to their home the day before. They had left it in the duka (shop) that belongs to my nurse friend. A boy (22 year old) who I have talked to a few times and seems pretty nice, sleeps there (haven’t figured out why but knew that he does) The corn disappeared during the night but the boy insists he didn’t sleep there that night.

At the end, the women were given a little corn to tide them until the corn could be found.

August 30, 2009 7:25pm

I am writing a tiny bit more before I go to sleep because tomorrow I will be heading to Same and likely will post this.

I went to church today, Catholic, which is about a 2 minute walk from my house. Most of my neighbors go to either the Catholic church or the Lutheran one down the hill a bit. I chose the Catholic one because one of the nurses said she was going and invited me to come to her house after service.

But, alas, I did not see her there, or at all today, and I have no idea where her house is.

The church service was beautiful. I understood very little if any at all. I know at one point the pastor mentioned me because everyone stared at me for a bit and he mentioned the word mmerikani (American) a few times. Of course, it was all in Kiswahili.

The singing was amazing, and there was accompaniment of drums and clapping, though not revival style, a more reserved melody as could be expected at a catholic mass. It was nice to feel like I was part of the community and for once my lack of ability to communicate was not such an immediate barrier.

After church I visited a neighbor mzee (elder) who told me a bit about his life, mostly in Kiswahili but some small pieces translated into English. We ate a late lunch together and chatted and played with his 1 year old grandson, who is the healthiest and cleanest kid I have seen so far in Tanzania (and is in love with me) And he brought out some videos (he has solar power, and a TV and a VCR, he has, as far as I can tell, the posh-est house in the village) and we watched people dance to Christian music in Swahili with strange interjections of pictures of biblical stories which seemed so out of place because of their all white cast.

It was a good Sunday all in all.