September 16, 2010 Thursday 8:57pm

First: Pictures from Mom & Dad's Visit!

And, New Pictures at the end!

Now, for the blog...

Yesterday I climbed Vumari Mountain. All the way up into our forest where I have been told there are ‘dangerous wild animals’, or maybe there were long ago.

I went with Vumari’s Forest Committee, Kamati ya Msitu Shirikishi, the mwenyekiti (chairman) of the village, and 2 ascari (police officers) totaling 9 people. Our mission: to arrest people illegally cutting down trees in the protected forest. The police officers carried guns, old machine guns with wooden parts. I know nothing about guns so you’ll have to wait for the pictures if you are interested.

I left my house around 615am to meet up with the group and start up the mountain. We started off at a quick pace, which wore me out quickly as we were climbing the mountain at a near run. But no one else seemed even winded. We walked as quietly as we could, listening carefully and looking for signs of cutting, and fresh footprints. By some stroke of luck, our trek was only 2 days after the first rainstorm in months, so it was actually possible to make out new footprints.

And we climbed.

Within the first hour we heard the first group, and slowly ambushed from different sides. I stayed towards the back, as I had no idea what to expect and didn’t want to get in the way of their strategy. The 2 male youth ran in different directions, and for a split second the mama in our group had caught a hold of one, but he threatened her with his panga (large knife/thing they use for pretty much everything – not as sharp as a knife) and she let go of him.

They left one pair of sandals, an ax, a jembe (hoe), and a huge pile of old growth trees stacked up and ready to be transported. We stood around the loot for a few minutes, discussing how we would use certain items to try to ascertain the identity of the youths, and then continued our climb at the same hurried pace.

A few hours in it was apparent I was not holding up as well as the rest of the group. Climbing uphill nonstop at near jogging makes me a little breathless, but the rest continued as if it where just lazy stroll. At last I had to stop as my legs refused to move any longer. I realized I had made a mistake in not bringing any food. I had thought we would be back down the mountain for lunch, and only brought water and my camera. But as lunchtime was rolling around, and we were still only nearing the top, I was worrying just a bit.

The higher we got the lusher and more beautiful the forest became. An exotic, almost prehistoric looking mix of tropical trees and moss and cool air. Banana trees, palms, Neem (don’t know if there is another name but it is a medicinal tree in Swahili called Marobaini which means the tree of 40 medicines), and MANY other medicinal trees that the man I call babu (grandpa) (who was winding me the whole way without fail) would point out. I wasn’t able to take that many pictures because I was trying not to hold the group back, which I already felt I was doing. Luckily by around 1pm we had reached the top and we followed the ridge awhile, climbing and then descending, so I wasn’t as exhausted as I was by the steady climb.

We wandered through and under and over, without any trail at all, being led by my babu. We passed a number of places where there was obvious destruction going on but we did not encounter any other groups in the act. There was one place my babu pointed out where a certain tree was growing that was not native to the forest. It was a pretty big tree and by looking at it and the surrounding environment, he ascertained that about 10 years ago that space was used as a cooking area for those who were cutting trees from the forest. The tree is Msele – they take the leaves from the tree and let the dry in the sun, then they mill them (they LOVE to mill things in this country!) and make a powder that they boil to make this green paste the consistency of snot (really) which they eat with ugali. I eat pretty much anything in this country, but I DO NOT LIKE msele. Most Tanzanians love it which is great because it is very nutritious.

Along the ridge of the mountain you could look down on one side and see parts of my village. On the other side, Same. It was easier to see Same because the drop off on that side of the mountain was very steep. Which became tricky in coming down.

I might mention at this point again my lack of preparedness for this trek. I had worn a skirt because it was in the village and I know how they don’t like me to wear pants in the vil. I wore an easy to walk in skirt, but a skirt nonetheless. And my chacos. Which are more comfortable in the heat than hiking shoes. Because I thought we were going up the trails I had already been on, or more like them. I did not, mind you, realize that we were going over the mountain. Next time I will ask more questions. . .

So walking through high grass, brambles, and all sorts of new thorn bushes and awful prickly things, I just gave up trying to avoid them. The pain of whatever was scraping against my legs mingled with the momentum of the trek. I just kept going.

My legs look disgusting right now. When I got home after I scrubbed off the mud and dirt I just sat with tweezers for over an hour pulling out thorns. Just one seems to want to get infected, but I just keep cleaning it out and neosporining it again and again.

I thought going up the mountain was difficult, but going down was nerve wracking. We spent at least 2 hours wandering the ridge looking for a place we could descend. The Same side of the mountain is strewn with huge boulders, which when you’re on top of them make cliffs. It is also, as I mentioned previously, very very steep.

So finally we just started down the best we could. We scaled the rock where there were enough vines and trees to hold onto. The soft mountain dirt just slid under my feet, but the mwenyekiti and sometimes others took turns making sure I didn’t fall down, finding sure footing and then taking firm grip of my hand. After awhile I learned to look towards the mountain. Looking out the other way made my head spin.

We descended through the jungle-like high forest to the rocky grassy midland. One of the ascari (police officer) dislodged a rock from the path above that missed all of us and hit the other ascari in the arm. (imagine a rock falling off a ledge pretty much straight down, that was what we were scaling) He wasn’t badly injured, in that he could still use it, but it was obviously causing him a lot of pain. We traveled more slowly after that, and those in the front watched for loose rocks and moved them far out of the way.

Anyone who has done any mountain climbing knows how hard going downhill is on your legs, and as we finally reached an area were we were actually just walking and not scaling, 3pm was rolling around and I had not eaten since 6am. My legs were wobbly, and I was lightheaded. I knew if I kept walking we would get to Same and food and water (mine had long since ran out since I shared it as no one else carried anything at all) so I kept walking. At one point we reached a water pipe which had a leak. Since my water bottle was already empty we filled it again and again and people took turns drinking. I knew the water was unfiltered and could have all sorts of worms and microbes and such in it, and as my job as a health teacher I did tell them before they drank that they were putting themselves at risk. But I drank it too. We were really thirsty.

The Same side of the mountain is not as forested and the sun beat down on us overhead. It was only moving forward. Thinking about a cold fanta. Moving forward.

We reached the road about 4pm. We walked a small distance down towards a primary school that we had agreed to meet the other group which had covered a different area in the low-lands. And I was so happy. We had made it. I had scaled Vumari Mountain, through the forest and climbed down the steep cliffs to Same town. The group watched over me like hawks. Making sure I was ok, always there to give a hand when I needed one (most literally) And we had all arrived safely.

We hadn’t actually arrested anyone, which I was a little let down by. The group had decided to change paths after it was apparent that climbing steep slopes for hours was not within my ability, at least at their pace. I didn’t know this until later and felt pretty bad about it, though it didn’t seem to bother them. They said it allowed them to survey a different part of the forest they hadn’t been through in years (which is why they weren’t sure about where to cut down to Same)

So there we sat in the grass in the shade of some pathetically dried up little trees, waiting for the car to show up to take us into town to report. And the other group came up and we chatted and exchanged stores and information. I was feeling a little light headed, so I went and sat down.

And then I decided to lay down, and then I was out.

I was lucky that an older woman was walking by with a bottle of water. Which they thought just as good to pour on me as in my mouth. In less than a minute they had sent some child running to get sugar to put in the water and in no time I was drinking the most delicious mixture of water and sugar that anyone in their life has tasted.

And then I drank a whole soda, and a liter and a half of water, and then kept drinking. The car finally showed up and we went somewhere to eat, but somehow the rice and beans did not want to cooperate with my newly awakened stomach so I just kept drinking.

None of the other people in the group seemed at all out of sorts. They were tired, a little sun weary perhaps, and they ate with their normal fervor. But I was the only one who thought that it was unusual to climb a mountain from 630am till 4pm without food or water.

But, after all, it was also my total misunderstanding of what we were actually headed out to do. If I would have known, I would have brought snacks and more water. And worn pants and hiking shoes.

Now I know for next time.

But I wouldn’t take it back for a second. It was amazing.

Babu stopped in on me today to make sure I was doing alright, as well as a few other folks that heard I was ‘sick’ which I guess is how it seems to them. I didn’t realize how worried they were, as I considered it quite normal to pass out if you climb over a damned mountain practically at running pace for 10 hours without eating and without drinking enough water. But I am under their care, and they take care of me as their own.

I decided, for the first time since I have been here, that I would take a ‘day off’, and on the ride home from Same, canceled the Tree Nursery Group meeting that would have been the next morning. Somehow the thought of hiking back up into the forest only to carry back down huge bags and buckets of forest floor compost (for the tree nursery) seemed . . . impossible.

So today I cleaned my house, did laundry, and in the afternoon walked down to the secondary school on my still wobbly and very sore legs. I sat through some of their graduation practice and scored some free mediocre food.

Came back home, cooked up some eggplant and thought how good it would be if I only had some cheese. And then realizing I did, used up the very last of my parmesan that my parents brought me from the US of A. I am so glad that I finally convinced my mom that cheese can last without being refrigerated, and that I just might eat it anyway if it has gone bad a little, it’s still cheese!

On that note, I’m gonna get some sleep. I have a village government meeting in the morning and a PLWHA meeting in the afternoon. And I’m up WAY past my bedtime. . .

September 12, 2010 Sunday 6:32am

I have been in my village for more than a year now. The year mark passed August 20^th (I happened to be in Lushoto as my parents where visiting). The year mark in Tanzania passed months ago – June 18^th. I was in Same town with some girls I was teaching English. I bought us all icecream as a treat, and not being used to the cold food, they all threw theirs out after a bite or 2.

The times flies by and I know I will blink a few times and already be back in the US. I have so much work to do, though. And everything (but time) moves so slowly in this country.

My parents where here for three weeks. Traveling around Tanzania with them was the first time I looked at Tanzania from a tourist perspective. When I returned to my village everything became new again. A woman with a bucket of water on her head, balanced without using her hands, and her tiny baby tied to her back walking down the path towards her home is suddenly impressive, exotic, and beautiful, and sad. It had come in this year so commonplace that I didn’t think a second more of it before picking up my water buckets and lugging them towards my house. I am glad that I have reawakened my senses.

For these few days cooking over a fire will seem novelty again.

The same foods made from beans and maize and rice are delicious again.

Each extended greeting and slow meandering through the village to stop by houses is comforting, instead of frustratingly making me late to whatever place I was going.

Seeing Tanzania through my parents’ eyes also reminds me of how different their lives are than ours, and when they say that their lives are so hard and our (white people but meaning Americans and Europeans) lives are so easy, instead of having long discussions about it just being different and incomparable, I tend to agree.

Things so simple as water, cooking and food. Most people take for granted. Water is piped into our houses, safe to drink and cook and wash with. They carry water from many kilometers away, every day or every other day, just to get home, use it up, and go out to fetch more. And if they want to drink it, it should be boiled and filtered (but they don’t) We cook on gas or electric, supplied to our houses again, so we just turn it on and it is ready. Or toss the food in the microwave (oh novelty!) and in 20 seconds it is piping hot. They walk kilometers into the brush to gather firewood and cook in smoky brick rooms without windows.

It is comparable. Our lives, for the most part, are easier.

As much as I hate falling into generalizations, I find it impossible to reach any other conclusion.

And probably many of you are saying – well duh – that’s what you’re doing there to help them. But you know there is this purist idealistic little voice within us (or maybe just me) that wanted to see this life as simpler and therefore perhaps in different ways better.

The one thing I am always sure to tell them is that despite their poverty, Tanzanians in my observation, in general, are much happier than those Americans whom they so desperately want to be like.

I have finally fallen into groups working with successful projects, which makes me pretty happy. Our tree nursery is finally almost planted. The plot is cleaned and the day before yesterday we built a fence around it and made steps from the slight slope so the little trees would have a place to sit on.

The health drama club is up and running, and, knock on wood, the grant for my rainwater catchment project is slowly working it’s way through the bureaucracy that is inefficiency. The milk goats are already pregnant, and though they seem to be sick all the time, I am hoping once that grant comes through we will be able to get the project on its feet.

Pictures should be up sometime soon. Whether they go up with this blog post depends on a lot of luck at the Same internet café today. It is unlikely though. [From Dad: they didn't make it...]