Hi folks, I am sorry not to post actual text. I swear in tomorrow and I am tired and I have enjoyed being able to actually upload some photos with actual haste today instead of logging into gmail after 30 minutes only to have the power go out before I can read a single email.
I have many posts prewritten and perhaps will post them tomorrow. . . Put until I get to that - Karibu (welcome to) photos:
http://picasaweb.google.com/JennKunz/Kilulu?authkey=Gv1sRgCLORm9HOnd3SMQ#
The speed was even decent enough to make comments for some.
So appreciate.
And write me letters.
I will be at site on Saturday.
More soon (ish)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
These last days. .
(before reading this please apprecite that it took me 45 minutes to log into my blog and copy and paste this from my thumbdrive. . )
Sunday, June 27th(?) 2009 1:55pm
I have been trying to figure out how to best cover the time that I have been here in Kilulu in my homestay, since there is so much to tell, and my mind is disjointed from being sleep deprived and on sensory overload for .. . 2 weeks or so.
I will take a few bits from my journal so you can get a better feeling of how I was experiencing everything in the moment. My recollection of the emotion is not as explicit as I felt it – I know when I read back over the entries for my first few days.
But first, let me introduce you to my village.
We are in the north near the mountains, outside my house everywhere you look there are beautiful lush green mountains in the distance.
The larger market town, is about 4 – 6 kilometers away from the village. From the market town you climb a red dirt road up through fields of maize and cassava, some sunflowers, all dotted with orange trees, coconut palms, papaya trees, mango trees, and many other things that I don’t know. Along the road is a primary school and secondary school, both made of brick – large open structures – I hope I will be able to post a photo or 2 of the secondary school when I post the blog.
There are a few shops that are hard to differentiate from the houses, made of either brick or of mud and straw. They are small, and people are walking along the road. Women wrapped in colorfully decorated kangas and dresses, men in loose bright button up shirts and shorts. The women are carrying baskets on their head, or have their head wrapped tightly in fabric.
As you approach my village, there is a long space of just brush and trees. You start seeing humble homes, made of cement or, for the most part, of mud bricks, or just of mud and straw. The doors are all open during the day and children are laughing and running through the streets (school is out for the summer) Women are sorting corn or rice on mats in front of their houses, doing wash, cooking, or cleaning. Men walk around, wave, on their way to work, or .. really . . I haven’t figured out what they do.
I don’t really have photos of the village – or of my home for that matter, because I don’t want to bring out the huge symbols of my wealth – especially not so early.
It is spring here and everything is green. All you see is green, accented by the red dirt of the road and courtyards that are swept daily in front of each house. There are crops everywhere. When you get to my house, depending on which road you approach it from, you will either see the red clay courtyard, the chair that my Baba (host father) sits in often, then some of the children playing, or a small covered porch accented by a red wall.
I am greeted by my host Kaka, Abdullah, who takes my bag from school and invites me into the home to rest.
In the afternoon (5pm), when I come home from school, I will try to tell the family what I have learned that day. My Dadas (host sisters) are sitting in the courtyard around a number of jichos (stoves) peeling vegetables, preparing food for dinner. I will usually start on the peeling of potatos to make ‘viazi’ (which just means potatos in Kiswahili)
I peel the potatoes with the very dull knives. My hands have not been washed, but neither had the potatoes (they are rinsed before they are cooked). I just peel and talk and point to each ingredient and other object around me to practice the Kiswahili word for it. My host kakas (brothers) will crowd around to watch, and sometimes make fun of how I do something or say something, we all laugh.
My family consists, as far as I can tell, of a Mama and Baba (mom and dad) who are older, perhaps around 65ish? There are 4 Dadas (sisters) my age, and 2 young girls maybe 4 and 6. Then I have 2 host Kakas who are about my age, one a bit younger, and 3(?) who are children, around 4 yrs.
The house is one of the nicer ones in the village. It is made of cement, with cement floors. It has wooden doors (as apposed to just a piece of cloth to separate rooms. It has 2 bedrooms as you walk in, a sitting room, and then my bedroom. My window looks out to the side of the house, to my Bibi (host grandmother)’s house.
Running around the courtyard are countless chickens and chicks. While we cook dinner they walk around and peck at the peelings and bits that we leave as we cook. I laugh at them but no one seems to be interested at all in them. They run around everywhere throughout the village. There are also dogs and cats (mbwas na pakas) running throughout the village. The dogs tend to stay near their families but the cats have no allegiance. I am told they are fed/let live because they keep the rodents away.
Next to my house we have a papaya tree, 2 orange trees, both still young, some cassava and some mchichi (greens that are cooked) Outside the back of the house (which is where the courtyard is and usually where I enter) there is the choo (toilet) and shower. They are the same structure with a wall separating that does not go all the way up, which sucks because when I shower, I always have to smell the choo.
We get water from one of 2 ‘wells’ in town. I have only been to one. It is the most beautiful walk, I would approximate about ¾ of a mile. Through fields of corn and cassava and others that are dotted generously will all sorts of trees and palms and oranges and such, down a mountain and then down a steep hill. What they call a well I would assume is a natural spring. It is muddy. You can’t see an inch through the water, like a river after a heavy rain. I carried a ¾ full bucket on my head the whole way back to my home. Women laughed at me as I struggled up the steep hill, but really the bucket of water on my head wasn’t the problem.
Women wear a piece of fabric called a kanga over their clothes. So I wear a skirt and a short sleeved shirt, then over the bottom I wrap a long piece of fabric that goes to my ankles and over my top I drape the same. Walking up the hill the kanga over my skirt really restricted my movement, and kept falling off. Still, it was one of my favourite memories here yet, carrying the water up the hill along the beautiful path to my village at sunset. Perhaps because my host kaka (brother) who was with me did not expect me to speak Kiswahili to him for a moment, I had the peace of completeing my task.
The muddy water from the ‘well’ is used for everything. It is the water poured in a pot to boil for rice, to make ugali, to wash your hands, to wash your body, to drink. I have gotten used to it. I have not gotten sick. It is disconcerting, but it has no flavour. I have bought drinking water and I horded it from our training center as much as I could but I end up dehydrated because Tanzanians (as I was warned) just don’t drink much. They drink chai (which is just black tea but has no caffeine, as far as I can tell) but not much else. They eat a lot of oranges. I try to do the same. I try to eat as many vegetables as I can. I have no vitamins as it seems that the PC usually does not provide them until after training (why – I don’t know) but they are also backordered. .
After cooking, water is warmed for my ‘bath’. I wrap my clothes, instead of in kangas, in my backpacking towel, and I head to the ‘stall’ with my shampoo and soap. The heated muddy water (sometimes with sticks and small leaves in it) is in a bucket with a plastic cup in it. I get myself wet – soap up – and rinse – by pouring water from the cup. It actually isn’t that difficult at all. As long as they give me enough water, which is an unpredictable thing. At night I only wash my body, the sweat and dirt of the day. In the morning I wash again, and wash my hair too. Some PCTs (PC trainees) only shower once, or every other day, but some of my family showers 2xs, and I think you would too if you were so wrapped in kangas and hot all the time, sweaty, covered in dust, and had NO other time to wash any other part of you during the day, your hands before or after eating – which you do with your hands (other than the more ceremonial than useful pouring of water on hands before you eat) or after using the choo (which is a hole in the ground leading to a tank) not even before cooking, or after cleaning.
While I am showering the family gets things ready for dinner, sometimes they are already eating when I finish. The small kids are all bathed before dinner as well (which is good since all the eating is done with hands out of shared dishes of food) The men sit at a table in chairs in the sitting room and I eat with the women and children, on a mat on the floor in the corner. The first night, when I arrived and was shellshocked and overwhelmed and was sitting in a chair and then as food was brought out, asked to move to the floor, it REALLY upset me. With all the other stuff going on I have grown not to care.
After dinner I usually try to go to my room, because I am exhausted. It’s about 9 by the end of dinner, usually, but my older host kakas and host baba want to talk to me. I entertain them with as much Kiswahili as I can bring to mind, and they teach me as much as I have patience for (usually they try for much more) before I can pull myself away to sleep.
I wake up usually around 3am. I have finally come to the conclusion that my Mama does dishes at that time in the room outside my door. It is loud as hell, whatever it is. Sometimes I can tune it out and go back to sleep. There are other intermittent noises after that, as the house slowly wakes up. Usually, the house is bustling by 5:30am, and I resign myself to waking around then and drag myself out of bed.
When I wake I try to find my Baba and Mama and greet them with the respectful morning greeting given to elders (shikamoo) Then I help my Dadas (sisters) sweep out the house, and then scrub the cement floor with an old kanga. You’d be amazed how much dirt is tracked in that house everyday.
After cleaning, I shower (bucket bath) and eat. Then my host kaka Siafu walks me the 10 minute walk to class. Sometimes the 10ish year old kaka (brother) Le Ju Manne walks with us and wants to carry my bag.
I get to school at 8am. There are 4 other PCTs in my village. Jayce and Shani, who are about my age, and Wes and Heather - a young (24 year old) married couple who are very shy and keep to themselves. I am very sad to say that I have come to heads after some time with Jayce and Shani who I personally can’t even understand why they are in PC or what they are doing here. They are catty and are annoyed by my exuberance and excitement in things (which is so strange to me) (I came in one morning after helping to cook chapati – a small pancake type thing – and was excitedly telling everyone how it was done, and Shani said she’d had just about enough of my getting excited about things.) It’s hard to explain, but I am sad to say that I cannot find comfort in the group of other volunteers I am posted in village with. I took a walk with Wes and Heather at lunch one day, and they are very kind, they seem fine, but they keep to themselves.
All day, we learn Kiswahili. We have lunch made for us by a local mama and then get back to work, until around 5pm. Then I return home to my homestay.
I have to say, it is completely overwhelming. There is nothing here that is familiar to me. Except maybe the fruits. The language, the customs, the homes, the people, my surroundings, how I am expected to dress and act, everything is unfamiliar. It is overwhelming. It is even weird to go from class, which is more casual in that it’s taught by a Peace Corps Kiswahili teacher who cusses and is funny and laid back, and with my English speaking fellow PCTs – to return home to my homestay family where I am expected to act a certain way and everything is spoken in a language I don’t understand, and still, what is expected of me is confusing.
Slowly I am learning. Pole pole (slowly slowly – pronounced poe-lay poe-lay)
Sunday, June 27th(?) 2009 1:55pm
I have been trying to figure out how to best cover the time that I have been here in Kilulu in my homestay, since there is so much to tell, and my mind is disjointed from being sleep deprived and on sensory overload for .. . 2 weeks or so.
I will take a few bits from my journal so you can get a better feeling of how I was experiencing everything in the moment. My recollection of the emotion is not as explicit as I felt it – I know when I read back over the entries for my first few days.
But first, let me introduce you to my village.
We are in the north near the mountains, outside my house everywhere you look there are beautiful lush green mountains in the distance.
The larger market town, is about 4 – 6 kilometers away from the village. From the market town you climb a red dirt road up through fields of maize and cassava, some sunflowers, all dotted with orange trees, coconut palms, papaya trees, mango trees, and many other things that I don’t know. Along the road is a primary school and secondary school, both made of brick – large open structures – I hope I will be able to post a photo or 2 of the secondary school when I post the blog.
There are a few shops that are hard to differentiate from the houses, made of either brick or of mud and straw. They are small, and people are walking along the road. Women wrapped in colorfully decorated kangas and dresses, men in loose bright button up shirts and shorts. The women are carrying baskets on their head, or have their head wrapped tightly in fabric.
As you approach my village, there is a long space of just brush and trees. You start seeing humble homes, made of cement or, for the most part, of mud bricks, or just of mud and straw. The doors are all open during the day and children are laughing and running through the streets (school is out for the summer) Women are sorting corn or rice on mats in front of their houses, doing wash, cooking, or cleaning. Men walk around, wave, on their way to work, or .. really . . I haven’t figured out what they do.
I don’t really have photos of the village – or of my home for that matter, because I don’t want to bring out the huge symbols of my wealth – especially not so early.
It is spring here and everything is green. All you see is green, accented by the red dirt of the road and courtyards that are swept daily in front of each house. There are crops everywhere. When you get to my house, depending on which road you approach it from, you will either see the red clay courtyard, the chair that my Baba (host father) sits in often, then some of the children playing, or a small covered porch accented by a red wall.
I am greeted by my host Kaka, Abdullah, who takes my bag from school and invites me into the home to rest.
In the afternoon (5pm), when I come home from school, I will try to tell the family what I have learned that day. My Dadas (host sisters) are sitting in the courtyard around a number of jichos (stoves) peeling vegetables, preparing food for dinner. I will usually start on the peeling of potatos to make ‘viazi’ (which just means potatos in Kiswahili)
I peel the potatoes with the very dull knives. My hands have not been washed, but neither had the potatoes (they are rinsed before they are cooked). I just peel and talk and point to each ingredient and other object around me to practice the Kiswahili word for it. My host kakas (brothers) will crowd around to watch, and sometimes make fun of how I do something or say something, we all laugh.
My family consists, as far as I can tell, of a Mama and Baba (mom and dad) who are older, perhaps around 65ish? There are 4 Dadas (sisters) my age, and 2 young girls maybe 4 and 6. Then I have 2 host Kakas who are about my age, one a bit younger, and 3(?) who are children, around 4 yrs.
The house is one of the nicer ones in the village. It is made of cement, with cement floors. It has wooden doors (as apposed to just a piece of cloth to separate rooms. It has 2 bedrooms as you walk in, a sitting room, and then my bedroom. My window looks out to the side of the house, to my Bibi (host grandmother)’s house.
Running around the courtyard are countless chickens and chicks. While we cook dinner they walk around and peck at the peelings and bits that we leave as we cook. I laugh at them but no one seems to be interested at all in them. They run around everywhere throughout the village. There are also dogs and cats (mbwas na pakas) running throughout the village. The dogs tend to stay near their families but the cats have no allegiance. I am told they are fed/let live because they keep the rodents away.
Next to my house we have a papaya tree, 2 orange trees, both still young, some cassava and some mchichi (greens that are cooked) Outside the back of the house (which is where the courtyard is and usually where I enter) there is the choo (toilet) and shower. They are the same structure with a wall separating that does not go all the way up, which sucks because when I shower, I always have to smell the choo.
We get water from one of 2 ‘wells’ in town. I have only been to one. It is the most beautiful walk, I would approximate about ¾ of a mile. Through fields of corn and cassava and others that are dotted generously will all sorts of trees and palms and oranges and such, down a mountain and then down a steep hill. What they call a well I would assume is a natural spring. It is muddy. You can’t see an inch through the water, like a river after a heavy rain. I carried a ¾ full bucket on my head the whole way back to my home. Women laughed at me as I struggled up the steep hill, but really the bucket of water on my head wasn’t the problem.
Women wear a piece of fabric called a kanga over their clothes. So I wear a skirt and a short sleeved shirt, then over the bottom I wrap a long piece of fabric that goes to my ankles and over my top I drape the same. Walking up the hill the kanga over my skirt really restricted my movement, and kept falling off. Still, it was one of my favourite memories here yet, carrying the water up the hill along the beautiful path to my village at sunset. Perhaps because my host kaka (brother) who was with me did not expect me to speak Kiswahili to him for a moment, I had the peace of completeing my task.
The muddy water from the ‘well’ is used for everything. It is the water poured in a pot to boil for rice, to make ugali, to wash your hands, to wash your body, to drink. I have gotten used to it. I have not gotten sick. It is disconcerting, but it has no flavour. I have bought drinking water and I horded it from our training center as much as I could but I end up dehydrated because Tanzanians (as I was warned) just don’t drink much. They drink chai (which is just black tea but has no caffeine, as far as I can tell) but not much else. They eat a lot of oranges. I try to do the same. I try to eat as many vegetables as I can. I have no vitamins as it seems that the PC usually does not provide them until after training (why – I don’t know) but they are also backordered. .
After cooking, water is warmed for my ‘bath’. I wrap my clothes, instead of in kangas, in my backpacking towel, and I head to the ‘stall’ with my shampoo and soap. The heated muddy water (sometimes with sticks and small leaves in it) is in a bucket with a plastic cup in it. I get myself wet – soap up – and rinse – by pouring water from the cup. It actually isn’t that difficult at all. As long as they give me enough water, which is an unpredictable thing. At night I only wash my body, the sweat and dirt of the day. In the morning I wash again, and wash my hair too. Some PCTs (PC trainees) only shower once, or every other day, but some of my family showers 2xs, and I think you would too if you were so wrapped in kangas and hot all the time, sweaty, covered in dust, and had NO other time to wash any other part of you during the day, your hands before or after eating – which you do with your hands (other than the more ceremonial than useful pouring of water on hands before you eat) or after using the choo (which is a hole in the ground leading to a tank) not even before cooking, or after cleaning.
While I am showering the family gets things ready for dinner, sometimes they are already eating when I finish. The small kids are all bathed before dinner as well (which is good since all the eating is done with hands out of shared dishes of food) The men sit at a table in chairs in the sitting room and I eat with the women and children, on a mat on the floor in the corner. The first night, when I arrived and was shellshocked and overwhelmed and was sitting in a chair and then as food was brought out, asked to move to the floor, it REALLY upset me. With all the other stuff going on I have grown not to care.
After dinner I usually try to go to my room, because I am exhausted. It’s about 9 by the end of dinner, usually, but my older host kakas and host baba want to talk to me. I entertain them with as much Kiswahili as I can bring to mind, and they teach me as much as I have patience for (usually they try for much more) before I can pull myself away to sleep.
I wake up usually around 3am. I have finally come to the conclusion that my Mama does dishes at that time in the room outside my door. It is loud as hell, whatever it is. Sometimes I can tune it out and go back to sleep. There are other intermittent noises after that, as the house slowly wakes up. Usually, the house is bustling by 5:30am, and I resign myself to waking around then and drag myself out of bed.
When I wake I try to find my Baba and Mama and greet them with the respectful morning greeting given to elders (shikamoo) Then I help my Dadas (sisters) sweep out the house, and then scrub the cement floor with an old kanga. You’d be amazed how much dirt is tracked in that house everyday.
After cleaning, I shower (bucket bath) and eat. Then my host kaka Siafu walks me the 10 minute walk to class. Sometimes the 10ish year old kaka (brother) Le Ju Manne walks with us and wants to carry my bag.
I get to school at 8am. There are 4 other PCTs in my village. Jayce and Shani, who are about my age, and Wes and Heather - a young (24 year old) married couple who are very shy and keep to themselves. I am very sad to say that I have come to heads after some time with Jayce and Shani who I personally can’t even understand why they are in PC or what they are doing here. They are catty and are annoyed by my exuberance and excitement in things (which is so strange to me) (I came in one morning after helping to cook chapati – a small pancake type thing – and was excitedly telling everyone how it was done, and Shani said she’d had just about enough of my getting excited about things.) It’s hard to explain, but I am sad to say that I cannot find comfort in the group of other volunteers I am posted in village with. I took a walk with Wes and Heather at lunch one day, and they are very kind, they seem fine, but they keep to themselves.
All day, we learn Kiswahili. We have lunch made for us by a local mama and then get back to work, until around 5pm. Then I return home to my homestay.
I have to say, it is completely overwhelming. There is nothing here that is familiar to me. Except maybe the fruits. The language, the customs, the homes, the people, my surroundings, how I am expected to dress and act, everything is unfamiliar. It is overwhelming. It is even weird to go from class, which is more casual in that it’s taught by a Peace Corps Kiswahili teacher who cusses and is funny and laid back, and with my English speaking fellow PCTs – to return home to my homestay family where I am expected to act a certain way and everything is spoken in a language I don’t understand, and still, what is expected of me is confusing.
Slowly I am learning. Pole pole (slowly slowly – pronounced poe-lay poe-lay)
Monday, June 22, 2009
Pictures!
http://picasaweb.google.com/JennKunz/PeaceCorpsTraining?authkey=Gv1sRgCOv_-MnakNfidw#
It took me a long time to post these. So please appreciate. Nothing especially interesting but it gives you an idea of where I have spent my last week(s) (I really don't know how long I've been here and am too tired to figure it out right now. . .)
It took me a long time to post these. So please appreciate. Nothing especially interesting but it gives you an idea of where I have spent my last week(s) (I really don't know how long I've been here and am too tired to figure it out right now. . .)
A day in Dar, to Homestay tomorrow
Monday June 22, 6:11 PM
I am sorry I haven’t written in a bit. They have been keeping us very busy with Kswahili and safety lessons and all sorts of fun talk about sex.
Yesterday, for the first time, we went into Dar es Salaam. They have been keeping us pretty sheltered in a nun-run complex outside of Dar, other than our trip to the Peace Corps office, which of course was another pretty sheltered space.
It was a Sunday and we were told that it was much less crowded than usual, although a lot of shops were open, I tried to imagine what it would look like on any other day. We walked about a half hour into town in small groups each with a staff member – some took dala dalas in (small buses) but our group decided to walk.
The city is beautiful, though the poverty is evident. The shopkeepers were kind, but in general people kept their distance. I bought a katenga which is a large piece of fabric that women wear either wrapped or get made into dresses our clothes. Some girls in the group got kangas which are slightly smaller and have a saying in Kiswahili on them. I also picked up some shampoo which was much more expensive than I thought it would be – and very hard to find – at least one that looked like it was meant for. . white people hair. I ended up finding a bottle of target brand 2in1 on the back of a shelf unpriced and paid about $7.50 for it. Hopefully I can stretch it for awhile.
I also got a dress, since my skirts are pushing the edge of modesty, and I want to have something to wear once I get to homestay where I will need to respect the more conservative expectations of dressing (including the before-mentioned no pants)
Dar was amass with different people – and different smells. I will have to get used to the strength of scent in this country, especially if I ever need to use the choo (bathroom) and am not near my own house.
In the afternoon part of the group rode a dala dala to a ferry, went to out to a peninsula, and way to a beach near a resort that was safe. We had 2 PCV escorts that led the way as we grasped our packs to our fronts and desperately stretched our Kiswahili skills.
The beach was beautiful, and peaceful, and it was the first break we have gotten since we got to staging however long ago that was. We all swam all afternoon and relaxed on the beach (and some even road a camel – but I was being cheap with my shillings, and decided to save for other things . . like toilet paper. )
We left the beach around dusk and climbed up the hill to where the dala dalas had dropped us off. Half the group got on one that I think had timed it’s return well to pick up our group. The rest of us split into groups of three or 4 after climbing up the long road to some houses, and stuffed (I mean STUFFED) ourselves into the dala dalas to make our way back to the ferry. We all met up safely, though, made our way to the ferry, and with the help of our savvy PCV guides, got ourselves onto another dala dala home. It was a good day.
Tomorrow, we leave for homestay. Early, around 7am. At homestay, each of us will live with a family. We will have our own room, and the family will help us learn Kiswahili, culture, cooking, cleaning, laundry, showering (bucket style) and all the other basics (like for us girls, how to make sure we dress appropriately and act appropriately, as there are SOOO many rules to follow here.)
I am nervous and excited. I will be entering into someone’s home to live with their family when I don’t know much of the language or the culture. I barely have a familiarity with my surroundings. I remind myself that they are excited to meet me and that they want to help me as a PCV, and they signed up to have someone live in their house for 8 weeks.
It will be an experience – I am sure – that will build my skillset of meeting new people even though I feel unprepared to communicate. In 8 weeks I will enter my village alone, without my fellow PCVs to turn to, and have to meet new people every day, until they become familiar, until the become friends.
I am going to try to upload some pictures with this blog post but I don’t know how it’ll go. The computers are slow in the internet café, and I have been typing some on my laptop, saving it to a USB thumbdrive and taking it over so I don’t have to fight with them (and pay for the time) The photos are of the place we are staying (that I am not allowed to tell you, in case you were wondering why it had been left out) and a few from the PC headquarters in Dar. I did not bring my camera to the trip yesterday because I didn’t want it to be a target. I brought almost nothing, after listening to stories of pick pocketing from other PCVs and being warned in particular about Dar. Three of our group where pick pocketed yesterday in Dar. I wish I could have photographed the city. The people. The beach. The pretty camel J But I have 2 years. I will need to become very comfortable with my surroundings, very aware, and probably made sure I know a lot of the people around me, before I show that I have anything of value that can be snatched.
I am sorry this is hastily written, I have to conserve laptop battery life, I don’t have much time as is. I still have some packing to do and some Kiswahili studying, and other reading. We are leaving so early tomorrow!
I hope all is well in the US of A. Please write me letters, as I will likely not have internet access for the next 8 weeks.
Now I’ll go see if I can post this. ..
I am sorry I haven’t written in a bit. They have been keeping us very busy with Kswahili and safety lessons and all sorts of fun talk about sex.
Yesterday, for the first time, we went into Dar es Salaam. They have been keeping us pretty sheltered in a nun-run complex outside of Dar, other than our trip to the Peace Corps office, which of course was another pretty sheltered space.
It was a Sunday and we were told that it was much less crowded than usual, although a lot of shops were open, I tried to imagine what it would look like on any other day. We walked about a half hour into town in small groups each with a staff member – some took dala dalas in (small buses) but our group decided to walk.
The city is beautiful, though the poverty is evident. The shopkeepers were kind, but in general people kept their distance. I bought a katenga which is a large piece of fabric that women wear either wrapped or get made into dresses our clothes. Some girls in the group got kangas which are slightly smaller and have a saying in Kiswahili on them. I also picked up some shampoo which was much more expensive than I thought it would be – and very hard to find – at least one that looked like it was meant for. . white people hair. I ended up finding a bottle of target brand 2in1 on the back of a shelf unpriced and paid about $7.50 for it. Hopefully I can stretch it for awhile.
I also got a dress, since my skirts are pushing the edge of modesty, and I want to have something to wear once I get to homestay where I will need to respect the more conservative expectations of dressing (including the before-mentioned no pants)
Dar was amass with different people – and different smells. I will have to get used to the strength of scent in this country, especially if I ever need to use the choo (bathroom) and am not near my own house.
In the afternoon part of the group rode a dala dala to a ferry, went to out to a peninsula, and way to a beach near a resort that was safe. We had 2 PCV escorts that led the way as we grasped our packs to our fronts and desperately stretched our Kiswahili skills.
The beach was beautiful, and peaceful, and it was the first break we have gotten since we got to staging however long ago that was. We all swam all afternoon and relaxed on the beach (and some even road a camel – but I was being cheap with my shillings, and decided to save for other things . . like toilet paper. )
We left the beach around dusk and climbed up the hill to where the dala dalas had dropped us off. Half the group got on one that I think had timed it’s return well to pick up our group. The rest of us split into groups of three or 4 after climbing up the long road to some houses, and stuffed (I mean STUFFED) ourselves into the dala dalas to make our way back to the ferry. We all met up safely, though, made our way to the ferry, and with the help of our savvy PCV guides, got ourselves onto another dala dala home. It was a good day.
Tomorrow, we leave for homestay. Early, around 7am. At homestay, each of us will live with a family. We will have our own room, and the family will help us learn Kiswahili, culture, cooking, cleaning, laundry, showering (bucket style) and all the other basics (like for us girls, how to make sure we dress appropriately and act appropriately, as there are SOOO many rules to follow here.)
I am nervous and excited. I will be entering into someone’s home to live with their family when I don’t know much of the language or the culture. I barely have a familiarity with my surroundings. I remind myself that they are excited to meet me and that they want to help me as a PCV, and they signed up to have someone live in their house for 8 weeks.
It will be an experience – I am sure – that will build my skillset of meeting new people even though I feel unprepared to communicate. In 8 weeks I will enter my village alone, without my fellow PCVs to turn to, and have to meet new people every day, until they become familiar, until the become friends.
I am going to try to upload some pictures with this blog post but I don’t know how it’ll go. The computers are slow in the internet café, and I have been typing some on my laptop, saving it to a USB thumbdrive and taking it over so I don’t have to fight with them (and pay for the time) The photos are of the place we are staying (that I am not allowed to tell you, in case you were wondering why it had been left out) and a few from the PC headquarters in Dar. I did not bring my camera to the trip yesterday because I didn’t want it to be a target. I brought almost nothing, after listening to stories of pick pocketing from other PCVs and being warned in particular about Dar. Three of our group where pick pocketed yesterday in Dar. I wish I could have photographed the city. The people. The beach. The pretty camel J But I have 2 years. I will need to become very comfortable with my surroundings, very aware, and probably made sure I know a lot of the people around me, before I show that I have anything of value that can be snatched.
I am sorry this is hastily written, I have to conserve laptop battery life, I don’t have much time as is. I still have some packing to do and some Kiswahili studying, and other reading. We are leaving so early tomorrow!
I hope all is well in the US of A. Please write me letters, as I will likely not have internet access for the next 8 weeks.
Now I’ll go see if I can post this. ..
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Today we went to Peace Corps headquarters. It was the first time we had ventured from the walls of the nun – run – complex we are staying since we arrived late evening on Tuesday. It seems like we have been here for so long, and at the same time, that time has flown so quickly. Soon enough we will be heading towards our homestays to live with families and begin a very intensive regime of Kiswahili.
Outside the gates, the poverty is apparent. I find myself observing the people to try to understand their mannerisms. I tried to see what the women were wearing, judging my own clothes in hopes that they are not too tight, short, or otherwise revealing. I know that when I am in my homestay and then at my post, the dress will likely be more conservative than here on the outskirts of Dar. I wish I brought longer looser skirts, and looser shirts. Hopefully on Sunday they will let us venture into Dar with PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) guides and I can buy a kanga (cloth that is used to wrap around other clothing, or as clothing)
Inside the compound everyone is kind and greets you in Kiswahili – which I stop to try to stammer the appropriate reply. When I practice them in class I feel very confident, but when they are presented unexpectedly in a quick practiced tone, I usually end up replying ‘hi’ with an apologetic smile.
Tomorrow is more safety instructions, and now that I have been through town I truly understand the need for it. And immunizations, 4 more shots for me.
Today we went to Peace Corps headquarters. It was the first time we had ventured from the walls of the nun – run – complex we are staying since we arrived late evening on Tuesday. It seems like we have been here for so long, and at the same time, that time has flown so quickly. Soon enough we will be heading towards our homestays to live with families and begin a very intensive regime of Kiswahili.
Outside the gates, the poverty is apparent. I find myself observing the people to try to understand their mannerisms. I tried to see what the women were wearing, judging my own clothes in hopes that they are not too tight, short, or otherwise revealing. I know that when I am in my homestay and then at my post, the dress will likely be more conservative than here on the outskirts of Dar. I wish I brought longer looser skirts, and looser shirts. Hopefully on Sunday they will let us venture into Dar with PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) guides and I can buy a kanga (cloth that is used to wrap around other clothing, or as clothing)
Inside the compound everyone is kind and greets you in Kiswahili – which I stop to try to stammer the appropriate reply. When I practice them in class I feel very confident, but when they are presented unexpectedly in a quick practiced tone, I usually end up replying ‘hi’ with an apologetic smile.
Tomorrow is more safety instructions, and now that I have been through town I truly understand the need for it. And immunizations, 4 more shots for me.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Training
Wednesday, June 17, 2009 7:45pm
It is still impossible to fully grasp that for the next 27 months, I will call this beautiful country my home. Walking around the grounds of the nunnery that we are staying at for these first 8 days, it’s hard to even convince myself I am in Africa.
These next days will be long, filled with paperwork, medical information, rules, and a lot of Kiswahili – preparing us for the 8 weeks of training that we will be doing in Tonga. I am so tired from so many nights of not sleeping that it is barely possible for me to stay awake in the hot stuffy classroom, very much absorb what is being told to us. I am hoping to get a full night’s sleep tonight and perhaps feel human again tomorrow.
We each have our own room here in the nunnery. A bunk bed with mosquito nets, a small closet with shelves, a table, chair, sink, a toilet without a seat, and a shower head that puts you precariously close to standing in the toilet in order to shower. There is only one temperature of water, but it is room temperature, not cold, and it is hot here so it isn’t so bad at all. You have to make sure not to open your mouth while showering, because the tap water is unfiltered. We brush our teeth with boiled water and drink bottled water for now. They showed us during class today how we will make large filters for our water. We will have to boil it for 3 minutes, then pour it through a bucket/filter system to filter out the solids.
I had to take out my nose ring. Some current volunteers who are here to help with our training said that women in the villages wear them – Muslim women and Christian women, but it is still against PC policy.
My camera is locked up under my bed. I probably won’t even bring it out until after I am finished my training, even perhaps more than a month into my post. I have my little point and shoot and I will hopefully be able to post some pictures for you soon. I don’t know how much access I will have to the internet. I am writing this now because I know we will be going to PC headquarters tomorrow and have a little time planned in as internet time.
Tomorrow begins the real training. Friday we get more shots. .
It is still impossible to fully grasp that for the next 27 months, I will call this beautiful country my home. Walking around the grounds of the nunnery that we are staying at for these first 8 days, it’s hard to even convince myself I am in Africa.
These next days will be long, filled with paperwork, medical information, rules, and a lot of Kiswahili – preparing us for the 8 weeks of training that we will be doing in Tonga. I am so tired from so many nights of not sleeping that it is barely possible for me to stay awake in the hot stuffy classroom, very much absorb what is being told to us. I am hoping to get a full night’s sleep tonight and perhaps feel human again tomorrow.
We each have our own room here in the nunnery. A bunk bed with mosquito nets, a small closet with shelves, a table, chair, sink, a toilet without a seat, and a shower head that puts you precariously close to standing in the toilet in order to shower. There is only one temperature of water, but it is room temperature, not cold, and it is hot here so it isn’t so bad at all. You have to make sure not to open your mouth while showering, because the tap water is unfiltered. We brush our teeth with boiled water and drink bottled water for now. They showed us during class today how we will make large filters for our water. We will have to boil it for 3 minutes, then pour it through a bucket/filter system to filter out the solids.
I had to take out my nose ring. Some current volunteers who are here to help with our training said that women in the villages wear them – Muslim women and Christian women, but it is still against PC policy.
My camera is locked up under my bed. I probably won’t even bring it out until after I am finished my training, even perhaps more than a month into my post. I have my little point and shoot and I will hopefully be able to post some pictures for you soon. I don’t know how much access I will have to the internet. I am writing this now because I know we will be going to PC headquarters tomorrow and have a little time planned in as internet time.
Tomorrow begins the real training. Friday we get more shots. .
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Staging
Here I am in Philly, tomorrow I leave from JFK towards Tanzania. The flight will be ~18 hours with a 3 hour layover in Amsterdam (a slight recalculation on my previous estimate)
During our staging we were told that our first 8 days in Dar we will basically be 'compounded in' - not allowed to leave. This, of course, is for our safety. It also prevents us from being able to get internet access, phone access, be able to purchase cellphones (which they said eventually might be an option) or contact home in any way.
So don't worry about me if you don't hear from me for a little while. No news is good news.
I am exhausted, and not looking forward to check-out at 6:30am and getting my immunizations at 7am. Hopefully I'll be able to get a good night of sleep tonight. Goodnight all.
During our staging we were told that our first 8 days in Dar we will basically be 'compounded in' - not allowed to leave. This, of course, is for our safety. It also prevents us from being able to get internet access, phone access, be able to purchase cellphones (which they said eventually might be an option) or contact home in any way.
So don't worry about me if you don't hear from me for a little while. No news is good news.
I am exhausted, and not looking forward to check-out at 6:30am and getting my immunizations at 7am. Hopefully I'll be able to get a good night of sleep tonight. Goodnight all.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Goodbye Durham
Today I packed up a truck with the help of some friends, said my final goodbyes, and drove away from the city I have come to call home.
Over the last few weeks I have been saying goodbye over and over, it seems, to everyone I see. It still hasn't sunk in that I will not see my friends for 27 months. You will be missed. But I will come home. I promise.
Over the last few weeks I have been saying goodbye over and over, it seems, to everyone I see. It still hasn't sunk in that I will not see my friends for 27 months. You will be missed. But I will come home. I promise.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Information on Tanzania from
The Peace Corps Welcome Book
The Peace Corps Welcome Book
you can read all 107 pages at:
http://www.peacecorps.gov/welcomebooks/tzwb621.pdf
http://www.peacecorps.gov/welcomebooks/tzwb621.pdf
People and Culture: The population of
The population of
Economy: The economy of
With per capita income at an estimated $270 a year in 2002,
History: Most experts agree that the earliest humans originated in fertile regions of
In its desire to establish an economic and political foothold among other European powers, a newly unified
Government: The United Republic of Tanzania was formed on 
Environment: The landscape of mainland
Peace Corps in
As a relatively small player in a country of almost 36 million people, Peace Corps/Tanzania recognizes the need for a strategic vision that focuses on niche areas, where a small number of dedicated Volunteers can make a significant difference. Our projects are in areas where we can play a catalytic or model-building role while meeting
Friday, April 3, 2009
Artsale and Fundraiser, Photograms and Photographs
New Work, Old Work!
Framed and Unframed!
All Prices Negotiable!!
Come and see my work even if you don't want to buy anything!
And if you can't come and want to take a look - check out my website: http://jenkunz.com/home.html
I don't need to store all my art in boxes for 2 years - I'd rather it be on your walls!
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