The events of this past Sunday still have me asking the age-old question: “Is this real life?”
Upon further review, the results are inconclusive, so I will let you decide…
A couple of days ago, one of the teachers at the Seminary asked me if I would come with him someday to visit his home in a nearby village. I said, “Sure”, and continued working (this was all in Kiswahili, as this is really the only language we’ve ever spoken in. Well, he went on to specifically suggest this Sunday, and I again said that it’d be great.
After Mass, as promised, he was there waiting for me. That’s when I found out or mode of transportation- Pikipiki (MOTORCYCLE!). Now, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle, so why not do it on the perfectly even (sarcasm) roads of Tanzania?
Our first stop was his house in Hanga to get me a rain jacket. This apparently was a better option than telling me to get my own while we were waiting fifteen minutes for the pikipiki. Also, I should note that by “raincoat” I mean to say “Miami-Vice-esque” (1980’s) tan sport coat with sleeves that stopped somewhere between my elbow and wrist…
Anyway, even with a little rain, the ride there was pretty fine. The driver went slowly and masterfully there, with only one instance of a 90 degree spin out due to mudd (don’t worry, he was going super slowly at the time).
Our first stop was his parents’ house in a village called Mtakanini (I think that translates to something to the effect of “what do you want?”). Our stay there consisted of 1)great surprise from the mother that his friend was white, 2)me listening as he talked to his father about food prices (is some big gathering coming up?...), 3)me drinking some tea and eating some of the best eggs of my life, and 4)me attempting to help his non-English speaking sister solve two equations using elimination. I was proud to give the impression that American’s like to don pastel suit coats that have, we’ll say “short” sleeves… Good times!
Then, as we walked, I learned the large quantities of food discussed were for his wedding…next Saturday! *When I asked if there was a reason for so much food, he said, “no”. Then he proceeded to ask what I am doing next weekend and then invited me to the wedding!* Naturally, we walked to his fiance’s place (wasn’t home) to drop off the now unnecessary coats.
Next, we walked to some really small village in which we apparently expected to catch a bus…Apparently they were low on busses, and we sat for a good while at this little bus stand/shack and drank pop. The stand-owner’s daughter was probably about 3 or 4 and had a kitten that she was carrying as if it was a small child and she the mother (wrapped in fabric and tied around her). Her mother told her to show the kitty to me, but she (maybe never having seen a white person) opted for running away in fear. That works too.
We eventually caught a bus to Namabengo (can’t even pretend to translate that) at around the time he’d promised he’d bring me back to Hanga. We sat at a bus stand there for a while (he said it was run by his “paternal father”- not sure what that means, but not the same guy from before). This owner was very apologetic that the bus wasn’t ready, so he offered us pop and “lunch” (around 4 in the afternoon). There were two pieces of meat for lunch, and my friend told me to take the big one, but the Minnesotan in me took the small one. When I realized the small one was more of an organ that what I would consider a “piece of meat”, I switched pieces when he wasn’t looking…Then we walked around and saw his old school, and finally we caught what I thought was our bus back to Hanga!
When we got out of said bus, I didn’t recognize anything and figured we were at the outskirts of Hanga…Turns out we were back at his fiance’s village! (Still a half hour pikipiki ride to Hanga). As I sat inside her house, the two of them teamed up to catch a chicken outside! I was worried they intended to cook it and feared we wouldn’t return to Hanga until the next day. However, he proceeded to call a pikipiki driver, and, as we waited for the driver, he explained the chicken (kuku) that was now tied up and lying near our shoes.
It turns out his fiancé is the older sister of two students that we had the pleasure of giving Phoenix Rising scholarships to on behalf of Lew and Paul (shameless plug: check out phoenixrising2.wordpress.com or my last blog if you haven’t yet!). It is important to note that in Tanzania giving someone a chicken is a way to a) ask them to marry you, or b) show intense gratitude. These students’ mother was apparently intensely grateful, and thus ordered the gift of a kuku to be given to Mike and me, with me being the official recipient…Yep.
So, on the way back to Hanga, the characters on the pikipiki, from front to back, were as follows: driver, me, kuku, friend. So, off we went. This new driver, while still clearly a pro, was a bit more disconcerting. As with my last experience with absurd transportation, it helped immensely to pass the time by writing my mental blog. Here’s what I remember thinking:
“As I literally kiss the driver’s helmet in front of me (a little squished), I cannot help but notice a few things:
*This driver must have the itchiest of noses! (Translation- Put your hand back on the pikipiki!)
*This driver is really into the scenery! (Translation- It’s great that your head is on a swivel, but let’s work on spending more time with it facing forward.)
*This would be a good time for my friend in the back not to try to make small talk with the driver. (Translation- Can’t you see he tries to look back at you when you talk to him?)
*He must drop his helmet a lot when carrying it. (Translation- Wow, there are a lot of scratches…)
*Are they laughing about the fact that the driver is speeding up where we had to get off and walk earlier due to the mud? (Translation- I’d be okay with walking again).
*There’s something greatly important up and to the left. (Translation- I do see that a huge storm is coming. I am also mildly concerned. I would still be pleased if you’d kindly place your hand back on the bike and stop pointing at the ominous clouds.)
*How nice, he’s speeding up to beat the storm. (Translation- Seriously, we can just walk and get rained on. That’d be fine with me.)
*Now he’s honking a lot while speeding up. (Translation- We are speeding up and there must be people or things in our way…good.)
*I haven’t said “The Guardian Angel” prayer in quite a while. (Translation- This could be a good time…)
*There is a live chicken being pressed against my back. (Exactly as it sounds.)
Moral of the story- we made it back safely and just before the downpour. To those concerned about my safety, please note that this was just my paranoia and general fear of all things motorcycle, as I was likely never in 10% of the danger I probably made it sound like I was in.
Finally, one more note about the kuku. His name is (was?) Rambo. Many plastic bags in this country have a picture of Rambo on them, which has earned the name “Rambo” for plastic bags in general. Rambo’s wings were tied together with a plastic bag (hence the name). I learned that he likes peanuts but not cookies (weird, huh?).
Also, I did not have the slightest clue what to do with poor Rambo. It was late and rainy when I got back, so I couldn’t really try to go into the village to get rid of him. Thus, Rambo lived in my bathroom. When I woke up, I found some interesting things:
-Rambo, being a fighter, had freed his wings and drastically changed his location on the bathroom floor (I was happy he earned himself a little more freedom, but this made grabbing him more tricky).
-Rambo also seemed to know what room he was in, as he apparently took care of some business during the night. The smell was less than pleasant, but luckily the plastic bag acted as the perfect diaper! No more peanuts for you, Rambo!
-In the morning I found the wonderful woman who helps cook and clean in the guesthouse. In Swahili, our conversation went something like this:
“Formal and Respectful Greetings” (showing this would not be about marriage, rather it was an act of thanks for her work)
“What’s up?” (Informal response, clearly wondering what was up)
“Would you like a chicken?”
“Say what?” (nonverbal)
“Wait” (I return to my room and come back with Rambo, saying, “Welcome to chicken as thanks for your work.”
“Thank you for chicken.” (Questioning tone, confused look, and walk away with Rambo)
Indeed, it was quite the kuku day!
*MARATHON UPDATE*
-Again the website is phoenixrising2.wordpress.com Sorry for any confusion!
-So far I have not received any word of any donations coming in (don't worry, I realize that would have been really quick, but, after all, I promised to keep you posted). I also made the decision to take the week off of training per my sister's advice (and/or because my body thought it was winter and got a cold). It's okay though, still weeks before the big day.
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