Well, it’s official. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we begin our marathon of bus rides for the Kilimanjaro adventure! It’s definitely getting exciting.
We have received word that we have officially raised $120, and we’ve heard of many more people with money on the way! Thanks again to everyone offering support, whether that be monetarily or through prayers! There’s still plenty of time for both, as we are continuing the fundraiser even after Sunday.
Also, I figured I’d through in a very quick little summary of how teaching has been going lately. I learned that the art of the simple “drum roll” is fascinating to young teenage boys in Tanzania! Who knew? Now, whenever we are about to see a new vocabulary word for the first time, they see how loud and fast they can drum roll before I finish writing the new word. It’s simple, but it keeps the attention.
As for the seminary, they are slowly improving at the Breakthrough Saint Paul “Spirit Check”, or as I have been calling it, the “Wake Up”. The series of claps and desk pounds keeps them on their toes, and, honestly, it’s a nice little minute break to get up the energy, as they have a really tough daily schedule. We have some exciting lessons (in my opinion) coming up to work on mastering those pesky fractions, so I’ll let you know how those go sometime after the marathon.
…Speaking of which, I should probably go pack now! I’ll do my best to give a good rundown (pun intended) of how it all goes!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Farmer's Tan
Pretty much all my non-winter life I’ve had a “farmer’s tan”. I guess I’ve just always loved to be outside and playing sports when the weather is at least decent, and this has always lead to that lovely “farmer’s tan”.
Well, last week this city boy finally earned his first real “farmer’s tan”! All week the seminary didn’t have classes because of a corn emergency (their cornfields were being taken over by weeds). On Thursday my only class would have been at the seminary, so I ate breakfast with the students and then headed out to the fields with them.
The fields are in the vicinity of a church that’s about 8km away “in the bush” called Nakagugu. The students wondered if I’d be okay walking all the way to the fields…little do they know that that is the very path I run most days for my training.
The first thing I got to do was dig between the lines of corn with a hoe. I got to do it for a while, but right around the time that a student inquired as to how much the work would hurt my city hands, I got my first blister of the day. The student didn’t know that, but he didn’t have a hoe, so I let him use mine and I started hand-pulling the weeds near the roots of the corn stalks.
After a couple hours of the weeding, one of the student supervisors asked me to walk with him, and we ended up running going to a mango tree so this student could eat an inordinate amount of mangoes- which was both understandable (their food isn’t too great on a daily basis) and mildly entertaining. We ended up having a pretty long conversation with an “Evangelical Protestant” farmer who didn’t seem to understand why this student had chosen to become a monk. I got to be involved with the conversation through the translation of the student, and it was fun to help the farmer see how many things we agree on, and it was also fun to practice explaining my own beliefs. Definitely not what I expected when I thought of “field work”, but it was a good experience, and the man was very thankful for the conversation.
After lunch (which was brought from school in a truck so we could eat in the fields) it was time for fertilizing. This meant that I got to spend a good amount of time pounding a stick into the ground near each root so these small holes could be filled (by hand) with fertilizer. This work managed to give me two more blisters and some seriously dirty hands. I also got some time to talk to students and showcase how little I know about farming in the U.S. and in general (can anyone name main crops grown in the U.S. other than corn and wheat?).
Then it was time to walk back, and it started POURING! It was one of those rains where the raindrops hurt, and I was loving it, because I had been burning up all day and it was cooling me down wonderfully. The students thought I was pretty crazy. Since we were so far into the bush, the roads were mostly mud, so the hard rain meant we were basically walking through ankle-deep flowing muddy water! Good times.
It should also be noted that I had an itch on my face, and, having dirty hands, it appeared as though I was trying to make my skin…less white. There were a lot of good jokes from students about me trying to be African, and they earned the right to joke, because I can’t imagine a week of that work knowing that a) you’re missing a week of classes and b) your teachers are generally having a much easier week than usual while you toil.
Also, in a more general update, Mike and I are now in charge of the St. B. library. Kristin (a German volunteer) had been in charge, but she left, and apparently they just wouldn’t open the library if it wasn’t for us…so, we open it between our classes. Other teachers come in and say, “I didn’t know you were librarians?”…I didn’t either!
As for my trade school classes, I think they are going alright. Students only get one hour of math each week there, because they are really supposed to focus on their trade. With all that in mind, I have realized that it is really important they have a foundation for what they’ll need- so far we’ve practiced English numbers and basic operations (addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division). To get them more excited about practicing, we have “matches” at the board to see who can solve problems the fastest, and we call these Premier League games (soccer). The winner gets to take on me in the Champion’s League (again, soccer- I’m learning!) They get pretty into it and sometimes ask to keep playing, which is cool. And speaking of soccer, for those that care…How ‘bout that Arsenal?!
*Marathon Update: As I mentioned, I like running toward Nakagugu, mostly because there’s not a lot of traffic. However, being into the “bush” there are plenty of wrong turns to take, and I typically don’t make it to the church, but I finally made it the other day as I went for my longest run since…well…last marathon. It felt great!
Also, yesterday I switched up my route and ran by substantially more houses. The combination of seeing a mzungu and someone running for running-sake was too much to handle for some people, as parents were literally calling their children to come out of the house and see the sight! I even had a lady in sandals try to run with me for much longer than expected. Good times!
Finally, there’s now a “Facebook Event” for the fundraiser, so you can feel free to use that to help spread the word to your friends if you are on Facebook and so desire.
Well, last week this city boy finally earned his first real “farmer’s tan”! All week the seminary didn’t have classes because of a corn emergency (their cornfields were being taken over by weeds). On Thursday my only class would have been at the seminary, so I ate breakfast with the students and then headed out to the fields with them.
The fields are in the vicinity of a church that’s about 8km away “in the bush” called Nakagugu. The students wondered if I’d be okay walking all the way to the fields…little do they know that that is the very path I run most days for my training.
The first thing I got to do was dig between the lines of corn with a hoe. I got to do it for a while, but right around the time that a student inquired as to how much the work would hurt my city hands, I got my first blister of the day. The student didn’t know that, but he didn’t have a hoe, so I let him use mine and I started hand-pulling the weeds near the roots of the corn stalks.
After a couple hours of the weeding, one of the student supervisors asked me to walk with him, and we ended up running going to a mango tree so this student could eat an inordinate amount of mangoes- which was both understandable (their food isn’t too great on a daily basis) and mildly entertaining. We ended up having a pretty long conversation with an “Evangelical Protestant” farmer who didn’t seem to understand why this student had chosen to become a monk. I got to be involved with the conversation through the translation of the student, and it was fun to help the farmer see how many things we agree on, and it was also fun to practice explaining my own beliefs. Definitely not what I expected when I thought of “field work”, but it was a good experience, and the man was very thankful for the conversation.
After lunch (which was brought from school in a truck so we could eat in the fields) it was time for fertilizing. This meant that I got to spend a good amount of time pounding a stick into the ground near each root so these small holes could be filled (by hand) with fertilizer. This work managed to give me two more blisters and some seriously dirty hands. I also got some time to talk to students and showcase how little I know about farming in the U.S. and in general (can anyone name main crops grown in the U.S. other than corn and wheat?).
Then it was time to walk back, and it started POURING! It was one of those rains where the raindrops hurt, and I was loving it, because I had been burning up all day and it was cooling me down wonderfully. The students thought I was pretty crazy. Since we were so far into the bush, the roads were mostly mud, so the hard rain meant we were basically walking through ankle-deep flowing muddy water! Good times.
It should also be noted that I had an itch on my face, and, having dirty hands, it appeared as though I was trying to make my skin…less white. There were a lot of good jokes from students about me trying to be African, and they earned the right to joke, because I can’t imagine a week of that work knowing that a) you’re missing a week of classes and b) your teachers are generally having a much easier week than usual while you toil.
Also, in a more general update, Mike and I are now in charge of the St. B. library. Kristin (a German volunteer) had been in charge, but she left, and apparently they just wouldn’t open the library if it wasn’t for us…so, we open it between our classes. Other teachers come in and say, “I didn’t know you were librarians?”…I didn’t either!
As for my trade school classes, I think they are going alright. Students only get one hour of math each week there, because they are really supposed to focus on their trade. With all that in mind, I have realized that it is really important they have a foundation for what they’ll need- so far we’ve practiced English numbers and basic operations (addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division). To get them more excited about practicing, we have “matches” at the board to see who can solve problems the fastest, and we call these Premier League games (soccer). The winner gets to take on me in the Champion’s League (again, soccer- I’m learning!) They get pretty into it and sometimes ask to keep playing, which is cool. And speaking of soccer, for those that care…How ‘bout that Arsenal?!
*Marathon Update: As I mentioned, I like running toward Nakagugu, mostly because there’s not a lot of traffic. However, being into the “bush” there are plenty of wrong turns to take, and I typically don’t make it to the church, but I finally made it the other day as I went for my longest run since…well…last marathon. It felt great!
Also, yesterday I switched up my route and ran by substantially more houses. The combination of seeing a mzungu and someone running for running-sake was too much to handle for some people, as parents were literally calling their children to come out of the house and see the sight! I even had a lady in sandals try to run with me for much longer than expected. Good times!
Finally, there’s now a “Facebook Event” for the fundraiser, so you can feel free to use that to help spread the word to your friends if you are on Facebook and so desire.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
A Kuku (coo-coo) Kind of Day
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.
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.
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Big Announcement!
What is the big announcement?
Is it that we have come upon our 5 month Tanziversary? Well, that’s true- we have- but that’s not the announcement.
Is it that I cut my hair (literally cut my own hair with the rest of the volunteers stepping in do some serious salvaging of the job I started)? That’s true too, but it’s not the announcement.
Is it that I am scheduled to teach twice a week at the trade school this term, thus doubling the chance that they may actually have class on a day I teach? True again, but still not what we’re looking for.
Is it that I joined the seminarians for “shamba” (farm work) and “mowed the grass” by swinging a long, dull, knife? Yeah, that happened, but that’s still not it.
Then it has to be that I finally finished the spirituality section of the Seminary library?! That did happen, and thanks for noticing, but that’s not it either.
Alright, it must be that I got to help put up (much needed) new basketball hoops at the seminary that were purchased with money that came indirectly from Dirk Nowitzki? (You can’t make this stuff up). Again this is true, and again not the announcement.
I WILL BE RUNNING THE KILIMANJARO MARATHON ON FEBRUARY 27!!!!!!!!
This is a “big announcement” because Mike and I are turning this marathon (he’s running the 5k) into a fundraiser. It all started in _______, when two volunteers- Paul Conroy and (Br.) Lew Grobe decided they wanted to help out the students of Hanga. You see, school fees for one year are typically at least 300USD, and there are many students who work straight through their holidays and still cannot manage that kind of money. Thus, Paul and Lew started a scholarship fund called Phoenix Rising.
Phoenix is the most popular brand of bicycle here, and it is the brand they used when they rode across the country from Dar es Salaam to Hanga (near Songea if you want to see it on a map). That’s nearly ______ kilometers! Through this large fundraising effort, Paul and Lew were able to start the scholarship fund that still continues to help students today.
We were naturally quite inspired by this story, and we wanted also wanted to do something to help promote education. We truly believe that education, especially in a place that has can have so many struggles with money and resources, is integral for the youth of this country (as it is worldwide). After all, that’s why we came here to teach!
In addition to helping maintain the Phoenix Rising scholarship fund, we found another area of education in which we felt compelled to help. If you have been following my blog, you may recall the 3 wonderful Franciscan sisters that I met a few months back (2 from India, 1 from Ethiopia). They help run the de Paul School in Songea, and it is a beautiful operation. As I have mentioned before, it is clear that they have a deep appreciation for the intricacies of education and the importance of loving the students and developing critical thinking and language skills that will help them to live better lives. However, upon visiting their school, we found that they have no library. They have been allotted 1 textbook per class. How are the students supposed to develop reading skills if they do not have books to read?
This really bothers the sisters, as they long so deeply to instill a love of reading and all the lessons that it can teach. They speak of the library they’d eventually love to have, but they don’t really know how they’ll make it happen. The most important books to start with are the Tanzanian textbooks. They are, after all, the one place that someone can find all of the material the students will be required to know on their important national exams. It turns out one Tanzanian textbook would cost the equivalent to about 5USD.
Libraries are not always fully utilized by students and teachers in this country, but we are certain that these sisters would wear these books out! The students and staff would get as much use out of them as possible.
This is where we come in (Mike, myself, and you- our community of family and friends). I remember being in elementary school and walking around the neighborhood asking for pledges for the school marathon. “You’re running a marathon?!” was usually the first response. In reality, it was really just the whole school walking a couple of miles.
This time, however, the marathon is real! In about 1 month we will be travelling to Kilimanjaro (4 full days on a bus, round trip- may be the real marathon). I will be running 26.2 miles (about 42 kilometers for those of you measuring the African way) at the foot of the famous Mt. Kilimanjaro…IN ZUBAZ! That’s right! The Zubaz company (check it out at zubaz.com/aboutus) has graciously offered to match up to $300 of the pledges we receive (that’s about 1 class-worth of textbooks for a subject!). So what can you do? Well, first of all, your prayers would be greatly appreciated! Second, any donation would help a lot (especially with the generous matching system we have). You can make checks payable to
Phoenix Rising/St. John’s Abbey
And you can send them to
Phoenix Rising
Saint John’s Abbey
PO BOX 2015
Collegeville, MN 56321
Since the donations go through the Abbey, they are TAX DEDUCTIBLE! Hizzah!
Also, anything you could do to spread the word (to your churches, family members, schools, and work places) would be greatly appreciated! I know the marathon is coming up quickly, but we will be accepting donations after the run as well.
Lastly, I just want to let you know that we appreciate any support (monetary or otherwise) that you are able to give! You can keep up to date on how the training and fundraising is going on this very blog, and you can always find all of the official information on our website at phoenixrising2@wordpress.com.
Thanks again, God bless, and I’ll do my best to keep you all posted!
*P.S.- If you were getting any funny ideas about trying to send me any sort of package, please know that I appreciate the thought, but you should also know that it likely wouldn’t make it here before I leave anyway. Thus, a nice donation or prayer for us would be a great substitute!
Is it that we have come upon our 5 month Tanziversary? Well, that’s true- we have- but that’s not the announcement.
Is it that I cut my hair (literally cut my own hair with the rest of the volunteers stepping in do some serious salvaging of the job I started)? That’s true too, but it’s not the announcement.
Is it that I am scheduled to teach twice a week at the trade school this term, thus doubling the chance that they may actually have class on a day I teach? True again, but still not what we’re looking for.
Is it that I joined the seminarians for “shamba” (farm work) and “mowed the grass” by swinging a long, dull, knife? Yeah, that happened, but that’s still not it.
Then it has to be that I finally finished the spirituality section of the Seminary library?! That did happen, and thanks for noticing, but that’s not it either.
Alright, it must be that I got to help put up (much needed) new basketball hoops at the seminary that were purchased with money that came indirectly from Dirk Nowitzki? (You can’t make this stuff up). Again this is true, and again not the announcement.
I WILL BE RUNNING THE KILIMANJARO MARATHON ON FEBRUARY 27!!!!!!!!
This is a “big announcement” because Mike and I are turning this marathon (he’s running the 5k) into a fundraiser. It all started in _______, when two volunteers- Paul Conroy and (Br.) Lew Grobe decided they wanted to help out the students of Hanga. You see, school fees for one year are typically at least 300USD, and there are many students who work straight through their holidays and still cannot manage that kind of money. Thus, Paul and Lew started a scholarship fund called Phoenix Rising.
Phoenix is the most popular brand of bicycle here, and it is the brand they used when they rode across the country from Dar es Salaam to Hanga (near Songea if you want to see it on a map). That’s nearly ______ kilometers! Through this large fundraising effort, Paul and Lew were able to start the scholarship fund that still continues to help students today.
We were naturally quite inspired by this story, and we wanted also wanted to do something to help promote education. We truly believe that education, especially in a place that has can have so many struggles with money and resources, is integral for the youth of this country (as it is worldwide). After all, that’s why we came here to teach!
In addition to helping maintain the Phoenix Rising scholarship fund, we found another area of education in which we felt compelled to help. If you have been following my blog, you may recall the 3 wonderful Franciscan sisters that I met a few months back (2 from India, 1 from Ethiopia). They help run the de Paul School in Songea, and it is a beautiful operation. As I have mentioned before, it is clear that they have a deep appreciation for the intricacies of education and the importance of loving the students and developing critical thinking and language skills that will help them to live better lives. However, upon visiting their school, we found that they have no library. They have been allotted 1 textbook per class. How are the students supposed to develop reading skills if they do not have books to read?
This really bothers the sisters, as they long so deeply to instill a love of reading and all the lessons that it can teach. They speak of the library they’d eventually love to have, but they don’t really know how they’ll make it happen. The most important books to start with are the Tanzanian textbooks. They are, after all, the one place that someone can find all of the material the students will be required to know on their important national exams. It turns out one Tanzanian textbook would cost the equivalent to about 5USD.
Libraries are not always fully utilized by students and teachers in this country, but we are certain that these sisters would wear these books out! The students and staff would get as much use out of them as possible.
This is where we come in (Mike, myself, and you- our community of family and friends). I remember being in elementary school and walking around the neighborhood asking for pledges for the school marathon. “You’re running a marathon?!” was usually the first response. In reality, it was really just the whole school walking a couple of miles.
This time, however, the marathon is real! In about 1 month we will be travelling to Kilimanjaro (4 full days on a bus, round trip- may be the real marathon). I will be running 26.2 miles (about 42 kilometers for those of you measuring the African way) at the foot of the famous Mt. Kilimanjaro…IN ZUBAZ! That’s right! The Zubaz company (check it out at zubaz.com/aboutus) has graciously offered to match up to $300 of the pledges we receive (that’s about 1 class-worth of textbooks for a subject!). So what can you do? Well, first of all, your prayers would be greatly appreciated! Second, any donation would help a lot (especially with the generous matching system we have). You can make checks payable to
Phoenix Rising/St. John’s Abbey
And you can send them to
Phoenix Rising
Saint John’s Abbey
PO BOX 2015
Collegeville, MN 56321
Since the donations go through the Abbey, they are TAX DEDUCTIBLE! Hizzah!
Also, anything you could do to spread the word (to your churches, family members, schools, and work places) would be greatly appreciated! I know the marathon is coming up quickly, but we will be accepting donations after the run as well.
Lastly, I just want to let you know that we appreciate any support (monetary or otherwise) that you are able to give! You can keep up to date on how the training and fundraising is going on this very blog, and you can always find all of the official information on our website at phoenixrising2@wordpress.com.
Thanks again, God bless, and I’ll do my best to keep you all posted!
*P.S.- If you were getting any funny ideas about trying to send me any sort of package, please know that I appreciate the thought, but you should also know that it likely wouldn’t make it here before I leave anyway. Thus, a nice donation or prayer for us would be a great substitute!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Back to School!
Welp, it’s official- the new school year is off and running, and boy did it get off to an interesting start. We’d hoped to find out what we’d be teaching before our travels so we’d have plenty of time to prep, but they told us that that sort of thing is not decided until about a week before the school year starts. It seemed silly, but at least we’d have a week to prepare…
…Or would we?! We did have a meeting at St. B. for all staff last Friday (the weekend before school was scheduled to start). This meeting was in all Swahili, so I got to play the game where I desperately listen for key words I know and see if I can get the gist of what’s going on. I’d say I was fairly successful. I’m pretty sure everyone was told to make sure to do their job. I know for certain that the meeting ended without one teacher knowing what s/he was teaching. I also know that, at the end of the meeting, the floor was opened to anyone who had questions for the headmaster. The security guard was last to ask a question, and, based mostly on his motioning toward it, I’m pretty sure he asked if the headmaster had any intention of fixing the deteriorating ceiling in the faculty room we were in (there were missing pieces right above the headmaster’s table). The response from the headmaster elicited some light laughter, and I assume it was some politician-esque joke that didn’t really answer the question. The meeting was adjourned, the headmaster left, and “chai” time began. About five minutes later… a huge chunk of the ceiling fell down on the chai table! Yep, that happened! Real life. Right there. After a pause to make sure the teacher who was lightly scraped by the falling ceiling was okay, the room erupted. Everyone was cracking up, and there was a lady from the kitchen staff who was doing that thing where you think something is so funny that you jump up and down while bending forward at the hip, slowly rotating with each jump until you’ve eventually turned at least 360 degrees. I wish I could be with you (the reader) right now to demonstrate, because it was pretty great….Maybe you had to be there…
Anyway, if you were keeping a calendar when I was explaining the timeline on finding out what we’d teach, the answer is no- you are not mistaken. We really did go into the weekend before the first day of class not knowing if/what we were teaching. So, we showed up at St. B on Monday morning, and I got some interesting news… I’M TEACHING PHYSICS?!
That is correct- I found out 2 hours before my first class that I will be the Form 2 Physics teacher for the boys’ class and the girls’ class! Good. For a second I was getting worried that I wasn’t going to be as deep into my ZPD (see first blog) as last term! To be fair, physics was where they had a need, and I offered. I think it will be a fun challenge, and I hope I can do a good job with some hard work.
This leads me to my first “classroom update” blog of the term. This week we began talking about static electricity (did I mention the librarian is not around so I can’t get the physics book or that the physics book doesn’t actually include the required “static electricity” section anyway?- don’t worry, I picked up some American physics books at the seminary). I had a couple of cool demonstrations I wanted to show the class, but I wanted to make sure I set a little bit of foundation by making sure they know the importance of making detailed observations since they are, after all, scientists at least while I’m in the classroom. I asked the girls class to start by making observations about me (dangerous, right?). Well, they didn’t really say much. They boys, on the other hand, managed to find the “right answer”… After a pause, Xavier stood up and said, “I notice that… you look handsome.” “Correct! Class dismissed!”
Okay, I didn’t say that, but I did agree with him. This answer was followed by a compliment on my hair (ironically I had spent the day messing it up by rubbing balloons on it, but maybe that’s what did the trick) and someone noting that my shirt had “expression”. I’m not positive what that means, but I took it. Then someone said my trousers were nice. I drew the line there, as my khakis were turning downright reddish-brown from kneeling on various dirty surfaces (church kneelers and classroom floors to be at student-desk-level). They seemed to kind of understand my jokes about my looks and my pants, but some good jokes about the smell of my armpits for those in the front row were definitely lost on them. Can’t win them all I guess.
My first demo involved charging a balloon (rubbing it on hair) and getting small pieces of paper to jump to it. While it didn’t work the night before, it worked splendidly in class and they were hooked! Then we were going to have a bunch of demos involving Scotch “Magic” (it’s really called that) Tape, which worked perfectly the night before and flopped each time in class! Hizzah! Welcome to physics teaching! It’s going to be a funky adventure through my ZPD, that’s for sure!
As for the seminary, I found out (on the first day of class, of course) that I’ll be teaching Form 1 Mathematics again. I had been promised Form 2 English (I really was pumped about teaching English here, especially to my old math class), but that changed. Oh well- I’ll probably need the prep time for physics anyway.
The Form 1 class is again right around 70 strong, and they are an energetic bunch! It’s great! I have over double-digit numbers of people raising their hands to answer questions! Magical!
I’ve decided that I have two broad objectives for this class. 1) Teach them the necessary math. 2) Fight the “math fear” that plagues this country. In order to do this, I have drawn on good old Breakthrough Saint Paul. I’ve seen a lot of really cool classes done in other departments that had some sort of crime-solving theme. This leaves the specifics really open (who knows when sports will be involved in clues, or music, or whatever). Thus, this year’s Form 1 math crew will be attempting to catch the “Ndizi Mwizi” (Swahili for “Banana Thief”).
The seminary students have the same thing for lunch and dinner for 4 years straight- “Ugali na Maharagi” (Ugali is this flavorless, thick, mashed potato-y substance made from corn, and maharagi is beans). There’s a huge banana field on the seminary property, but the students never get any. I have blamed this issue on the poor Ndizi Mwizi. He (or she) is writing the class letters, taunting them with mathematical clues that he (or she) does not think the class can solve (because they can’t unless they learn these new concepts). We’ll see how it works. So far they seem intrigued, and a fair amount of them even seemed to understand the premise. Also, they are learning the Breakthrough Spirit Check as an energizer. So far the monk in his thirties in the class seems a bit hesitant to pound on his desk, but we’re working on it!
Finally, I am writing this on Saturday evening, and the Archbishop of Songea was here today celebrating his silver jubilee/blessing the new monastic residence hall. It was a typical celebration (3 hour Mass, speeches, great food, singing and dancing, etc). We took a break from it to see a student/tailor in the village. Then the rain picked up…We sprinted back to the monastery and got absolutely soaked (and got cheered on by villagers who didn’t know what to think as they huddled under any kind of overhangs they could find). The Archbishop seemed to find the sight of soaking wet white people pretty hilarious, but we changed when we realized the celebration still had quite a bit of time left…
It turns out all of my underwear were on the line “drying” outside when the rain came. Also, my only towel was also on the line. Luckily I found some compression shorts I forgot about at the bottom of my bag, and I also learned that bedsheets are really just thin, large towels in disguise. With most of my clothing “drying” outside, I opted for the only logical option- ZUBAZ! It was not even looked twice at for the end of the celebration.
I always wear dress pants to meals, but tonight I thought I could make an exception. After all, it’s pretty much just us young volunteers at the guesthouse refectory right now. Naturally, tonight was the first night we were invited to join the monks in their cloistered refectory! Yep, I can now add “shook the hand of an African Archbishop” to the list of things I’ve done while wearing Zubaz! I’m not going to say it didn’t turn some heads, but, hey, it’s not my fault everyone wants a pair!
…Or would we?! We did have a meeting at St. B. for all staff last Friday (the weekend before school was scheduled to start). This meeting was in all Swahili, so I got to play the game where I desperately listen for key words I know and see if I can get the gist of what’s going on. I’d say I was fairly successful. I’m pretty sure everyone was told to make sure to do their job. I know for certain that the meeting ended without one teacher knowing what s/he was teaching. I also know that, at the end of the meeting, the floor was opened to anyone who had questions for the headmaster. The security guard was last to ask a question, and, based mostly on his motioning toward it, I’m pretty sure he asked if the headmaster had any intention of fixing the deteriorating ceiling in the faculty room we were in (there were missing pieces right above the headmaster’s table). The response from the headmaster elicited some light laughter, and I assume it was some politician-esque joke that didn’t really answer the question. The meeting was adjourned, the headmaster left, and “chai” time began. About five minutes later… a huge chunk of the ceiling fell down on the chai table! Yep, that happened! Real life. Right there. After a pause to make sure the teacher who was lightly scraped by the falling ceiling was okay, the room erupted. Everyone was cracking up, and there was a lady from the kitchen staff who was doing that thing where you think something is so funny that you jump up and down while bending forward at the hip, slowly rotating with each jump until you’ve eventually turned at least 360 degrees. I wish I could be with you (the reader) right now to demonstrate, because it was pretty great….Maybe you had to be there…
Anyway, if you were keeping a calendar when I was explaining the timeline on finding out what we’d teach, the answer is no- you are not mistaken. We really did go into the weekend before the first day of class not knowing if/what we were teaching. So, we showed up at St. B on Monday morning, and I got some interesting news… I’M TEACHING PHYSICS?!
That is correct- I found out 2 hours before my first class that I will be the Form 2 Physics teacher for the boys’ class and the girls’ class! Good. For a second I was getting worried that I wasn’t going to be as deep into my ZPD (see first blog) as last term! To be fair, physics was where they had a need, and I offered. I think it will be a fun challenge, and I hope I can do a good job with some hard work.
This leads me to my first “classroom update” blog of the term. This week we began talking about static electricity (did I mention the librarian is not around so I can’t get the physics book or that the physics book doesn’t actually include the required “static electricity” section anyway?- don’t worry, I picked up some American physics books at the seminary). I had a couple of cool demonstrations I wanted to show the class, but I wanted to make sure I set a little bit of foundation by making sure they know the importance of making detailed observations since they are, after all, scientists at least while I’m in the classroom. I asked the girls class to start by making observations about me (dangerous, right?). Well, they didn’t really say much. They boys, on the other hand, managed to find the “right answer”… After a pause, Xavier stood up and said, “I notice that… you look handsome.” “Correct! Class dismissed!”
Okay, I didn’t say that, but I did agree with him. This answer was followed by a compliment on my hair (ironically I had spent the day messing it up by rubbing balloons on it, but maybe that’s what did the trick) and someone noting that my shirt had “expression”. I’m not positive what that means, but I took it. Then someone said my trousers were nice. I drew the line there, as my khakis were turning downright reddish-brown from kneeling on various dirty surfaces (church kneelers and classroom floors to be at student-desk-level). They seemed to kind of understand my jokes about my looks and my pants, but some good jokes about the smell of my armpits for those in the front row were definitely lost on them. Can’t win them all I guess.
My first demo involved charging a balloon (rubbing it on hair) and getting small pieces of paper to jump to it. While it didn’t work the night before, it worked splendidly in class and they were hooked! Then we were going to have a bunch of demos involving Scotch “Magic” (it’s really called that) Tape, which worked perfectly the night before and flopped each time in class! Hizzah! Welcome to physics teaching! It’s going to be a funky adventure through my ZPD, that’s for sure!
As for the seminary, I found out (on the first day of class, of course) that I’ll be teaching Form 1 Mathematics again. I had been promised Form 2 English (I really was pumped about teaching English here, especially to my old math class), but that changed. Oh well- I’ll probably need the prep time for physics anyway.
The Form 1 class is again right around 70 strong, and they are an energetic bunch! It’s great! I have over double-digit numbers of people raising their hands to answer questions! Magical!
I’ve decided that I have two broad objectives for this class. 1) Teach them the necessary math. 2) Fight the “math fear” that plagues this country. In order to do this, I have drawn on good old Breakthrough Saint Paul. I’ve seen a lot of really cool classes done in other departments that had some sort of crime-solving theme. This leaves the specifics really open (who knows when sports will be involved in clues, or music, or whatever). Thus, this year’s Form 1 math crew will be attempting to catch the “Ndizi Mwizi” (Swahili for “Banana Thief”).
The seminary students have the same thing for lunch and dinner for 4 years straight- “Ugali na Maharagi” (Ugali is this flavorless, thick, mashed potato-y substance made from corn, and maharagi is beans). There’s a huge banana field on the seminary property, but the students never get any. I have blamed this issue on the poor Ndizi Mwizi. He (or she) is writing the class letters, taunting them with mathematical clues that he (or she) does not think the class can solve (because they can’t unless they learn these new concepts). We’ll see how it works. So far they seem intrigued, and a fair amount of them even seemed to understand the premise. Also, they are learning the Breakthrough Spirit Check as an energizer. So far the monk in his thirties in the class seems a bit hesitant to pound on his desk, but we’re working on it!
Finally, I am writing this on Saturday evening, and the Archbishop of Songea was here today celebrating his silver jubilee/blessing the new monastic residence hall. It was a typical celebration (3 hour Mass, speeches, great food, singing and dancing, etc). We took a break from it to see a student/tailor in the village. Then the rain picked up…We sprinted back to the monastery and got absolutely soaked (and got cheered on by villagers who didn’t know what to think as they huddled under any kind of overhangs they could find). The Archbishop seemed to find the sight of soaking wet white people pretty hilarious, but we changed when we realized the celebration still had quite a bit of time left…
It turns out all of my underwear were on the line “drying” outside when the rain came. Also, my only towel was also on the line. Luckily I found some compression shorts I forgot about at the bottom of my bag, and I also learned that bedsheets are really just thin, large towels in disguise. With most of my clothing “drying” outside, I opted for the only logical option- ZUBAZ! It was not even looked twice at for the end of the celebration.
I always wear dress pants to meals, but tonight I thought I could make an exception. After all, it’s pretty much just us young volunteers at the guesthouse refectory right now. Naturally, tonight was the first night we were invited to join the monks in their cloistered refectory! Yep, I can now add “shook the hand of an African Archbishop” to the list of things I’ve done while wearing Zubaz! I’m not going to say it didn’t turn some heads, but, hey, it’s not my fault everyone wants a pair!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
So Worth It
To preface this blog that may turn into a novel, I just have to remind you that you can feel free to not read it. My first couple of days in Nairobi included some of the most adventurous experiences and my favorite experience (thus far) on this continent. They may very well be “you had to be there” stories (my apologies), and they are definitely stories that are more easily told than written. That being said, I’m kind of excited about the challenge of trying to do them justice through written word. (English majors, I apologize for the inevitable jumping between tenses- its how I talk, and I’m a math major anyway!) Plus, I have the time, and I need about break from studying Kiswahili. So, here it goes:
First, I should also mention that I had two goals for the vacation. I wanted to see Alex, Simon, and Fr. Francis. Check! It was great to see them! I also wanted to play competitive Ultimate Frisbee since I knew that it was the only chance I’d get until returning home. While we were there, the Nairobi Frisbee crew was going to be playing twice.
I tried to go to both.
This is what unfolded:
After having been in Nairobi for A day (“A” as in “apple”), it was finally the big day- my first shot at joining in on some Ultimate. It was a pretty anticlimactic beginning- I just grabbed my Frisbee stuff (aka a Frisbee) and headed to the matatu stand (“matatu” is the Kenyan city bus). I remembered from the day before how to get to the city center, and I had no problem doing so. Once in the city, I wandered around for a good while searching for the number 6 bus, and finally found it. I was looking for the UN as we drove (under the impression that the UN would be noticeable). I started to wonder after we had gone quite a ways, and I asked the man next to me in Swahili if we had passed it. He had an uncomfortable grin, as if he felt sorry for me, and said that it was a ways back. Just then I realized the matatu was at the end of its line. Someone told the driver I had meant to go the UN, and he replied with, “Why didn’t you tell me?!” I didn’t know it worked that way. He told me to get back in and he’d take me back on his way…Then we pulled into an empty parking lot and sat there…He explained that his last conductor (the guy who collects everyone’s fare) was arrested (apparently I saw it happen, I just thought they were switching conductors at the time). He had gotten a new one for that trip, but apparently he too was afraid of the police, so he needed to wait for another new one. I didn’t find it necessary to ask why, and I actually was really close to offering to be his new conductor (it seems all you do is shout where it is going as you hang out the window, and you bang on the roof when the driver should stop). Anyway, we found our man and we were off. After many more stops, we were at the UN. I thanked my new friend and began wandering.
I finally found an American sounding girl wearing athletic clothing, and she told me Frisbee was just at the back of the UN complex I had just come across. She assured me that even though my matatu adventure had made me late, they were still playing. I approached the front gate of the UN (as in UNITED NATIONS- kind of ridiculous when I look back on it). Security asked to see a badge, and I explained that I didn’t have one; that I was just visiting some friends to play a game. He reluctantly said he would settle for a passport. As I mentioned, I grabbed my Frisbee…that doesn’t count as identification…Yep, this guy forgot his passport and was trying to get into the United Nations with no ID…and no luck.
I wandered outside the UN complex until I came upon what appeared to be the back entrance. Naturally, I slowly entered. I finally saw a security guard putting his shoes on. He asked what I was looking for, and I told him. He said to go to the front gate (the one that didn’t work). I said I was wondering if I could also reach the field this way, and he asked where I was from. His response to me being from the U.S.A. was, “We can’t be friends.”… Gulp.
All I could think to say was, “But Obama’s father was born in Kenya”…trepidation (still doing the big vocab. thing- maybe it’s a New Year’s Resolution)… He smiled, we exchanged some Kiswahili pleasantries, and the next thing I know he’s literally asking to be my friend, and we exchange contact information. If I ever have a Kenyan visitor named Moses, feel free to talk to him about Obama.
Moses goes on to explain that, unfortunately, his gate does not lead to the fields. He says I should try the front one again, so I head back and tell them “Moses sent me”. It’s getting late and a new guard on duty grins and says I should run, because they’ll be done soon! Clutch!
I run across the United Nation compound (yep, it happened!), and I reach the field just in time to see a catch in the end zone and hear “That’s game”. Yep, I had left early in the afternoon (3:45) on my adventure, and here it was, 7:00, game over. The guys told me I could come on Sunday, and, if I wanted, I could help them teach some kids from Kibera (biggest slum in Africa if not the world) how to play earlier on Sunday. This was a sweet offer, and I had enjoyed my attempt, so I wasn’t too bummed.
I caught a ride back partway with a Frisbee guy named Anderson. The only problem was he was from Nairobi and apparently misunderstood where I was trying to get to, so he didn’t drive me to the most helpful spot to catch a matatu. He let me off and kindly explained how I would get to the church, and I thanked him.
This is where I should pause to explain that Nairobi is known as a not-that-safe-city, but it’s said to be getting much better. Plus, they say the city center isn’t that bad. After all, it kind of just has the same dangers as any big city. In general, people advise that if you don’t travel alone at night, you have nothing to worry about. So what was I doing on my second day there?...Traveling alone…at night.
I can honestly say that I never felt the least bit scared. I tend to trust people unless I’m given a good reason not to, so I was walking the streets assuming that nothing would happen. Maybe it’s not healthy, but that’s just how I work I guess. I just stayed friendly and didn’t give anyone a reason to think I didn’t know what I was doing.
Anyway, I wandered for a while (a common theme when searching for busses while learning the lay of the land), and when I found the right one, the driver told me to take a different one. I took the one I was told. We started driving toward my stop, but we veered and kept going for quite a ways. I ask the driver what’s up, and he said he would normally go to that stop, but there’s a traffic jam on the way, so he didn’t…Of course. I should have known. ;)
He was kind enough to say he’d bring me there on his way back. This driver ends up switching with a different driver, but he luckily tells that driver where I need to go. After the new driver cackles (reason unknown) about my destination, he promises to take me there. We go on to have a great chat, and he explains that he is a missionary too (bus driving temporarily?), and he says that if I am ever in the city with no place to stay, I can stay on his property for 2 days with no charge. This is quite a change from the much more common requests for money from me.
Short story long, he dropped me off at the right stop, and I had one heck of a story to tell when I got back. (My cell phone wasn’t working, so the gang wasn’t necessarily sure that I knew what I was doing, although I had contacted them once with Anderson’s phone to let them know I was fine.)
That was Friday. When Sunday rolled around, I was all rested up and ready for round two. After Mike, Simon, Alex, and Reza left for a volunteer appreciation thing, I realized I was all alone at the church, and I did not know how to get to the new field to help teach the children. I asked some workers and got a whole mess of different answers (ranging from “You can walk there” to strings of bus connections I’d need to make.) Finally, someone called his brother who would know, and I got the most trustworthy advice I felt I was going to get.
I left for the city center (an easy connection at this point) in mid-morning in order to get to the fields for the afternoon session even if I had another adventure. This time I searched for the city center for probably about 2 hours until I finally found a bus I thought might work. It did, indeed, work, and I got to the junction I was supposed to get to with a few minutes to spare! “Perfect”, I thought, “I am not late, but I’m just on time, so they should already be setting up.”…False.
I found the fields I that I assumed would be used, but it was at the University of Nairobi, and the guards wouldn’t let me in (come on, if the UN will do it…) and said they didn’t think the kids were coming for Frisbee today. After more aimless wandering, I convinced the guards to let me check to see if anyone was there. I checked the fields, and, as I could see from the road, no one was there, but at least I was in. I wandered for a while (aimlessly, of course), and then fate took its course.
I saw a Kenyan student wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a plate on it, but it said “Si Sahani” (meaning basically “not a plate”), as he passed I caught a glance of the back of his shirt, and I joyfully read “It’s NOT A PLATE” First Annual Nairobi Frisbee Tournament”! Hizzah!
I asked him if he played, and he said yes. We chatted for a while, and he said he didn’t think the Kibera kids were coming, but he said, “We” have a practice at 3:30. I didn’t know who “we” was, but I was down for waiting a couple of hours. He let me use his phone, and I tried to get a hold of a friends’ sister who attends the university, but I hung up not knowing for sure if she’d make it in time to meet up, so I sat on a bench waiting for her and/or 3:30.
As a cool break from my idle sitting (not wanting to be seen by the guards that let me “look for my friends”, I began watching a guy shooting some hoops. I decided to head over to him and see if I could rebound. After some shooting around, he asked, “Do you know 3-pointers?” I thought about telling him that 3-pointers and I are pretty good friends, but instead I smiled and said that I used to play quite a bit, and I got to spend some time teaching him proper shooting form and a couple of dribbling drills. It was great! Unfortunately, some guy that apparently has the authority to do so came and demanded that we give him the ball.
After a little more sitting, some people began to congregate on the field. That’s when stuff got real.
It turns out that this practice was being run by a Swedish gym teacher named Ole. After we established that I know very little about Sweden (“Where in Sweden are you from?”—“Do you know anything other than Stockholm?”—“No…”—“It’s nowhere near Stockholm.”), Ole explained that he really didn’t know much about the game of Ultimate, but he thought it was a great game for people that don’t have much, because you just need a field and a piece of plastic, and it teaches some great lessons. Cool.
What I thought was going to be just a college Ultimate practice turned out to be a “coaches’ practice”. You see, Ole and some others have been teaching young people from many of Nairobi’s slums how to play Ultimate, and each slum has one or two coaches. These coaches were at the university that beautiful Sunday for extra, advanced practice so that they could go back to their respective slums and help their teams develop further.
We scrimmaged for quite a while, and even though it wasn’t at the level of the game of Western players I was apparently missing, it was so cool! It was great to run around and play a pretty competitive game, and it was amazing to see how good some of these guys and girls (most probably about my age, some younger, some older) were after learning the game only 2 months ago! I got to be on the “slums” team, and they definitely played with a chip on their shoulder as we narrowly beat the team from the university.
I was beaming, but little did I know, the best was yet to come. After the scrimmage everyone gathered, and Ole asked if I would answer some questions since he only knew basics about the game.
They had all sorts of questions, and I was able to give a lot of random tips and clarifications. Then someone asked about what happens when someone thinks they caught a disc while the other team thinks it hits the ground first. I got to explain the Spirit of the Game (it’s trademarked- check it out), and we talked about what it means to be honest and fair, even in such a competitive situation. At first they laughed at the idea of admitting you didn’t catch it if you know you didn’t, but we kept talking about what that says about the kind of person you are and what that means about the way you will live your life outside of the game, and they really started to take it seriously and get it. Afterward they were thanking me and explaining that they were excited to go back to their slums and try to teach their kids about the life lessons of the game! It made my entire vacation! It was so powerful to see these people that have just about nothing, walking long distances to come play the game we love and learn how to better spread the message and the game to those around them in order to help keep them on a good life path! It really made my entire vacation, and I was honored to have accidentally gotten to be a tiny part of it!
Of course, I still had to get myself back to the church one more time… I caught the first matatu I could back into the city center, and from there I kept walking up and down the same street looking for the cross street I knew I wanted. By the time it got dark I finally learned that the street I was looking for ran parallel and was one block over (the security guards around are really friendly and helpful, but they don’t necessarily communicate things like that too clearly…). I caught the right matatu back and made sure he would go to my stop regardless of traffic. Of course, he passed my stop and I had to yell at him in Swahili to stop, and he eventually did a ways past where I needed to be. I got out and walked back, ecstatic about my great adventure and experience, thinking that the excitement was done…
Well, let’s just say it was plenty dark, and a certain Crystal, MN native who had just had a phenomenal day managed to top it all off by falling into a ditch right before arriving at his final destination. I found it pretty funny as I climbed out, and I could not wipe the smile from my face.
So, moral of the story- more time than I ever expected to spend on/searching for Nairobi matatus and not playing any seriously competitive Ultimate was SO. INCREDIBLY. WORTH IT!
First, I should also mention that I had two goals for the vacation. I wanted to see Alex, Simon, and Fr. Francis. Check! It was great to see them! I also wanted to play competitive Ultimate Frisbee since I knew that it was the only chance I’d get until returning home. While we were there, the Nairobi Frisbee crew was going to be playing twice.
I tried to go to both.
This is what unfolded:
After having been in Nairobi for A day (“A” as in “apple”), it was finally the big day- my first shot at joining in on some Ultimate. It was a pretty anticlimactic beginning- I just grabbed my Frisbee stuff (aka a Frisbee) and headed to the matatu stand (“matatu” is the Kenyan city bus). I remembered from the day before how to get to the city center, and I had no problem doing so. Once in the city, I wandered around for a good while searching for the number 6 bus, and finally found it. I was looking for the UN as we drove (under the impression that the UN would be noticeable). I started to wonder after we had gone quite a ways, and I asked the man next to me in Swahili if we had passed it. He had an uncomfortable grin, as if he felt sorry for me, and said that it was a ways back. Just then I realized the matatu was at the end of its line. Someone told the driver I had meant to go the UN, and he replied with, “Why didn’t you tell me?!” I didn’t know it worked that way. He told me to get back in and he’d take me back on his way…Then we pulled into an empty parking lot and sat there…He explained that his last conductor (the guy who collects everyone’s fare) was arrested (apparently I saw it happen, I just thought they were switching conductors at the time). He had gotten a new one for that trip, but apparently he too was afraid of the police, so he needed to wait for another new one. I didn’t find it necessary to ask why, and I actually was really close to offering to be his new conductor (it seems all you do is shout where it is going as you hang out the window, and you bang on the roof when the driver should stop). Anyway, we found our man and we were off. After many more stops, we were at the UN. I thanked my new friend and began wandering.
I finally found an American sounding girl wearing athletic clothing, and she told me Frisbee was just at the back of the UN complex I had just come across. She assured me that even though my matatu adventure had made me late, they were still playing. I approached the front gate of the UN (as in UNITED NATIONS- kind of ridiculous when I look back on it). Security asked to see a badge, and I explained that I didn’t have one; that I was just visiting some friends to play a game. He reluctantly said he would settle for a passport. As I mentioned, I grabbed my Frisbee…that doesn’t count as identification…Yep, this guy forgot his passport and was trying to get into the United Nations with no ID…and no luck.
I wandered outside the UN complex until I came upon what appeared to be the back entrance. Naturally, I slowly entered. I finally saw a security guard putting his shoes on. He asked what I was looking for, and I told him. He said to go to the front gate (the one that didn’t work). I said I was wondering if I could also reach the field this way, and he asked where I was from. His response to me being from the U.S.A. was, “We can’t be friends.”… Gulp.
All I could think to say was, “But Obama’s father was born in Kenya”…trepidation (still doing the big vocab. thing- maybe it’s a New Year’s Resolution)… He smiled, we exchanged some Kiswahili pleasantries, and the next thing I know he’s literally asking to be my friend, and we exchange contact information. If I ever have a Kenyan visitor named Moses, feel free to talk to him about Obama.
Moses goes on to explain that, unfortunately, his gate does not lead to the fields. He says I should try the front one again, so I head back and tell them “Moses sent me”. It’s getting late and a new guard on duty grins and says I should run, because they’ll be done soon! Clutch!
I run across the United Nation compound (yep, it happened!), and I reach the field just in time to see a catch in the end zone and hear “That’s game”. Yep, I had left early in the afternoon (3:45) on my adventure, and here it was, 7:00, game over. The guys told me I could come on Sunday, and, if I wanted, I could help them teach some kids from Kibera (biggest slum in Africa if not the world) how to play earlier on Sunday. This was a sweet offer, and I had enjoyed my attempt, so I wasn’t too bummed.
I caught a ride back partway with a Frisbee guy named Anderson. The only problem was he was from Nairobi and apparently misunderstood where I was trying to get to, so he didn’t drive me to the most helpful spot to catch a matatu. He let me off and kindly explained how I would get to the church, and I thanked him.
This is where I should pause to explain that Nairobi is known as a not-that-safe-city, but it’s said to be getting much better. Plus, they say the city center isn’t that bad. After all, it kind of just has the same dangers as any big city. In general, people advise that if you don’t travel alone at night, you have nothing to worry about. So what was I doing on my second day there?...Traveling alone…at night.
I can honestly say that I never felt the least bit scared. I tend to trust people unless I’m given a good reason not to, so I was walking the streets assuming that nothing would happen. Maybe it’s not healthy, but that’s just how I work I guess. I just stayed friendly and didn’t give anyone a reason to think I didn’t know what I was doing.
Anyway, I wandered for a while (a common theme when searching for busses while learning the lay of the land), and when I found the right one, the driver told me to take a different one. I took the one I was told. We started driving toward my stop, but we veered and kept going for quite a ways. I ask the driver what’s up, and he said he would normally go to that stop, but there’s a traffic jam on the way, so he didn’t…Of course. I should have known. ;)
He was kind enough to say he’d bring me there on his way back. This driver ends up switching with a different driver, but he luckily tells that driver where I need to go. After the new driver cackles (reason unknown) about my destination, he promises to take me there. We go on to have a great chat, and he explains that he is a missionary too (bus driving temporarily?), and he says that if I am ever in the city with no place to stay, I can stay on his property for 2 days with no charge. This is quite a change from the much more common requests for money from me.
Short story long, he dropped me off at the right stop, and I had one heck of a story to tell when I got back. (My cell phone wasn’t working, so the gang wasn’t necessarily sure that I knew what I was doing, although I had contacted them once with Anderson’s phone to let them know I was fine.)
That was Friday. When Sunday rolled around, I was all rested up and ready for round two. After Mike, Simon, Alex, and Reza left for a volunteer appreciation thing, I realized I was all alone at the church, and I did not know how to get to the new field to help teach the children. I asked some workers and got a whole mess of different answers (ranging from “You can walk there” to strings of bus connections I’d need to make.) Finally, someone called his brother who would know, and I got the most trustworthy advice I felt I was going to get.
I left for the city center (an easy connection at this point) in mid-morning in order to get to the fields for the afternoon session even if I had another adventure. This time I searched for the city center for probably about 2 hours until I finally found a bus I thought might work. It did, indeed, work, and I got to the junction I was supposed to get to with a few minutes to spare! “Perfect”, I thought, “I am not late, but I’m just on time, so they should already be setting up.”…False.
I found the fields I that I assumed would be used, but it was at the University of Nairobi, and the guards wouldn’t let me in (come on, if the UN will do it…) and said they didn’t think the kids were coming for Frisbee today. After more aimless wandering, I convinced the guards to let me check to see if anyone was there. I checked the fields, and, as I could see from the road, no one was there, but at least I was in. I wandered for a while (aimlessly, of course), and then fate took its course.
I saw a Kenyan student wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a plate on it, but it said “Si Sahani” (meaning basically “not a plate”), as he passed I caught a glance of the back of his shirt, and I joyfully read “It’s NOT A PLATE” First Annual Nairobi Frisbee Tournament”! Hizzah!
I asked him if he played, and he said yes. We chatted for a while, and he said he didn’t think the Kibera kids were coming, but he said, “We” have a practice at 3:30. I didn’t know who “we” was, but I was down for waiting a couple of hours. He let me use his phone, and I tried to get a hold of a friends’ sister who attends the university, but I hung up not knowing for sure if she’d make it in time to meet up, so I sat on a bench waiting for her and/or 3:30.
As a cool break from my idle sitting (not wanting to be seen by the guards that let me “look for my friends”, I began watching a guy shooting some hoops. I decided to head over to him and see if I could rebound. After some shooting around, he asked, “Do you know 3-pointers?” I thought about telling him that 3-pointers and I are pretty good friends, but instead I smiled and said that I used to play quite a bit, and I got to spend some time teaching him proper shooting form and a couple of dribbling drills. It was great! Unfortunately, some guy that apparently has the authority to do so came and demanded that we give him the ball.
After a little more sitting, some people began to congregate on the field. That’s when stuff got real.
It turns out that this practice was being run by a Swedish gym teacher named Ole. After we established that I know very little about Sweden (“Where in Sweden are you from?”—“Do you know anything other than Stockholm?”—“No…”—“It’s nowhere near Stockholm.”), Ole explained that he really didn’t know much about the game of Ultimate, but he thought it was a great game for people that don’t have much, because you just need a field and a piece of plastic, and it teaches some great lessons. Cool.
What I thought was going to be just a college Ultimate practice turned out to be a “coaches’ practice”. You see, Ole and some others have been teaching young people from many of Nairobi’s slums how to play Ultimate, and each slum has one or two coaches. These coaches were at the university that beautiful Sunday for extra, advanced practice so that they could go back to their respective slums and help their teams develop further.
We scrimmaged for quite a while, and even though it wasn’t at the level of the game of Western players I was apparently missing, it was so cool! It was great to run around and play a pretty competitive game, and it was amazing to see how good some of these guys and girls (most probably about my age, some younger, some older) were after learning the game only 2 months ago! I got to be on the “slums” team, and they definitely played with a chip on their shoulder as we narrowly beat the team from the university.
I was beaming, but little did I know, the best was yet to come. After the scrimmage everyone gathered, and Ole asked if I would answer some questions since he only knew basics about the game.
They had all sorts of questions, and I was able to give a lot of random tips and clarifications. Then someone asked about what happens when someone thinks they caught a disc while the other team thinks it hits the ground first. I got to explain the Spirit of the Game (it’s trademarked- check it out), and we talked about what it means to be honest and fair, even in such a competitive situation. At first they laughed at the idea of admitting you didn’t catch it if you know you didn’t, but we kept talking about what that says about the kind of person you are and what that means about the way you will live your life outside of the game, and they really started to take it seriously and get it. Afterward they were thanking me and explaining that they were excited to go back to their slums and try to teach their kids about the life lessons of the game! It made my entire vacation! It was so powerful to see these people that have just about nothing, walking long distances to come play the game we love and learn how to better spread the message and the game to those around them in order to help keep them on a good life path! It really made my entire vacation, and I was honored to have accidentally gotten to be a tiny part of it!
Of course, I still had to get myself back to the church one more time… I caught the first matatu I could back into the city center, and from there I kept walking up and down the same street looking for the cross street I knew I wanted. By the time it got dark I finally learned that the street I was looking for ran parallel and was one block over (the security guards around are really friendly and helpful, but they don’t necessarily communicate things like that too clearly…). I caught the right matatu back and made sure he would go to my stop regardless of traffic. Of course, he passed my stop and I had to yell at him in Swahili to stop, and he eventually did a ways past where I needed to be. I got out and walked back, ecstatic about my great adventure and experience, thinking that the excitement was done…
Well, let’s just say it was plenty dark, and a certain Crystal, MN native who had just had a phenomenal day managed to top it all off by falling into a ditch right before arriving at his final destination. I found it pretty funny as I climbed out, and I could not wipe the smile from my face.
So, moral of the story- more time than I ever expected to spend on/searching for Nairobi matatus and not playing any seriously competitive Ultimate was SO. INCREDIBLY. WORTH IT!
Hanga, Sweet Hanga
We are officially back in Hanga and ready to get back to work! Of course, that doesn’t mean people are necessarily ready to give us our work, but we’re excited to get to it as soon as it’s given!
We had a nice bus ride back from Lamu to Mombasa (I’m trying to give you a chance to work on your East African geography with all of this). We got the same driver that we had on the way from Mombasa to Lamu. This was very intentional, as this driver spent every other evening on Lamu, and he introduced us to the magical man who made what we affectionately call “goo”. It was some combination of lentils, sugar, oil, and goo, and it is goo-d! Also, we were happy to see our bus driver helping captain the ferry back to the mainland in the morning on the way to the bus, as our ferry on the way to the island may or may not have begun floating off and broken down, resulting in a mass transfer of people to two other boats. We did our best to be Johnnies during this chaos, but, if you are wondering, apparently in such a situation, “women and children first” does not apply.
Anyway, the ride back was a bit ridiculous... You know how normally bus seats are, how do you say it?...bolted to the floor and, you know, in one piece? Well, Simon and I seemed to find a couple of anomalies. Our seats immediately began tipping sideways, forward, and backward, and my seatback just about fell off completely. I found it pretty hilarious. Thankfully, the bus staff noticed and set to work immediately. There was already a rope around the window attached to Simon’s seat’s arm in order to, you know, keep the seats from falling over completely. The crew used some serious ingenuity and simply grabbed another rope, tied our seats together, and tied that rope to the overhead compartment. This was pretty effective (we made it back without disaster), but I did learn that a taut (I’m going for the fancy vocab. to make up for all the blogging I haven’t done) rope running right where one’s head naturally lies is a lot like a head slingshot during bumpy rides…Good times.
We stayed one day in Mombasa at our favorite hole-in-the-wall hostel. The staff was seriously so amazed that Americans would stay there that they continually made sure we were comfortable- showering us with toilet paper, soap, and a better lock than usual. We’re not sure if his placement was related to keeping us personally safe or coincidental, but Michael the boxer/security guard literally slept on a mattress outside of our door. I was really glad we got to see them again, as well as our friends at the most delicious restaurant in Mombasa who were so excited to exchange Swahili slang greetings with us that they may not have even noticed we don’t really speak Swahili. Such great people!
Anyway, after a 9ish hour bus ride from Mombasa to Dar es Salaam, we crossed into the New Year (Kwanza!) sleeping in the guesthouse. After a great day of hanging out with a Seminary graduate named Mozart at his house, we caught the bus back to Hanga. It was something around a 15 hour ride, with the promised 10 minute lunch break. Also, good times.
On kind of a proud note, I did manage to read 3 and 2 halves books this holiday season! I read Where We Have Hope (memoir about Zimbabwe), The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccomatios (4 short stories by Yann Martel of Life of Pi- 2 of them I really liked), and Love in Action (a Peace Studies book I read last year by Thich Nhat Hanh, a sweet Vietnamese Buddhist Monk). I also read about half of Zen for Americans (its presence was needed elsewhere) and half of How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (wasn’t really meant as a holiday read).
This was my last “general overview of our travels” blog, and it is also intend to let you know that, like it or not, the blogging will become much more consistent again. Sure I like to keep people posted, but honestly I just enjoy it/it keeps me sane. Also, just a heads up, the next blog is going to be quite lengthy, so feel free to not read it and just ask me to tell you the story sometime if you really want! Happy New Year!
*Two great sidenotes:
1) There’s been a little rain in Hanga, and it’s actually green now!
2) I didn’t even ask for it, but our interim guestmaster brought me a “shelf” (more like giant dresser) for my room, so I am now on my way to an organized room! (On the downside, it appears I may no longer have space in my room to make embarrassing attempts at yoga in the mornings…)
We had a nice bus ride back from Lamu to Mombasa (I’m trying to give you a chance to work on your East African geography with all of this). We got the same driver that we had on the way from Mombasa to Lamu. This was very intentional, as this driver spent every other evening on Lamu, and he introduced us to the magical man who made what we affectionately call “goo”. It was some combination of lentils, sugar, oil, and goo, and it is goo-d! Also, we were happy to see our bus driver helping captain the ferry back to the mainland in the morning on the way to the bus, as our ferry on the way to the island may or may not have begun floating off and broken down, resulting in a mass transfer of people to two other boats. We did our best to be Johnnies during this chaos, but, if you are wondering, apparently in such a situation, “women and children first” does not apply.
Anyway, the ride back was a bit ridiculous... You know how normally bus seats are, how do you say it?...bolted to the floor and, you know, in one piece? Well, Simon and I seemed to find a couple of anomalies. Our seats immediately began tipping sideways, forward, and backward, and my seatback just about fell off completely. I found it pretty hilarious. Thankfully, the bus staff noticed and set to work immediately. There was already a rope around the window attached to Simon’s seat’s arm in order to, you know, keep the seats from falling over completely. The crew used some serious ingenuity and simply grabbed another rope, tied our seats together, and tied that rope to the overhead compartment. This was pretty effective (we made it back without disaster), but I did learn that a taut (I’m going for the fancy vocab. to make up for all the blogging I haven’t done) rope running right where one’s head naturally lies is a lot like a head slingshot during bumpy rides…Good times.
We stayed one day in Mombasa at our favorite hole-in-the-wall hostel. The staff was seriously so amazed that Americans would stay there that they continually made sure we were comfortable- showering us with toilet paper, soap, and a better lock than usual. We’re not sure if his placement was related to keeping us personally safe or coincidental, but Michael the boxer/security guard literally slept on a mattress outside of our door. I was really glad we got to see them again, as well as our friends at the most delicious restaurant in Mombasa who were so excited to exchange Swahili slang greetings with us that they may not have even noticed we don’t really speak Swahili. Such great people!
Anyway, after a 9ish hour bus ride from Mombasa to Dar es Salaam, we crossed into the New Year (Kwanza!) sleeping in the guesthouse. After a great day of hanging out with a Seminary graduate named Mozart at his house, we caught the bus back to Hanga. It was something around a 15 hour ride, with the promised 10 minute lunch break. Also, good times.
On kind of a proud note, I did manage to read 3 and 2 halves books this holiday season! I read Where We Have Hope (memoir about Zimbabwe), The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccomatios (4 short stories by Yann Martel of Life of Pi- 2 of them I really liked), and Love in Action (a Peace Studies book I read last year by Thich Nhat Hanh, a sweet Vietnamese Buddhist Monk). I also read about half of Zen for Americans (its presence was needed elsewhere) and half of How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (wasn’t really meant as a holiday read).
This was my last “general overview of our travels” blog, and it is also intend to let you know that, like it or not, the blogging will become much more consistent again. Sure I like to keep people posted, but honestly I just enjoy it/it keeps me sane. Also, just a heads up, the next blog is going to be quite lengthy, so feel free to not read it and just ask me to tell you the story sometime if you really want! Happy New Year!
*Two great sidenotes:
1) There’s been a little rain in Hanga, and it’s actually green now!
2) I didn’t even ask for it, but our interim guestmaster brought me a “shelf” (more like giant dresser) for my room, so I am now on my way to an organized room! (On the downside, it appears I may no longer have space in my room to make embarrassing attempts at yoga in the mornings…)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)