A surprise visit from the lovely “Mama Masai”

Today I was feeling a little sad, for a few reasons and as I walked home I was drifting off into daydreams and thinking about life. As I walked into my yard I noticed this pretty woman sitting under one of the trees in my yard, and along side her was my friend and Masai guard Manuel. 

I assumed it might be his mother because the night I got back from Spain, a few days ago, Manuel had told me, and Rosemary translated for me, that his mother was very sick and came from Arusha to go to the hospital in Dar Es Salaam. I couldn’t understand when he was trying to explain the sickness she was suffering from because he kept pointing to her breasts and my heart sank because I thought he was trying to explain that she had breast cancer. Rosemary wasn’t around so I didn’t know what was wrong with her, all that I knew was that she made a n 8 hour bus ride all the way from Arusha, which is about 1 ½ hours outside of Ngorongoro Crator Conservation Area, and an area where many Masai live.

My heart went out to Manuel because even though I couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying I could see the pain and hurt in his eyes and my heart went out to him. He told me that he wanted to go and visit her in the hospital but that he didn’t have enough money for the ride and or food to send for her.
I immediately gave him 10,000 shillings, about 8 $8.00 so he could go visit her. I imagine she felt so alone coming all the way away from her family and tribe. The wonderful thing is that Manuel’s brother came to visit last week and has been here ever since so in a way it was goo timing for her to come to the hospital.

That night Manuel returned home, in a round about, Swahili way, which I so desperately tried to understand, and in doing so I broke out my dictionary because I didn’t want to miss anything, and my translator :) Rosemary wasn’t home. The jist of our conversation was that his mother was in the hospital, and I couldn’t tell what for and that she would be coming to Bagamoyo to rest/sleep. I asked him where she was coming to because as he was telling me this I was thinking, ‘where will him mother sleep and rest , on the street, under the tree in my yard? I couldn’t understand him. He
pointed to town, and I assumed she would be staying some where with the other Masai tribes.  I now realize he was talking about the bus station station. The dalla-dallas(buses) are a wild ride, I like to call it. Public bus/transit system for most Tanzanian’s. They pack full like sardines and make about 10 stops before hitting Bagamoyo. They are hot and sweaty. The experience is like riding the subway at rush-hour, but it is like rush hour every time of day, only it’s a bus and it is cruising down the road dodging bicyclists, goats, cows and pedestrians all along the way. I couldn’t imagine this sick women having to endure the ride.

Today when I saw her sitting under the tree with her posture held as dignified as she possibly had the energy to do so, yet her head hung low and as I looked into her eyes I sensed her body and soul were hurting. I smiled at her as she looked at me with uncertainty. I walked up to her and one of Manuel’s friends who was sitting with her, on card board boxes, which they use as pads and or protection from the ground. They keep them up in the tree branches so no one throws them away. One day I looked up in my tree and wondered what the heck they were and what the heck were they doing up in the tree. I was dumbfounded, to say the least, until that same day I saw a few of the guys napping under the tree on about 4 flattened boxes. I looked up in the tree and realized what they were.

I greeted her and welcomed her in Swahili because Masai speak a little Swahili and their own language. I wanted to ask if she was Manuel’s mother so the boy that was sitting next to her
tried to translate in broken English/Swahili and I found out that yes, it was his mother. He was sitting under the other tree with about 5 other Masai while they were all chatting and cooking over the fire. He came over and introduced me to her. I was proud to be able to meet her. I felt saddened and immediately thought of what she might need or how I could help her, without disrespecting her state of illness, in any manner. I asked Manuel if she would like some food and water and he said yes, so I whipped some up and took it out to her. I peeped out of the window as she ate and drank the water; all the while she sat up straight and tall. I wasn’t sure what to do. She spoke very little Swahili so I
had a difficult time communicating with her so I would go and get Manuel. When that didn’t work because of the language barrier. Today I could feel the barrier like no other day. I wanted to know what was wrong with her health. I went and got Rosemary, who had just arrived home, and asked her to come and talk with Manuel and myself. Long story short she had pneumonia and came to Bagamoyo from the hospital in Dar because she can no longer afford to pay for the hospital stay. Once again, my heart sank.  He said they don’t have enough money to do X-Rays and won’t for about a month. I am gong to ask around at how much they might cost and see what we can all do to help.

I went inside and looked around for anything that might make her more comfortable. Keep in mind she is used to living in a mud hut with dirt floors, on a little bed made from cowhides. I looked out my window and she was humming a song. The Masai are always humming and or singing. I felt sad.

Then I noticed that Manuel was laying down a piece of foam outside my house, near this shed which sits just under this majestic palm tree. There next to the foam was something blue in a plastic bag. I went outside to look and it was a mosquito net to place over her while she slept. I’m thinking, OMG this sick woman has to lay on the ground, when she is feeling so sick and try to sleep. The settling thing is that she truly is used to these conditions, although there is no roof over her head.

I went back inside and paced my floor. ‘Should I bring another blanket, and as I looked outside to check on her again, I noticed the boys had brought her a blanket. So I decided to turn to some light African music to help sooth her soul or at least break up the nice form the kids yelling next door. Tonight she will sleep under my patio because it is really warm out. Here is this part of me where I want to ask her to sleep inside but I am a little afraid. Afraid of what, I’m not sure Manuel always sleeps out there so I think she will be comfortable. I will ask Rosemary what she thinks.

It is hard to watch another soul suffer just because they don’t have the money to pay for a hospital and or medicine, let alone and X-ray. Hundreds of people die everyday because they can’t afford healthcare even if it is a minor illness, or an illness that perpetuates into a serious condition due to the fact that they can’t sop it before it gets to a point of no return. I just want to cry. I wish I could reach out to her. I suppose I am reaching out to her in the only way that I know how – by surrounding her space with as much love and light that I can offer.

I’ll pray for her tonight.

 

 

Taking the time to see and experience all that is life

Life in Bagamoyo is full of seeing and or experiencing something new every day and especially if you really take the time to LOOK. Isn’t that what life is truly all about. I sure think so!

Today I woke up and hit the gym. Well my gym is out on my porch under this magnificent coconut tree that offers its shade with love and grace. I work out about 3 times a week and I start my routine running on the beach around 7:30 or 8:00, if I’m luck then I pump-it-up J well just a little.

I brought an exercise ball and rubber arm bands from the states because I knew I would want to continue to exercise and I knew there wasn’t any type of gym or equipment here. The closest thing I have seen to weights is this awesomely creative work-bench that Saiid and Emanuel created behind my house. Every morning or late in the evening I would here this knocking sound and the sound of someone either trying to go to the bathroom in a serious way, or someone doing some heavy lifting of some sort. So the next day I went outside and to my surprise I saw the most creative workout bench I have ever seen. It was a 1’ x 5’ board that was sitting on top of a 3 x 3 foot statue of an African man’s head and chest, and quite a dignified looking man too all buttoned up in a suit and bow tie and here to lend a hand, I mean head.  On the other side was a bunch of cement blocks and rocks. I thought to myself ‘how cool is this’ I love it! I did wonder what these guys did o keep so fit.

So today I started our running around my yard in circles – just kidding – I did lunges, squats and arm exercises. In doing so, I started to look all around me in all directions. I noticed a boy and girl all dressed up in their school uniforms looking at me inquisitively with total interest at what I was doing through the bushes, from the inside of the doorway. When they noticed me I greeted them and they shyly moved into the house giggling, as they always do when I’m working out. They are two of the cute orphans next door. In total I think there are about 10 children. At the same time I hear the goats goatin’ away inside the shack that belongs to the orphanage. This truly is a ‘shack” of all shacks. It is made from metal roofing, sticks and boards. This is also where they keep their hens, roosters and baby chickies. It is completely dark with no windows. I always feel like I want to go over there and let them free out of the darkness they are succumbed to. I know I know it is the way it goes. I still feel badly though.

All of a sudden the boys let the goats out to take them to the pasture right behind my house to graze. Here they come, four of them marching right into my yard, so darn cute that I want to go pet them. They go straight for the bushes that separate our houses and start munching away on the shrubbery then the boys whistle for them to move along.

Then right after them come all the chickies, about 5 chirping away with a couple hens scuttling into my yard as well and settle up on the mound of sand to squat in the shade with the two neighborhood doggies. This all took place while I had my stretchy bands wrapped around the coconut tree. I wanted to try something different today, and I love this tree so I thought what would it hurt if I used my bands around the tree instead of my porch beams. Well is could be me if a big fat coconut fell from the tree right on my head. It provided such a beautiful overhead view, with the sunlight shining through the leaves that were swaying in the breeze, helping to keep me cool.

As I moved around the coco tree to face I now faced the banana tree and I smiled at the little hiding spot my masai has created to keep his bedding and special items. One night he had a headache and I gave him some aspirin to keep. I had placed it in some tin foil for safe keeping. The next day I was pruning the tree and I noticed that he had put it inside the banana tree under some leaves. It looks like a little cocoon. It really is a great place where no one will look.  

As I continued my workout I noticed the cows and goats grazing back behind my house in this lovely field. As I’m enjoying taking in the view, my neighbor boy next door comes into my yard. He is just such a good boy and so darn cute. He runs little errand for us from time to time for about 1000tsh(a dollar) a pop.  Rosie, my friend and neighbor told me I don’t need to pay him, but I like to, and I notice she does at times too. So, here he comes and then I see him throw a rock and I walk around to see what he is throwing it at, I’m hoping not one of the dogs, and damnit, I look over and the little black doggie with the lopsided ear, who always makes me smile when I think how silly and cute he looks, is now crouching from the GD neighbor boy. I looked at him and asked, no told, him to please not throw rocks at the dog. No wonder all the damn dogs are so scared to come near people. He said ‘ok’, and walked off.

I continued on as two of my Masai friends, who have set up camp in my large compound area(yard), come back to camp. They sweetly greet me, as always and then sit under the tree. Their camp is a little shelter they have made under one of the big trees in the corner of my yard. I will write a story about Heidi’s Camp Masai another time. It is awesome how they have come to land in my yard. All my Masan’s friends now have a place to sleep, cook and hang out. I am quite impressed with how they have simply, yet creatively built a nice little space. See many of the Masai don’t have a place of their own to stay. They leave their families, usually from Arusha, in search of work. So this means they come and don’t have a place to live. They “squat” wherever they can, and it is usually in town on the street, and if they are lucky enough some people take them in and provide food and shelter in exchange for their services. Usually which are for being their day and night guards. Or, they proudly fend for themselves. They mean age is, I would guess, 22-25. Such amazing, resourceful people. I just love the Masai. I really enjoy having them around and I feel much safer because they all keep an eye out for me. Such good-hearted, sweet souls.

Pretty interesting hour of exercise, I’d say.  I’m feeling incredibly grateful for this wonderful day.

Let’s keep drumming: stay off the schoolgirl

Today as I was enjoying my morning cup of java and reading  the newspaper. As I pages through, the headline for the article above caught my attention. I thought, ‘what could this article be about; hmm drumming? Maybe schoolgirls want to take drumming lessons but they aren’t allowed to like the boys.  Or maybe, let the girls keep moving up in the world so let’s cut them some slack. What do you think?

Oh, by the way, I read The Gaurdian which is a Tanzanian newspaper written purely in English. Yeah!!! I do enjoy reading the paper and being that I don’t have a TV that can get any TV stations on and can olnlay watch movies, which is actually a good thing, I can get my news fill from the paper. I am quite intrigued at the way the global news is not only translated, I like hearing about the news around the world through the eyes of Tanzanians.  We don’t get a skewed perspective of the American media here, yet I do notice slanted messages and or stories that are clearly “tip-toeing” around political, social, religious, racial and or gender issues. Of course, it happens in every country around the world.

I found myself noticing while reading through this story how the writer, who is a woman, would take mental pauses, staying tactful and poised, and on par with the content of this story without getting to reactive and anger-ridden. If you read between the lines you totally get the message being conveyed. And, it makes one feel disgusted, saddened, outraged, and surprised, all in one.

It brings into perspective the many things I was wondering about the beautiful female children, soon-to-be women, in Africa. My heart goes out to many of them. And I am grateful and happy for the ones that break through to become the women they so CHOOSE to be.

As I read past the headline to the subhead I started to grasp the meaning of the article. And when I took in the image of two young girls, the age of my niece, who is 13, my heart paused and I took a deep breath.

I want to share a “paired-down version” of the story, paragraph by paragraph with you because it has affected me. It has answered a few unanswered questions about the young girls I see, talk to, share glances with and or just walk by each day. I want to be clear that this is not in regard to every young girl in Tanzania, but the unfortunate ones.

Parents should do whatever it takes to protect their children. The children’s security – and their future – lies in the parents’ hands. That is the first responsibility of parents and they should not be compromised over it by anybody with moneybags or a zipper they can’t control…

‘Parents should never negotiate with men who make school “children” pregnant. It  should be every parent’s wish to see that the “men” who cannot keep their hands off of schoolgirls should get what they deserve.’

Basically there is a region in Tanzania, called Morogoro, which is about a four hour bus ride from Bagamoyo and this is where they brought into the light this dark situation. A total of 218 girls dropped out of schools, and 130 left school due in last two years because of pregnancy. Mind you, these girls are as young as 12-16. Baby girls, shining with light and they are in school for goodness sake. A pure insult to these young girls who are taken advantage of by men who are much older than them, their teachers, TEACHERS!!!!, who hasten to offer money and other items to girl’s parents so that the scandal can be “hushed up.”

These poor girls suffer the consequences for the rest of their precious lives.  Not only have they been forced into sexual abuse, which is just saddening and unacceptable, but also they will miss out on their education and job opportunities, which will be very limited, or non-existent. What type of future does this hold for our beautiful young girls! This is now a young girls who has to become a mother and how long can she depend on her family for support. Many of these girls parents have a difficult time even sending their children to school in the first place.

These men completely turn their backs on the situation. “These men should face the full force of the law and this should be done transparently. Here is where the media should step in.” Hell yes they should. They are raping young women for gawd sake and these men are getting away with it. And they are doing so by negotiating with the child’s PARENTS.  

Ok I am taking a few deep breaths… “actually the more important or highly placed in his community the man is, the more important it is for him to be exposed for having ruined a child’s life. It would send a powerful message to the same ilk if communities make concerted efforts to ensure justice.”

“Furthermore, parents who agree to take money from these men and then forget about the whole matter should remember that they are putting greed firmly in front of their daughters’ lives. And if the daughters never forgive them, it would be totally understandable.” We look to our parents for absolute protection, without them whom do we have as young children to look to? These p arents are ones who chose to bring a child into this life in the first place. They are abandoning her choice on what she wants to create for her future in this life.

“Schools can also do a lot to protect girls from these type of men. Teachers can talk about how important it is to keep away from men who are suspicious even when they are relatives. The world has changed totally and even relatives and family friends can no longer be trusted.

Parents too, especially mothers can help steer their children in the right direction by warning them of the pitfalls they are likely to encounter on their way to adulthood.  What is annoying to almost every right-thinking person is that the men, who should now better than to go after schoolgirls, do this and actually continue to get away with this behavior.

Parents should do whatever it takes to protect their children. The children’s security and their future lie in their parent’s hands. That is the first responsibility of parents and they should not be compromised over it by anybody with moneybags or a zipper they can’t control.”

I find this article is the first step at shedding some light on situation that affects the young women of our and Africa's future. I chose to share this article with you today because I felt compelled to bring this issue and the innocents who become exposed to such a shadow, as far into the light as possible. 

Heid’s camp Masai

I laugh as I write this because, as my grandmother Cricket used to say, ‘it just tickles me.’ And it does so because I just realized I have manifested something very cool.

I first came to learn of the Masai culture and people when I came to Bagamoyo my first visit. To be honest I hadn’t heard of them until I came to Africa, or until I read about them prior to coming. My first experience in meeting a Masai was when I was teaching one day at Umoja – the group of artists I taught sales, marketing and promotional techniques and English to, back in December of 2008. I was in the middle of talking when this young man quietly walked up and took a seat with my other students. I welcomed him and asked his name. I spoke in Swahili because he spoke ZERO English. I kept stealing glances because he looked so interesting and COOL in such an earthy, colorful and tribal way. He was beautiful with his warrior-like appearance and his raw confident energy filled with wisdom beyond his years. I guess he was in his early 20’s. I was quite intrigued.  He wore his chukka and knife strapped to his side with pride and dignity. He sat for a few minutes and then left not to be seen again during my stay.

As I am sitting here on my porch writing this story Manuel, my Masai guard, is looking over my shoulder at what I am writing. He can’t read Swahili, let alone English so I told him I am writing about the Masai and he smiled huge.

I knew I would see the Masai in their true habitat when I would travel to the Ngorongoro
area for safari. As we drove along the region I was mesmerized by what I saw. I was drawn to the way the Masai lived, in their villages, doma’s(mud huts) and how they lived and harvested the land. They truly were salt of the earth. The women were adorned with all their tribal jewelry and dresses. The women were quite stand-offish I think because one, they didn’t speak English and two, because they have been so exploited over the years by foreigners who come and photograph them, write books on their people and culture, make millions and don’t give ANYTHING back to the people. Now they have been taught to stand up for themselves and they charge money for you to come to their villages and see their life. It is a win-win for all. I think… Which is why they do not like their pictures taken, unless, of course, you offer them money.

One of my most memorable and unforgettable moments was when I went to the Masai village on the last day of my safari journey. I met the men, women and children of this remote group of villages in the Ngorongoro conservative area. I asked my friend Eddy to please take us to a place where there were no tourists other than myself, so I could really see how they live and breath. I wanted and authentic experience and I sure got it. I got a tour of their homes, inside and out, I listened to the women, Eddy translated because he lives in a Masai area, while they spoke of the jewelry they made. The all came out to show me their creations and I was happy to buy their designs.

Two Masai took me around their property and explained how the animals grazed and they showed me many of the medicinal plants for the animals and people. It was so cool. I felt so grateful for the experience. I was just curious so I asked them if I could come and live with them. They told me yes I could although I would have to live completely like a Masai. THEY welcomed me. I smiled, and thought to myself, ‘this would be cool for a week and then I don’t think I could handle it for too long. Dirt floors, flies, bugs, mud huts no shower or toilet. I did think it would be cool one day.

Well my thinking seems to have manifested in another way because now the Masai are living with me on my land. Very cool how it all turned out and I get to live in my cozy house and still experience how they live, in a round-about way.

Manuel, is my Masai who left his family, wife and two children to come in search of work. I think he has been here for a few months and I need to ask him when he will go home. It is hard to communicate with him, so I use my neighbor Rosie next door when I really need to communicate with him. Masai have their own language so it can be difficult to talk with him. He speaks great Kiswahili, yet he mixes it at times with Masai.

We have become friends and he is quite protective of me. He is a sweetie. Once day I was reading my dictionary so I could tell him something and he took it and started to look it over. I went inside and when I came out I noticed he was trying to read it upside down. Bless his heart. He doesn’t know how to read. I turned it around like it was nothing and continued to talk to him.

Within a few weeks Heidi’s Camp Masai began. It started while Sutton and I went to safari and Zanzibar. I paid my Masai extra to watch my house day and night and he told me that while he slept he would have his friends watch my house. Awesome! So when I came home

Camp was all set up and still is. J My Masai told me the other day that he was going to be sad when I leave and that he will miss me and that he was worried about finding more work. My heart felt sad at the thought of saying goodbye. I don’t like to think about it. I like my little community here.

And, I just made a connection. The other night Manuel was braiding one of his friend’s hair on my front porch, they are great braiders and this is how some of them make money, and it was the guy who I met that day while teaching. Full circle, in more ways than one. 

My first day of Kiswahili

Starts tomorrow and I'm excited about this. I am dying to communicate better with everyone. Although I am learning fast, I want to learn all the proper grammar and sentence structure. I try to speak Swahili as much as I possibly can. Sometimes it takes too much energy to think, and I revert back to English.  

Richard will be my teacher. He is a fine gentleman with a great vibe and is quite smart and well put together. He currently teaches at one of the secondary schools, and teaches on the side, as well. He speaks 4 languages, Swahili, English, Spanish and French. He also teaches Gifty, my adorable neighbor girl who I will write about soon. Love her!!

I think I will take 2 classes a week. Not sure how much each class will be yet. He asked me to give him a price that I feel comfortable with. I will consult my friends. 

Hakuna matata! 

Getting around

In Bagamoyo, there are a many bicycles and motorcycles, few cars and Bijaji’s(like a took-took), and primarily a lot of foot traffic, all sharing the same small two-way, dirt roads. Most people walk to get every where so I have been walking far and wide to get every where. It can wear you out, especially when it is 85 degrees and 200% humidity. I live about 20 minutes from downtown Baga, so I find myself walking quite a bit. I know, I know it is the healthy alternative, but after two weeks of walking I decided to get my nerve up to hop on the back of a moto bike. You see people cruising on them everywhere with a man or woman sitting side-saddle style and at times riding normal style. Some times you see a driver and two passengers on one moto and on bikes too.

The other day I whistled one down. Well I tried to whistle and ended up spitting all over myself. Where was Sutton when I needed him. He must have seen my lips puckering up because he quickly turned around. I had a skirt on so I sat for a quick second trying to decide if I should sit like normal or ride like a girl, no a lady. I decided to ride like Heidi. I put my skirt between my legs and saddled-up. I don’t know why it took me so long grab a ride because it is so much quicker and only cost 1000 tsh, about .80 . I still enjoy walking but if I go to the market or just don’t feel like walking I hitch a ride. 

Bijaji’s are awesome too, especially when you are carrying a lot of stuff or if you are with another person. They cost 1000tsh-1500 depending. I have my Bijaji, taxi, bike and moto guys that I can call any time. I tip really well, an extra  500-1000 TSH and they love it. Most people don’t tip here. After working in the restaurant/bar business, you learn how wonderful it is to get great tips, and how much better service you give when you get them. 

It is wise to create a little, no a lot of loyalty around baga town!!!

The art of washing on, washing off and wringing out

Ahh the ritual of hand-washing. Last night I was talking to Sutton on the phone and he said, “honey, how am I going to do my laundry?” I said, “baby you have to hand-wash it.” And he paused and said, “I guess I won’t be doing too much laundry.” I laughed. We will see about that!

I have to admit I actually quite like getting up in the morning and doing my laundry. You need to set aside around and hour and a half, depending on your load size and any size here is a large load in terms of hand washing.  (smile) I absolutely appreciate the men and women who do their own laundry by hand. It really is “work.’ I am starting to get my technique down, that is for sure. I have watched a few of the girls and damn, they have it down to a science from the washing to the wringing. I have hand washed on camping trips and at Burning Man so I thought, ‘it’ll be a piece of cake.’ Cake, how I would love a delicious, big piece of chocolate cake with rich-n-creamy, cream cheese frosting. Mmmmmmm. Ok, back to laundry. 

I bought a big washing bowl, about 2 1/2 feet, some powder soap, because my liquid Woolite exploded in my luggage - what a pain in my ass that was - and some bleach.  The washing is the easy part, but then you have to wring out each piece really well, and set it in a separate bucket so you only have to fill the wash bowl one more time, in order to save time and save water. Once you wring it out you rinse it in fresh water and then your rinse it out again and wring it out again. Oh, wait; let’s go back to the washing part. I take back that this is easy. Now I understand the use of a washboard, which I never understood. I used to think about how much that must wear out your clothing and how difficult it appeared to be. I learned fast because when you have sort of dirt you need to scrub it out because a little swirl-around in the water isn’t going to cut it, and, you need a surface to scrub on

Wash on wash off. You have to let your clothing soak, and scrub each piece together to lather it up and get the dirt out. If the dirt isn’t coming out then you have to use a brush to brush it out. I saw the girls doing this, and caught on REAL fast. At first I thought, ‘that is going to ruin my clothing,’ and then I realized it is the quick solution to getting CLEAN clothing. I use the side of my bucket or put it on my own washboard, the log, just near the tree. I love such modern conveniences. I really do!

Rinsing off and wringing out. This is work and I have learned a great technique. Now I can wring out a pair of jeans in no time. Jeans and towels suck because they are so heavy. By the time I am done, I feel a heat stroke coming on. No, I am only kidding…

Hanging to dry. This is my favorite part because I feel like I’m running a 10K, and I am nearing the finish line. I also like the idea of the sun and fresh breeze drying my clothing. Unless, of course, it rains ½ hour after you have spent the past 1 1/2 hours washing/wringing. Things could be worse, right? !

We all share a clothing line that goes in between my and Rosemary’s house. It is a cord that crudely ties from the cement fence behind my house to the front porch area, and attaches to the top of the shed in front of my house. There is a stick/pole in the middle for added support. Sometimes Ester and the boys hang their clothing on  all the tall bushes that separate both yards if the clothing line is maxed-out. Talk about “ber-ner-ner-ner, ber-ner-ner-ner-ner ner-ner – the Samford and Son song comes to my mind, and makes me laugh. I choose not to air my laundry this way.

I really do enjoy the hand-washing ritual, and I have to say I bet my laundry hasn’t ever been this clean. 

A beggar can’t be a chooser

Even if it is a d-o-g.

You look into their eyes and it times I see fear, at others I see pain and the longing for unconditional love. I can go from feeling annoyed to feeling such sorrow for many of the dogs of Bagamoyo.  And kitties too.

You know how in the states people say,  ‘he/she treats him/her like a dog? Well the dogs really are treated like dogs here and it isn’t in a good way. Many times you don’t notice the dogs because they are everywhere, roaming about from year to yard, house to house, in search of food, and I imagine a loving hand that will pet them and not hit them.

I get the sense the dogs are not treated like pets, in most cases, now I am speaking in general terms and from what I have seen on a daily basis but they are treated with angst and frustration. It is sad because I absolutely LOVE dogs, and most pets, but these dogs I don’t care to pet too much, because one, they run and cringe at you, which gives me the inclination that they are abused and fearful to be hit, and two because they are so mangy, dirty, burned,  flea-ridden and who knows what else. They could have rabies so you have to take head when reaching out your hand – it runs the gamut.

There is this one female dog that looks as though she is about 2 months out from having had puppies. I could tell because her little ta tas look as though they had been sucked on by little babies.  I am a sucker for puppies. She kept coming into my yard, by the trash and every once in a while would shyly walk on by, looking at me with hesitancy, and at times she would approach me. I thought twice about petting her because I wanted to send her some love. As she got closer I noticed that her left ear looked as though it had been slashed at the base with a knife, and it looked as though each ear had been burned with oil or something because they had black splotches on them. It made me disgusted. As I went out to put my hand out to her, my neighbor Ester, who I like less and less every day, yelled at the dog, reached down to the ground to pick up a rather large chunk of cement to throw at her. I raised my voice and said, ‘NO, don’t’, and I shook my finger at her. She dropped the rock and gave me a smirking grin that I wanted to slap off her face.
I know people here are conditioned to treat the begging dogs like rats, and they get tired of them, but not in my yard or any where near me. I understand that they are pests and beggars, like our pigeons, but that is not excuse to continue the vicious cycle of abusive behavior. 

Now one thing is for certain, all the dogs look the same. There aren’t many breeds here, and I would assumer because they keep inner breading, and because in order to buy a ‘clean,’ unique type of dog, it would be quite pricey.

Today I was sweeping my front porch, and she came up and sat right in front of my porch. I said ‘hi’ and she finally let me pet her, I did, immediately wash my hands after, I know, I know but you just don’t know what these d-o-g-s might be carrying around. I noticed her ear was healing and I wanted to go in and grab some Vitamin E oil, and decided against it. I really didn’t want to touch her – it looked gross. Instead I pet her and rubbed her muzzy (muzzle). She tried to come up on my porch and said, “no. I didn’t want to start a habit. Talk about starting habits. I decided I wanted to feed her some scraps so I went in to the kitchen and brought out some rice, beans and steak,  I had made the night before. Just a little. I put it down, and she ate it up. Well she ate everything but the beans. I said to her, “beggars can’t be choosers.” She just looked at me with sweet little eyes that said, ‘that was delicious and I want more, please.’ 

Ok, so I am a push-over. I went in and got some steamed milk I had just made for coffee and poured it in a bowl that Ester had left outside. I told her to sit down, and she did and I put it down in front of her. She, of course, loved it and lapped it up. I went into my house to clean up a bit, and I looked over to my front door where she was sitting, patiently. I told her to go sit off the porch. Mind you, I am sure she doesn’t get a lick of English, so I said it in Swahili. She went out and lay down off to the side of my house.

Right now, as I am writing this story, she is on my porch peering around my open, front door. Again I tell her she needs to go off and she does. I also told her to keep it on the “DL.” (down-low)

Maybe I’m feeding into this vicious cycle, as well.

On this grey day

I woke up to a grey, smoke-filled day,  missing home a bit. The weather looks as though it might rain. As my grandma Cricket used to say, “shit or get off the pot..” I would always laugh, and I am smiling as I write this. She also used to say, ‘you’d loose your head if it wasn’t tacked on.‘ I laugh now in reflecting back, but most of the time it used to make me mad. SO I’m a multi, multi-tasker.

My neighbor, Emanuel, sure sounds African doesn’t it, who lives in the 8 x 8 room under the top level of the water tank with Saiid, has moved all of the trash and yard mulch out near the side of the road, and has set it aflame.  It smells so fresh and wonderful! Ha! Yes, this is how we rid of our garbage. We either bury or burn it.

The day after I moved in I asked Ester where I could put my garbage and compost and she pointed to the big pi full of plastic, metal, trash, cement blocks and an occasional pecking hen, and said that I should throw it there. I was a little set aback, even though I had seen the trash pile, the day before. I didn’t know at the time that once it got full you would burn it. This pile is about 12 feet from my front door near a lovely palm tree that must just love this weekly occurrence of cleansed, oxygenated smoke.

My yard it full of these gorgeous, stunning trees that breathe with energy and vitality. I am not sure the English name but in Swahili they are called Mkungu. I also have two hugo cocunut trees and quite a few baby palms. The palms had just been planted when the other day some cows barged in while on their way out to graze, and munched them all up in about 3 minutes flat. I couldn’t believe it. I watched from my bedroom window as the boy lost control of about 5 cows and a few goats and they came right into our yard and straight to the newly planted palms and ate them all up. I was so pissed off. Fat cows! I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what to say in Swahili. Saiid ran out and started, I assume, cursing in Swahili. It wasn’t the boys fault, actually, because the cows had run ahead of the pack and found heir way through our gate, which really isn’t a gate because there is no closer – just cement walls.  Welcome one, welcome all.

Right under one of the beautiful trees is where we do our laundry.  It is about 20 feet from my house. The first day I ventured out to do some hand washing, my morning workout - no joke- and I thought about how this lovely tree gets to absorb all of this grey water from our bleach, soap-ridden laundry. I felt horrible knowing I am contributing to our Earths suffering; yet there is nothing I can do. The water spout is right there, next to a few cement blocks and a log that you can sit on while scrubbin’, rinsin’ and washin’ away.  

Once again, contributing to another vicious cycle(s).  

Stop - Thief

I had heard through CCS during my last stay in Bagamoyo that you shouldn’t walk alone at night on certain roads, especially by the beach, or anywhere near darkly lit streets.  And, if you did , even if you were a block away from the CCS compound, that you should call a taxi, more so if it was around 11:00 at night, which is the curfew and if the police see you wandering around you might get picked up and or arrested. It really is for safety and for keeping the riff raff off the streets.

 I didn’t pay too much head to it because I didn’t go out a lot at night when I was volunteering, mind you we had a silly curfew of 10:00, and if you read my last blog you know that I broke it numerous times. If I did go out I was with local friends and or other volunteers.  When I  was talking to Mama C(Clementina) and Charles they said the main road, which I lived off of, was quite safe at night except after 11:00 and later.  But any time after 11:00 you should have an escort, and preferably not a muzungu, unless it is a man or a group of people.

So I felt safe knowing that. I think it was the third night I was here and I was going to meet a friend of mine who wasn’t too far away at a local bar. It was about 7:30 and had just gotten dark as I walked out of my home.  I remembered the main route because I had been walking on it for a few days. I felt pretty safe because there were a few people out on the streets ahead of and behind me. Well, it is true, safety does come in numbers. I was walking down the main road and there was a switch off and, yes, of course with my sense of direction, which is far from accurate, I took the wrong road, but only for about 30 seconds until I realized it was the wrong direction

So I quickly, turned around and walked over to the other road. I kid you not, no more than 10 second I heard some walking behind me and I could see the shadow. Well it had been raining that day so I kept jumping over and around puddles of water and I noticed that every time I jumped and moved around so did the shadow behind me. I actually started to feel a tiny bit scared. Oh and I forgot to mention that I was now walking on the part of the street where the friggin lights were out.

So I moved around one more puddle and so did the “shadow,” and I thought to myself I hope the hell that it is someone walking close to me, and as soon as I thought that the steps behind me quickened and I thought  ‘F*$@’ I am going to just turn around and see right now. My heart was beating like mad and as soon as I got turned around a guy came running up to me, from about 5 feet away, and grabbed may purse. Dumb move on my part. HUGE note to self. Don’t ever walk alone at night  and don’t walk alone at night with a purse. I actually walked out the door without it, but went back for it because I was carrying too much stuff: mosquito spray, 15,ooo tsh, my phone and baby wipes, oh yah and the keys to my room. J. 
All which would not fit in my jeans.

He was about my height and I could tell a dirty, scumbag beach rat. I quickly turned into fight, not flight mode. I grabbed my bag and held on for life and as he pulled I yanked back with all my might yelling NO, NO and NOOO. As we were pulling back and forth my phone flew out, thank gawd, and there was a point within the 20 seconds of struggle, that I was going to haul back and kick him right in the stomach, but I decided, within seconds that it wasn’t a good idea because I didn’t know if he had a weapon or would get pissed off and hurt me. I started screaming at the top of my lungs, not so much out of fear, or pain, but because I wanted people to come running and catch this piece of dirt. I yanked so hard; screaming that he either cut my purse string or it snapped and he took off running while I was screaming, and shaking. I picked up my phone and thought to myself, OMG I have just been robbed, and could have been injured or killed and, for a brief moment I almost cried but for some reason I didn’t. I quickly collected my whit and called Charles and told him what had just happened. I told me to wait and he would come pick me up on his motorcycle and go to the police. I hung up and walked, no I walk-ran and burned rubber to the main road where there was light and a few people. A girl and guy behind me were yelling ‘dada, dada (sister), are you ok?’ and I yelled back ‘yes I am ok. ‘ ‘Are you hurt,’ they asked, and I said ‘no.’ When I got to the main road I was breathing so hard that I had to stop and catch my breath. Charles showed up about 5 minutes later, very concerned and feeling horrible that I actually got robbed right on the main road so close to home. He thought we should go to the police station, but then decided against it because there were no witnesses and would be a waste of time. He asked me to take him back to the spot where it happened and he said: ‘oh yes Heidi, the beach is right over there. I didn’t realize it because I hadn’t walked down that road or even been to the beach yet. Hellllooo. He said that the guy was probably waiting for someone to walk by, right in that dark spot on the road, and it just so happened to be ME.

He took me to meet my friend Nassa and told me that I should tell him to spread the word so that people will be on the look out because word travels fast in regard to almost anything, and especially lame ass thieves, and the guy could possibly get spotted and caught. I was lucky I didn’t have any real valuables on me and that I got my phone back.

I took a taxi home and ever since then I don’t walk alone at night ANYMORE. EVER. My friends either walk me home or I take a moto or taxi no mater where I am or how close to home I am. I was in the wrong place at the right time or maybe in the right place at the right time because it could have been far worse if it happened any other time.

After that ‘incident’ I was a little worried about living alone and wanted to make sure wherever I lived that it was a. either in a gated compound or b. had a night guard.  The house I was interested in renting was across the road from Charles, where I was living at the time. Block P is one of the safest areas in town because it is near the police station, government officials and other muzungus' homes. I asked Charles if he really thought the area was safe, and even more so, safe to live alone as a solo white female. He said yes, as long as it was protected in some way.

That next day Charles came with me to look over the house and yard, and he thought it would be a great place to live, ONLY if I had either a metal grilled door or a masai to watch over me. I decided to get the Masai because the landlord wouldn’t let me do anything to the door or entryway. Done I rented the house that day.

Sutton honey, my dear friends and family, I just couldn’t tell you because I KNEW you would all worry, like mad about me so I decided against it.  I almost told Sutton about 3 times but I didn’t want to worry him and or ruin his day, or night, week, … I really am safe and careful now. It happened for a reason: and good thing it happened sooner than later to help wise me. Well it wasn’t a good thing but ya’ll know what I mean.

The first night in my African home

Charles called his best friend and we moved all of my furniture and suitcases over once it got dark  to make sure the wrong people didn’t see someone moving into a new house, and that this someone was a muzungu. I was a little nervous about that.

I spent the next 2 hours cleaning the shit out of my new house.  I almost exfixiated myself because I wanted to make sure any and all dirt/germs were mine. Not only was I smelling bleach and ammonia, but I had also sprayed mosquito spray in my house to kill off any and all of the buggers. Now, when you spray this toxic substance you have to keep all of your windows closed for about an hour. What a retard, I actually stayed in the house continuing to clean because I could NOT go to sleep unless the entire place was spotless.  It wasn’t left too clean – not HEIDI clean.

I didn’t want anyone to see me go outside, and I didn’t know anyone yet, so I stayed inside.  What a dumb arse, for sure.   After about an hour I started wheezing a bit. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore so I went outside and sat down taking big ‘ deep breaths. After a few hours I decided I would read and go to bed. I didn’t have my Masai yet, so I was scared to fall asleep. As I lay in bed, I felt like I was having asmah ummm because I was. I did feel ok opening all my windows so that helped.

I didn’t sleep that well because every little noise freaked me out, and when I woke up to the sun shining in my room, I sighed with relief. I called Charles and he said the Masai would come to my house this evening before it got dark. Another sigh of relief. This made me feel much more at ease

Hunting and gathering and movin’ in’

Since I was moving into a house and I didn’t have any furniture I was ready to start searching for furniture and kitchen appliances. When I told Charles about the fact that I was moving and asked him if he new where I could get certain items he said “I have already thought about it and you can borrow all the furniture in your room, the little refrigerator, the small couch in our living room, a wicker chair for you porch, and a living room table. And maybe we can work out a little price that you feel fair about. You give me a $ amount and I will let you decide what is fair. I felt so grateful because he just saved me a lot of time and money. I told him I would let him know the next day.

I had actually asked Ester if I could use her bed frame, and she said yes, so I had a bed and then Charles let me take the mattress I was using too. She also left me a tiny table and shoe rack ;)

I have been blessed with meeting people who want to help and share to make sure I am provided for and content with my living in Baga. I thought about how much to offer him and I put a price to each item and came up with 200,000TSH, about 175-180 USD’s. When I told him he smiled, laughed and said how about 200 USD’s and I said absolutely. I could have easily spent 600USD buying everything, at least.

On the 5^th day I need to gather some of the last items, kitchen supplies, dishes, silverware, cooking pans and a cook stove. Charles picked me up on his moto and took me to his friends shop where I bought everything I would need for a few months. We bartered over the final price and got him down about 10%. I walked out of there spending about  145,000 tsh(130.00USD).  Once we  had everything all set, we calleda taxi to take me to my new home.

Charles has been an angle, to say the least. Wonderful man and his wife Doreen is just as adorable. 

My house

Ester is her name and her “boyfriend, so-called husband, so-called fiancé, owns the house that she is living in while he lives in Zurich. She doesn’t speak much English so I communicated with as much Swahili as I could and Nassa translated for me.

We walked through all the shortcuts, and along the way I was thinking, oh hell no am I going to be hitting these path alone day or night for fear of getting lost. After about 20 minutes, we arrived at the house, which it set back behind an unfinished, cement fence with no gate.  There are beautiful trees, coconut, mango and palms and the area was littered with trash all about. And the chickens and roosters were scattering about, along with the dog that was standing high on, what I noticed to be a mound of trash.

The house is just adorable, clean, white, pure, NEW, and had great vibes. The exterior is all white with lovely wooden beams/stucco covering over the porch that is laid with marble-white tile.  The windows are nice and have great screens, and there are a tight lock on the door. I pushed and pulled and it felt strong. :) As soon as she opened the door I knew I wanted it. There was an open living room with “small’, yet perfect for me, dining area, and a little kitchen that had a sink, yes a nice sink. Imagine that. There wasn’t a stove or fridge so I had to hunt all that down. The bedroom is great and has a ceiling fan, as does the living room. Sweet!! The bathroom is great, compared to most, which don’t even have a toilet, but a porcelain urinal to do you do into. This bathroom actually has a toilet, sink and tub with a shower. I was in heaven. Most bathrooms you either have to use a bucket and wash up or a rinky-dink shower. AND, bathtubs are hard to come by. I was happy for this considering it is a ritual for me to take baths every night. There is not hot water though, just cold that comes from a huge tank in the back of the house. There is also a closet area.

I asked how much for the house and told her I would be staying around 3 ½ months. She wanted 200,000 TSH a month; about 175.00. I would have to pay about $10.00 per month for electricity. DONE, in my mind, although Africans do like to bargain and welcome it, so I said I would give here 175 a month since I would be staying for 3 months, guaranteed She looks and said “ohh noo noo, with a big grin.”  I know exactly what she was thinking; Muzungu Money! I want! I told her I needed to think about it and call her in the morning because I was also looking at a few other houses that day.  She was going top call her her boyfriend, husband, fiancé to see if he would go for that.

The next day Nassa called her to ask about the price and she said he wasn’t budging. I thought. No worries, I would pay $300.00 for it because it is one of the nicest houses around and in Block P one of the best neighborhoods to live in Baga. We signed an agreement that day, and I moved in about 5 days later. She was currently living in the house and had to take a few days to move out, plus I had to hunt and gather my house wares.

See she get some of the rent, and she needs the money, so she moved out, and moved into this little, tiny room/shed, although its rather nice, under the water tank. And above her room is a ladder that leads to another tiny room where two other guys live. I do like the idea of quite a few people living around me so that was poa (cool).

pictures to come soon...

Looking for my little African house

Once again, I have manifested a wonderful little house that is everything I had hoped for before I came to Africa.  I had faith that I would find exactly what I wanted. My friend Nassa was awesome and had a few places for me to look  at before I even got here. I didn’t even have to ask him  a few days after I got into Bagamoyo he told me. I was stoked because I had no idea where to start.

The first place he took me too was a little shabby, yet in a pretty safe part of town. There were about 6 little houses, 2 adjoined together. I walked up and a girl came out of her house and just stared, she didn’t smile or greet me by saying, mambo vp, dada or Habari za mchana, (hello how are you or hello, how are you finding this afternoon?) She just stared. I thought, yah not sure about this vibe, at all.  I smiled back and her lip curled into a tiresome, lazy smile, and then she went inside.  Hmm I didn’t feel so welcome here. His friend, Rashidy came to meet us and took me to see the place that was for rent. We walked up to this nice, little white house, that looked like it had a good two days to be finished . I asked, “how do we get in to see it?” Rashidy said  “I am going to call the owner.” These Africans, ‘oh come and see the house and let us know what you think…’ and they hadn’t even called the landlord or had a key.  He said come and see my house and wait for the guy to come and let us in. He told me that his house was like the house I was going to see. 

We sat down and waited, and waited. All of a sudden I heard this horrible, loud, hip-hop music blaring from one house, and loud African pop coming from another house. I looked at Nassa and said, “dude what is the age of the people that live here?” Please ask Rashidy if they play this loud music all day and night because there is no way in hell I will deal with this. Right then I new I wanted to leave. Not to mention we had been waiting an hour for the guy that he couldn’t get a hold of.

As we were walking back to the house I was staying I saw a friend of mine, a volunteer from CCS riding his bike, and he stopped and asked what we were doing and then told me he had just taken a look at this lovely little house because he was thinking about staying, but wasn’t sure. He gave us the directions, I looked at Nassa and he said “I know that girl so let me give her a call.”  He made a few calls to his friend and then he said “let’s go meet with her in town and she will show us the house.” I thought ‘go in town, we just came from town and it takes 20 minutes to walk in the hot sun and we had already been walking around for 2 hours. And we are right at the house.’ I know, I know, walking is great, but not when you feel like your entire body is glistening with sweat. J  I was anxious to find a house so I agreed. 

The neighborhood roosters and hens

Rooster say whaaat?

I woke up really early today, 6:30 early. A tad bit on the early side for me, although it feels reinvigorating to get up and welcome the beautiful sun rising.

Even though I had my earplugs in, yes I know silly because is quite quiet here, all except for the early morning rooster calls.  Every morning you can hear the rooster(s)! cock-a-doodle-doin’. Today it sounded like they cockadoodled, “heidi.” Just kidding.

Today they were extra cock-a-doodle doin’ and I woke up at 6:30. It is as common as moto bikes and cars on the road to see chickens crossing the roads, roaming the streets, back alley ways, front and back yards and you can always find them in my and my neighbors yards cruising about looking for food. Yesterday I was doing my laundry and I looked over to see a couple chickens and chicks squatting near on the trash pile, just chilling out. There used to be a time when I thought little chickies were adorable, but when you see these ones everyday and see what they eat – um yah, not so cute.

Last week I went to go buy a live chicken, -YES, live chicken - a story/adventure that I will tell you about later. When I stepped up the cage, not counter, they asked me if I wanted a bush chicken or a town chicken. I must have looked like a dear in the headlights, although like back home “free-range came into my head, and I said ‘bush.’ Wise choice. I have seen what goes in these Chickens and I know what stays in their bodies, and I have seen what they all do when they hit the town.

Hellll –NO we won’t go.

Today I went Jogging on the beach

I have been spending my mornings running on the beach as it is only about a 5 minute walk from my house, which I am thankful for almost everyday. I try to get up and hit the beach by about 7:30-8:00 because it gets pretty hot shortly there after.

I walk down the road a ways and take a trail that winds down overlooking the beautiful ocean. It is usually lo-tide which is an interesting site to see. Nzuri sana – quite beautiful and refreshing way to start my day. I stay on alert until I get on to the beach because there are a lot of bushes and curves and I do have to remember to keep safe. I don’t usually walk back up the hill though, one because I am worn out and two because I can’t see so well.

It is interesting scenery all along the beach. There are some old ruins left to watch stand along the beach and some times I see a man or boy sheepishly sauntering out, waking up to their day.  Yesterday I was running and I noticed someone out of the corner of my eye, over at one of the ruins that hugs the eroding hillside and sprawls out onto the beach, and I laughed because there was a naked man, standing just outside one of the walls, slipping on a pair of pants. I kept strolling right along.

The other day I was jogging and as I hit my finish line I decided to walk further down the beach and collect shells along the way. It was so nice, the sun was starting to beat all down the right side of my body and I decided it was getting to hot so I headed back. I hesitated as I looked up and down he trail to make sure I was all alone and no one had followed me, ok so I am a little more cautious, than some people considering. I decide to walk up when I noticed some rustling in the bushes moving my way, so my gut said turn around and walk down to the hotel and cross over.  I wasn’t sure if it was a chicken, because the rustle around everywhere, a dog, or even a person, and the thought came into my mind,  ‘OMG what if it’s a lion,’ and I turned right around and walked even faster. The funny thing – no lions will ever be at the beach.  I didn’t wait around long enough to see. I’m sure it was a dog, and I was the chicken.

The beach really is safe during the day because there are a lot of locals and other muzungus running and walking around going here and going there.

I haven’t ever lived so close to the beach and I LOVE it.

Ra rafiki yangu, Mama C – Clementina

Mama C was our CCS “MAMA,” she basically helps run the organization and takes care of all the services, volunteer placement partners and the volunteers. We became friends toward the end of my stay, before I went off to safari. I like her vibe the moment I met her, although there were times when I couldn’t figure her out. I think it was a cultural thing and it takes time for some African women to warm up to you, and open their hearts, freely.

We sat down one day, for a few hours while our other friend Flora braided my hair for 6 hours, and talked about our careers and dreams. She has a tailoring business
in downtown Baga where locals go to have their shirts and pants made, and she also makes school uniforms for the community. She and I have been discussion creative ways to expand upon and grow her business by reaching our to the tourist market. I am going to give her new ideas for clothing samples, primarily for women: purse, clutch, skirts and cloth belt designs.  She mentioned she had an extra space in the back of her tailoring store and said she asked me if I thought setting up a massage area would be attractive and I immediately said YES. Great idea and then I told her she should have a girl come in and do mani’s and pedi’s too and serve tea, have magazines to read and offer coffee out front and inside, as well. She loves this idea and is in the process of building out the space.  I told her I would help her design it and his made her shine with smiles. Although I am sure it will be a pole, pole (SLOW) process since she is slammed with volunteers and also her tailoring business.

I gave her a bit of advice that I constantly try to remind myself, focus on one idea at a time so you can put the best of your energy and efforts forward. Otherwise your many ideas become less strong -watered down. She liked that.

Her other idea, which she would love for me to partner on in some way, is to create a cultural home stay compound where women and men, like myself, who want to come to visit Bagamoyo to live and immerse yourself in culture be it through painting, learning batiking, working in the hospitals and or schools, going on safari, basically anything you want your experience to be you can create on your own time. It won’t be a volunteer program but pure cultural immersion at your own leisure.

It is a fantastic business idea because you can visit and have a SAFE place to live with your own little cottage that would have a fully equipped kitchen, bedroom and bath and a also a communal kitchen for the entire group of cottages.  If you don’t want to cook for yourself you don’t have to.  I think it is a wonderful concept so her and I are going to get together, flush it out and, first I am going to help her write the business plan, to the best of my abilities. She has the land she just needs a solid plan, start building it out and they will come…

Nassa Pumé

Nassa is such a wonderful friend of mine that I met when I volunteered the first time in Bagamoyo. I met him at the internet café and instantly new we would be friends. We share the same vibe and he is a soul brother for sure. Beautiful soul full of love and light and I am grateful for our friendship. We spend a lot of time sitting around and listening to music, one of my all time favorite things to do, and talking life.

He was born in Dar Esalaam where his mother was the 2^nd or 3^rd wife to his father who was Muslim, and has since “expired,” as they call it the same year my father also passed away. He was raised by his mother and saw his father a few times a year when he would either go visit him in London or his father would come to Tanzania. Although Nassa was raised Muslin he decided at the age of around 10 that he didn’t vibe and or connect with the religion and practice. He is a rasta at heart and you can tell he was raised by a wonderful, loving mother. He is a respectful guy that has a heart of gold and spirit of the earth and universe. We actually share the same birthdays too which is rare because I have only met maybe one other person with the same b-day as me. Pisces/Aries cuspers rock!!

He is a painter, artist and total hustler. I love it. He can find whatever you need most of the time, whenever you need it and he expects nothing but love and respect back. He spent his life trying to make ends meet which is why he is a true soldier, in my mind. He has studied off and on to be a safari guide and a painter, although when the money runs out, which id does in many cases with students who are supporting themselves, they have to discontinue their studies. It is such a pure shame and incredibly unfortunate and I have seen this many times with the locals that I meet.

Nassa has been an angle and wonderful friend who has been a strong support, he has helped introduce me to people, he found my house, he is my translator and English teacher and most of all, rasta brother.

Ra rafiki yang, Charles and UKUN - the HIV/AIDS organization he mans

My new friend Charles is such a bubbly, happy man with wonderful energy. He was a joy to live with and to get to know. We would sit around and have discussions about life in America and Africa, at great lengths, and I am grateful for his company. He runs one of the largest AIDS organizations in Bagamoyo, called UKUN. 

UKUN is a non-governmental, non-political and non-profit making organization and its mission is to contribute to the prevention and mitigation of the HIV/AIDS pandemic through sensitization and the provision of comprehensive home-based care services and support to People Living with HIV/AIDS (PLHA) and Orphans and Most Vulnerable Children (OVC).

It is a wonderful organization that truly supports the community, even at times when the primary, umbrella donor hasn’t released the promised funds for what can be up to 5 months. Such political BS!!! That is an entirely other topic of discussion: The corruption in Tanzania and most of Africa. UKUN then has to make do with whatever resources they can find. Sometimes the funds happen to come right out o Charles’s pocket, which I find very unfortunate. Other times people affected and or exposed don’t get to receive medicine, and or adequate care. We have had many discussions on the AIDS epidemic issues(s), and I’ve learned such a great deal about the problems that these poverty stricken communities, and families have to endure when taken by, and or exposed to HIV/AIDS.

One of the main problems is if a family member is taken by HIV/AIDS then the, obviously, the entire family is affected. Not only is the medicine incredibly expensive, but it will make you very sick and weak, and without food and proper care, the individual and all who are exposed, suffer.  I know I am not an expert on this issue. I am just sharing what I have been learning.

For example if a mother contracts the virus then she is too sick and weak to work, let alone make meals for herself and her family. In most cases, the family is already living in poverty, so they can’t afford to put a solid meal on the table. With little to eat, the mother lacks the nutrition and energy necessary to sustain her work, with no work there is no money, no money, no food for children, and no uniforms so they can go to school. Children must have a uniform to attend school. No uniform, NO school. NO education. NO future job, and the cycle continues. 

If mother unfortunately dies, then who is left to take care of the family and the children? Therefore, the family unit and entire community suffer. This is a HUGE, common problem, and as a result there are many orphanages and homeless individuals. Many times a grandmother, who many times lives with the family, or older sibling cannot support the family. In turn, the children have to spend a few days, if not all their time, at an orphanage where they can get food and shelter. This is where the term “vulnerable” children comes from.  It breaks my heart.

It is my plan to start working with Charles a day or two a week, wherever he needs my help. He has other volunteers from CCS, yet I can probably help in the areas where they are not contributing.