Monday June 8, 2009—Day: An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but there aren’t any apples in Mwanza…

Monday June 8, 2009—Day: An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but there aren’t any apples in Mwanza…

Today my stomach feels a bit funky…but nothing like my roommate, Pamie’s, stomach feels.  She drank a glass of tape water on Saturday because she was very thirsty and there was nowhere to buy water and now she is suffering from much more than thirst.  She went to the hospital to get tested for malaria and bacteria and apparently she drank contaminated water with some parasites in it.  The fact that the water was the color of weak coffee might have given her a clue when she drank it.  Hopefully it isn’t anything too serious and it will be out of her system soon. Unfortunately, she can’t venture further than a few seconds from the bathroom so she can’t go to work all week.

Our neighbor across the hall, Ashley (a student from Canada), is also sick and went to the hospital to get checked out too. She has one ring of malaria (this is the weakest) and it doesn’t seem there is anything the doctors can do for one ring, other than rest and prophylactics, which she is already taking as a preventative. On top of that, Kelly, another intern at Kivulini who is a law student in Canada was feeling very under the weather today.  Maimuna (Director of Kivulini) suggested that she go get tested for malaria since it is very cheap (between $2-$5) and fast and easy at a clinic she suggested. Since Kelly is very afraid of needles and it is no fun to go “exploring” when you are sick, I went with her.  The doctor enthusiastically greeted us outside of his clinic and brought us inside. It was a simple prick on the finger to get some blood, he did some stuff, and put some dye on the blood.  Since he didn’t see any malaria under the microscope Kelly got a negative diagnosis.  Halfway through the process, we also found out that he is a veterinary doctor, which was a little disconcerting…but, it seems that malaria is easy to locate and he seemed knowledgeable and very friendly.

Malaria seems to be everywhere here. The locals talk about it like it is as common as allergies in the US. In some ways it is treated nonchalantly because people often have it and come to work ill with malaria. On the other hand they acknowledge that it can become dangerous quickly if it is not caught early, and this is especially true for Westerners since we haven’t built any natural immunity.

Today was also my first time walking alone.  This may sound like a simple and easy feat, but between the shouts of Mzungo, pleadings for money, and jeering laughter, it is both intimidating and can be scary.   After I picked up some groceries at the Mzungo grocery store (where Nutella is $12!) Ingjerd (Norwegian student of anthropology) walked me to an ATM so that I could get out some money, but then she had to leave and walk a different direction. The ATM is about a half an hour walk from my apartment and I am sill very uncomfortable with the chaotic layout of the city.  As I was waiting in line for the ATM (there is always a line for the ATM) I felt very vulnerable.  It seemed like everyone around was looking at me and it was on a very busy street.  I also realized that it was later in the day than I thought and the sun was going to go down in about a half an hour to 45 minutes.  Feeling like Cinderella, rushing to get home before dark, I realized that perhaps visibly taking out lots of money from the ATM in front of a crowd of people, by myself, as an Mzungo, and unsure of how to get home, probably wasn’t the smartest idea. I left the ATM line and quickly walked away making sure I wasn’t being followed. I walked home New York style, literally passing everyone on the sidewalk. Here, people walk vvveeerrryyy slowly because it is hot and no one ever seems to be in a rush. At one point a kid was asking me if I wanted to buy some lighters and literally had to use a small jog to keep up with me. It turns out my walk home was fine, and I even received some police “mambos,” which is the slang version of hello (what’s up).  I probably wouldn’t have had any problems taking out money, but for my first time by myself it was a little too much to handle. I guess I will have to go to the ATM tomorrow, hopefully with some Mzungo moral support.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Thursday, June 4, 2009:

Beep Beep!!! I have never seen such overuse of the car horn while driving.  Drivers don’t slow down here, instead they just drive around whatever is blocking the road and beep in hopes that no one is on the other side of the road. Today I rode my first dala dala.  A dala dala is the local form of transportation (aside from walking) and it is a van that drives around and picks up people. Each van has a name on it that specifies the route it takes and it costs about 25cents.  These vans are literally packed to the brim. They barely stop to pick up passengers are already speeding up before the door is closed, that is if the door can even be closed. Usually the dala dala’s are packed so full that people are literally hanging out of the windows and doors while the van in driving.  This is especially problematic when people’s armpits are literally in your face, when people have been walking all day, it is over 80 degrees outside, and deodorant isn’t even sold in most of the stores here. I think you get the idea, it is often very smelly here, even when you aren’t sitting on a bus under people’s armpits and just standing somewhere and someone lifts up their arms. All in all, it is part of the charm...

Today I visited a feeding center today through an organization called Chemichemi. Chemichemi is a Swahili name meaning “spring water.” The organization was formed under Kivulini and now works independantly. They have feeding centers set up in rural communities  improve the health status of the community, children under five years old, and pregnant mothers through the use of indigenous plants as food and medicine. As we were driving to the feeding center we stopped at another location to drop something off and, as usual, a group of people surrounded the vehical to see what was going on.  I was sitting in the back of the car when a young boy about 4 years old walked up to the car and put his hand on his hips, as if posing, and his T-shirt that “51% of America really scares me” with a map of America and the red and blue states highlighted. I am sure that the boy had no idea what his shirt really meant, it was certianly a hand me down (people’s shirts here often say funny things because they don’t understand the meaning of them and many clothes here are second hand), but it couldn’t have been a more perfect political statement.

My wonderful and interesting day finished with a $1 sunset yoga class at a hotel outside of Mwanza, on the banks of Lake Victoria.  The yoga was followed by a delicious dinner of Tapalia and Nile Perch fish caught freshly from Lake Victoria that morning.  I definitely plan to continue the coming two times a week to yoga classes. 

Wednesday, June 3—Mwanza day 5: A Taste of Life in Tanzania

Wednesday, June 3—Mwanza day 5: A Taste of Life in Tanzania

Bugs bugs bugs everywhere. As I sit here scratching a bug bite I am reminded of bugs, not that I need much reminding because I cannot escape them here. Before I leave for my internship in the morning, instead of wearing perfume, I lather myself in deep woods bug spray. When I get home I scour my room for cockroaches invading my privacy. I usually find two or three throughout the night, in addition to a fascinating variety of ants, and a plethora of other little bugs. Most of the time, I just try to keep the bugs from crawling in my bed. Luckily Maimuna kindly bought me a mosquitoes net, so that keeps the mosquitoes away from me and hopefully the malaria too! But the ants are really everywhere. I do my best to keep them away but they are always find a way to invade. In the kitchen I refrigerate everything (which is a shame because the fruit and vegetables never taste as good cold) and in my room I don’t eat. The few snacks I brought, I keep wrapped up tightly. This morning I got to my internship and realized that there were ants all over my bag. Thinking I must have set my bag down in something sticky I brushed the ants off and found more. Seemingly thousands of tiny translucent ants with huge pinchers on the front were crawling all over my bag inside the front pocket where I had (I thought) safely stashed away the precious second half of a granola bar. Apparently nothing is safe!

Music music music all the time. The music here never stops. When people call me on the phone they think I am having a party in my apartment because the music is so loud and the sound carries so much. Right now, I don’t even have my ipod on because no matter what it cannot compete with the volume of the music party outside.

Food is Ugali. Today I ate my first meal called Ugali, a traditional Tanzanian meal made of corn. It is baked to look like a huge puff ball and everyone at the table shares it. People use their hands to take a piece, roll it around in your hand and then dip it in a tomatoes-based sauce. It is lots of fun to eat and very filling, but not particularly special in taste. By no means is it a bad taste, it is good, it just isn’t anything gourmet. But, many Tanzanian’s LOVE Ugali. I ate it at a very “local” restaurant that is comprised of a few different food vendors. You go up to the vendor you want to buy food from and then they bring it your table, which are shared by all of the vendors. A nice additive is that you are sitting next to a bunch of guys plucking chickens and then leaving them on a cutting board while the flies have their go at them, until they collect the plucked chickens to cook. Had I seen this beforehand, I wouldn’t have ordered the chicken by Injgerd (Norwegian student who has been here for 4 months) loves the chicken with the Ugali dish and recommended we try it. So I did, and the chicken wasn’t too bad. A lot of bones and not much meat, but pretty tasty. After we eat the chicken we just put the bones directly on the table to be collected later. The chicken dish also included some unique chicken parts not usually eaten in the US. At one point I noticed my friend, Kelly (law student from Canada) gnawing on something that looked rubbery and I commented on her difficulties in eating it. Pamie (my Canadian roommate) then said, “oh yeah that’s a neck.” Kelly dropped the whole chicken neck with a screech. I also found something that resembled liver. I gave it a try, but it was dry and the only way to describe the taste is “funky.” I couldn't finish it and instead treated myself to something sweet on my way back from lunch to work.

Wednesday, June 2—Mwanza day 4: More about Kivulini and the Tanzanian political Atmosphere

Wednesday, June 2—Mwanza day 4: More about Kivulini and the Tanzanian political atmosphere

Living in New York I have come to understand issues of gender-based violence, HIV/AIDS and domestic violence in a certain context. But, here I am continually reminded to challenge those assumptions and instead look at issues and ideas with a fresh palate. Kivulini is a very progressive and unique organization in Tanzania. Issues of domestic violence are not easy to address and very culturally sensitive. Therefore, since Kivulini is such a progressive women’s rights organization, I also assumed that their ideas about feminism and female-concerned issues would be similar to organizations in the US.

For example, as I was working on a brochure for Kivulini, I was given feedback from Kivulini staff. A few staff commented that there were no pictures of men in the brochure and it is very important that they are represented. The explanation I received was because “we don’t want to look like a feminist organization or something like that.” Clearly, the ideas of feminism here are different than in the US where an organization like Kivulini would definitely be considered a “feminist” organization. I guess my “this is what a feminist looks like” t-shirt would not have been well received here. Gender roles are still very important here. All of the women wear earrings and dress very femininely. Women are still expected to take care of the house and children while men are the breadwinners. Although Kivulini has a program advocating for women’s economic empowerment as a way to combat domestic violence, many people do not think that a woman should earn more money than her husband because it threatens his self esteem, which is bad for the relationship.

Another interesting difference is that, in Tanzania it is illegal to practice homosexuality here, but men are always holding hands. As far as I know there doesn’t seem to be a gay rights movement here working against the law that homosexuality is illegal. But, strangely enough, men are always holding hands. Apparently this is just a common way for men who are close friends to show affection to each other, but I still find it difficult to both realize that the handholding is not a sign of sexual affection and that if it were, it would be illegal. It’s not that I thought homosexuality would be a widely socially acceptable in Tanzania, but since I didn’t stop to think about it very much, I guess I sort of assumed that there wouldn’t have been an affirmative effort to actually make homosexuality illegal. Another interesting dynamic is that apparently here women can get married to each other. I don’t mean that a man can have more than one wife (this is legal here too), but if one woman cannot have a baby she can marry another women who can have children and they can raise the children together. This is because here children are seen as a sign of social status and wealth, but it still seems like a very odd concept. I will have to look into this idea a lot more and see how common it actually is, and whether or not it is socially acceptable.

On the other hand, abortion here is a totally taboo topic. Abortion is illegal in Tanzania and also not discussed at all (at least not by Kivulini). During small information sessions with the different sections of Kivulini I gently asked if Kivulini does any work with women who have had dangerous illegal abortions or more generally any sort of work with abortions based on a women’s health perspective. I also mentioned the repeat of the global gag rule, incase that was a former barrier for Kivulini. I got a very straightforward short response of “no, abortion isn’t legal so we don’t look at abortion.” In my experiences in the US, any organization that deals with women’s health also look at abortion issues. International NGO’s also address abortion issues, even in countries where abortion is illegal. But, it seems that either local NGO’s are different either because they want to with the government, or because the local culture doesn’t accept abortion. Almost everyone in Mwanza is devotion to their practice of religion, whether Christian, Muslim or Hindu. Perhaps this played a factor in the dynamics of Kivulini and the reason abortion is such a taboo subject. Anyhow, I didn’t push the issue any further in fear of violating a cultural line. I later asked Ingjerd, who has been studying Kivulini for 4 months, and she confirmed that Kivulini is in many ways a conservative women’s rights organization, not pushing the boundaries too much, and not even considering any issues linked to abortion. It seems that it is not just funding concerns, but also local ideological values that drive Kivulini. Of course, this doesn’t degrade the incredible and groundbreaking work of Kivulini, advocating on behalf of women’s rights and against domestic violence in a country that was ranked fourth highest for domestic violence out of 50 countries studied by the World Health Organization. It is just another way in which my preconceptions have been stretched and reformulated.

Week 1, June 1--5—First week with Kivulini Women’s Rights Organization:

Mwanza—Day 3: Today was the first day of my internship at Kivulini Women’s Rights Organization, an organization working against domestic violence. This includes violence against children and violence against men, although most often it is focused on violence against women in the household. Kivulini is especially focused on community mobilization and female empowerment. The day before I came to Mwanza there was a torch lighting ceremony in a small town near Mwanza, which included lots and lots of dancing and music. This type of event is typical for Kivulini, which has gained a lot of community recognition and respect. Virtutally everyone I speak to and mention that I am working with Kivulini, knows what Kivulini is and where their office is located.

My day begins at 8:00am, I wait downstairs for Maimuna, the director, and we are driven by another Kivulini staff member about 7 minutes to the office, which is located is the part of town called Isamilo. The drive includes a portion of very bumpy dirt roads. Although the main road in Mwanza is paved, most of the other roads are dirt roads and they are filled with potholes! I am not talking about the average small hole in the street, or even the type of pot holes we try to avoid driving over in the US, I am talking about humungous holes in the road. I have no idea how those holes got there, the road literally looks like a terrain for motor bike stunts. This is actually a place where an SUV or Hummer might be a useful investment. On top of that, the dirt also make my feet extremely dirty, and they are hard to navigate, which would make wearing high heels here a circus act. However, many of the women in Kivulini wear high heels to work. Here, even more than in the US, high heels are certainly a status symbol. Women who wear high heels can affoard to take taxis or have drivers. NGOs in Tanzania (and I’ve heard througt Africa) are amongst the best paid jobs for locals. Even though there is a apparently a lot of tension in international NGOs between locals and people living or visiting from abroad because Westerners are paid much much more than locals, local employees of NGOs make significantly more than other typical positions. Therefore, they are some of the most sought after positions and certainly a status symbol. In some ways this is good, because you get the more educated and qualified people for the NGO positions, but, in other ways this creates a distance between the NGO employees and the general local population because the NGO employees can afford a better standard of living then most of the population. On top of that, even though NGO employees are paid better than most of the population there is still a lot of corruption and stealing going on in NGOs. The corruption isn’t nearly as bad as the government here, but it still occurs regularly. But, I have to say that based on my own personal experience with a certain NGO in the US, there is also a lot of corruption and financial cheating going on in US-based NGOs too. But, somehow, we always seem to view corruption in countries in Africa as much more extreme and offensive than in the US. I think the government here is a much more extreme example of corruption. The legal system seems entirely ineffective because government officials are regularly and openly paid off through bribes (or as an ex-patriot put it, “the government officials take a commission in order to allow anything to get accomplished”).

Interestingly, my first task at Kivulini was a case where the legal system failed to uphold its own laws, but it was somewhat effective despite the presumed attempts of bribery. Because the facts of the case are so horrific, I am going to summarize them. In Tanzania gold mining is a huge industry, and there are many companies that set up gold mining exploration sites in rural areas of Tanzania. One such international company had a site in a very rural area near a village. The security guards who were hired by the mining company and on duty, lured a 13-year old girl into the deserted exploration site they were guarding. Then they forced her on her knees and a dog proceeded to rape her for an hour. The only reason the girl reported the rape to the police is because she was severely injured as a result. Now when she walks through her village and people see a dog, they say to her “oh there is your brother, uncle, etc…” So, the 3 perpetrators at the site were criminally prosecuted, but they only received 20 years in prison. The minimum sentence for rape of a minor is 30 years in prison. Kivulini is looking at the case to determine what the next steps are and how best to protect the interests of the girl. They are thinking about bringing a civil case against the mining company, but there are serious concerns that the company would just pay off the government officials and the case wouldn’t go anywhere. This is also a very interesting case because it begins to highlight some of the many tensions/clashes between the local population and international companies and ex-patriots.

But, what I remember most about the day was the Kivulini staff and their continuous efforts to make me feel welcome and included. During the staff meeting, which is typically in Swahili, the staff both spoke some English and a staff member translated the rest of the meeting into enlgish for me. I also learned that things here are much slower than I am used to, particularly because I am accustomed to the pace of NYC and law school. Here, things are slower, people take time to say hello and make small talk, holding hands, looking at the other person in the eyes when they ask “habari” (how are you). When someone younger says good morning to someone older they say “shikamun” and the response by the older person is “maharaba.” Generally people begin with “mambo” and the response is “poa.” There seem to be endless variations of greetings, a different one for every occasion, time of the day and type of relationship, but they are all for essentially the same purpose. Here, people smile to each other (genuine wide mouthed, bright eyed smiles—not the forced tight lipped smile I often see in NY). People here also have a very different sense of space than I am used to. People are constantly toughing and holding hands. When you shake hands, it is not the quick one hand, two pumps. Here, hand shaking is more like hand holding and there is no time limit, you might continue holding hands the entire 10 minute conversation, and even casual hellos are usually accompanied by a hand shake or hand slap of sorts.

But, all of this also takes patience…something that is not my forte, but I will be forced to learn it here. Not just patience with the 45 minute greetings in the morning, but patience when speaking and explaining things, patience when waiting for something I asked for 2 hours ago and it is just in the other room and patience when waiting for someone to arrive for an appointment. On Wednesday I was supposed to go to another office to observe a follow-up counseling session between a husband and wife who were having issues with domestic violence. The husband was supposed to arrive at 9:00am. The wife and her child arrived right on time, but the Kivulini representative (and I) waited from 9:00am until about 1:00pm for the husband to show up. He never showed…but never did anyone appear impatient or annoyed that he didn’t show up. I don’t think that one single person in NY has this level of patience. This patience and adjustment to a different way of life is something I will have to learn and it will probably serve me well in the future.

Sunday, May 31—Mwanza day 2: Mzungo! Mzungo!

Sunday, May 31—Mwanza day 2: Mzungo! Mzungo!

My first full day in Mwanza, officially my second day, presented all sorts of new challenges, which I faced with my new group of friends and lifelines. In the morning Pamie and I ventured out to buy some groceries. We were immediately met with shouts of “Mzungo, Mzungo—how are you” “Mzungo, Mzungo—give me some money” or other words that we couldn’t translate and probably didn’t want to. Mzungo means white person and is openly and commonly used to identify white people walking on the street. It is definitely not a term of respect, in fact it usually sounds like mockery. One person on the street will almost never shout Mzungo, but when a group of men or boys are on the street, I have grown to expect some shouts of Mzungo.

First stop of the day was U-Turn, which is an “Mzungo” grocery store. It is Mzungo because the grocery store has some western items (such as peanut butter and jelly) and the prices are a little higher (about $1.80 for a loaf of bread rather than $1.50). Next Pamie took me to the ATM (luckily I had a visa ATM card because that is all that is accepted here). After some more wandering around we ventured into the market. The market was an even more concentrated area of people, many of whom are selling fruit and vegetables and others are shopping or loitering. We approached a nice looking woman selling cucumbers and asked her how much. As soon as we started speaking to her we were instantly surrounded by 5 or 6 men shouting indiscernible things at us (something about money and Mzungo of course). As soon as I was forcefully grabbed by the arm by one of them med, I made my way out of the market. I had no idea the market would be such an intimidating experience. Upon reflection, I realize that the Tanzanian culture does not have the same space boundaries as U.S. culture and the man was just trying to get my attention. More culture SHOCK!

Another intimidation factor is that most vendors have real prices and Mzungo prices. When someone white asks how much something costs, they usually increase the price (about double the typical price). In general it is acceptable to haggle here, but for Mzungos, it is both more difficult to haggle because of the communication barrier between English and Swahili, the cultural barriers (in the US we don’t haggle for food prices) and the perception of Mzungos as having unlimited money. The best way to get around this is to go with a local who knows the prices and can tell when the vender is giving an Mzungo price. Pamie and I are both white, and Pamie has only been here a week longer, but for the most part we managed to haggle a few prices down.

Generally, people are nice if you say a few words in Swahili and smile. There are definitely vendors who try to rip you off and won’t give correct change in hopes that you won’t notice or challenge them, but then the next person goes out of their way to be honest. For example, the woman we bought cucumbers from, we understood it was one cucumber for 300 Tanzania Shillings (T.sh), which is about 30 cents. We thought this was an okay price, but in fact when we only took one cucumber and paid her, she picked up two more and gave it to us. Apparently it was 300 cents for three cucumbers, but we could have easily left and she would have made a nice profit. Other vendors shake my hand and make polite conversation, asking my name and what I am doing here. Upon announcement of my name, I am often met with confusion. Here is a typical reaction from a local, “your name is Nyasa, like the Tanzanian lake and you are Mzungo?” This is followed by incessant bellowing laughter. I smile, slightly embarrassed. Clearly my African name, as a white person in Tanzania, is not earning me much credibility. In fact, people are often so baffled that they ask my name 4 or 5 times. I usually end up making the connection to Lake Nyasa (also known as Lake Malawi touching the south of Tanzania), at which time I see the light bulb go off. Apparently I am not pronouncing my name correctly. Tanzanians pronounce the “Ny” sound much more quickly. I guess I have gotten used to dragging out the N—Y—A sounds in order to help people pronounce it in the U.S. But, all in all, we had a successful morning. We did manage to buy some bananas, onion and tomatoes from vendors outside of the market are and made our way home—followed by shouts of Mzungo and small children following behind us as if we were leaving a trail of skittles in our wake.

That evening I prepared myself to take my first shower in Tanzania, which only included a bucket and some water. The water out of the faucet here is cold, so rather than take a freezing cold shower, Pamie suggested that I take a bucket shower. I heated up some water and combined it with cold water to make warm water. Then proceeded by dumping cupfuls of water over my head while simultaneously trying to effectively maneuver my bar of soap. My shower was actually quite successful and refreshing. It didn’t have to same relaxing effect as a shower back home, but it did the trick and saved a lot of water! Following my shower I brushed my teeth, making sure to use bottled water to rinse my mouth out (more seasoned interns told me that this is a typical Mzungo move, and it is actually okay to rinse my mouth with the tap water, but so far I haven’t tried it out). The toilet is another feat. It is literally a porcelain hole in the ground over which one has to squat and strategically aim. Believe it or not, but this can be a very difficult task—especially when you forget to bring toilet paper to the bathroom (toilets here don’t have toilet paper, most people use water to clean themselves).

It was a fun day, but at the end of the day, especially given my lack of sleep from the night before, I was really really missing the simple luxuries (or we might call them necessities) from home.

Saturday, May 30—Mwanza day 1: Culture Shock

Saturday, May 30—Mwanza day 1: Culture Shock

Today was my first full day in Mwanza and it already feels like I have been here for a month, but, I am definitely still in culture shock. I just realized that before I came to Mwanza I never actually understood what culture shock was. I understood the concept of being shocked by another culture’s practices, such as seeing black ghosts walking around in the hospital in Doha, Qatar carrying babies and escorted by their husbands wearing white robes, or in Cartagena, Colombia where very young Caribbean boys practically jumped on our boat motor to entice tourists to throw a few cents in the water at them for them to dive in the water for. But, I didn’t understand that culture shock would leave me feeling trapped, afraid, alone and longing the basic comforts of home (such as sit down toilets and sink water I could use to brush me teeth)…

I left for Mwanza on Thursday morning via JFK on Emirates Air, stopping in Dubai and finally stopping in Dar es Salaam for the night. I suspect that my flight will be the most luxurious part of my trip to Tanzania. I was fed delicious vegetarian food and watched about 8 new movies on my 12 hours flight to Dubai (including brain teasers such as “Shopaholic,” “Bride Wars,” and “The Yes Man”). Once I switched flights in Dubai, I awkwardly fell asleep for the entire 6 hour flight to Dar es Salaam. During the stopover in Dubai, I had befriended a girl my age, Erin, from Columbia University perusing a degree in public health who was also staying in Dar for the night, so that she could catch a flight the next morning to Tabora. We latched on to each other as we arrived in Tanzania and made our way through immigration and security. Since her internship had not offered her any assistance with her overnight stay in Dar, I offered her a ride to Dar and suggested that perhaps we grab dinner together. Maimuna, the Director of Kivulini (the organization I am working with), had kindly arranged for Abdallah (a reliable and trustworthy driver) to transport me to and from the airport in Dar es Salaam, in preparation for my flight the next morning (Saturday May 29^th) to Mwanza. Abdallah was standing immediately outside of the baggage area with a sign that said “Nyasa.” He was a very friendly and patient driver and kindly agreed to drop Erin off at the Palm Spring Movenpick hotel (one of the most expensive in Dar).

As we drove towards Dar, I had much the same feeling I have felt in other new places I’ve visited. It is a sort of out of body experience where I keep telling myself that I am in Qatar, Slovenia or Colombia, but it just doesn’t seem to sink in. Despite my efforts to come to grips with reality, it felt more like I was watching a travel documentary filmed from the inside of a car. As we were driving, Erin told me that I could stay with her in the luxo Movenpick hotel, but I felt obligated to go to the Econolodge because Maimuna made a reservation for me there. Well, as I should have suspected from $15 a night hotel, not only was the Econolodge very bare bones with a shower that I couldn’t bring myself use, but it was also in the middle of the city which had a local feel. I tried to walk outside the hotel to eat dinner, but I was immediately approached by a group of men who asked me my name, where I was from, and what I was doing. Intimidated, I decided to head back inside the hotel and skip dinner rather than venture any further alone at dusk. I later found out that this was probably a good move, given where the hotel was located, and my single-female status. Even though the tour book I had said Dar was safe, it turns out that among other travels I’ve spoken to since, people are often mugged in Dar, including men. My single comfort that night was that I brought granola bars I could eat for dinner and I had an alarm clock, which would wake me in time for Abdallah to pick me up for my morning flight to Mwanza. Unfortunately, upon searching through my suitcase, I found out that my alarm clock needed batteries. I tried to stay calm and think of other ways I could wake myself up. Eventually I went to the front desk and asked them for an alarm clock. They looked at me ask if I was asking for moon cheese. Finally the man at the desk flippantly said he would wake me up at 8am. However, I remained unconvinced because he didn’t even seem to understand me or write down the wake up call reminder. Later when I spoke to mom, I told her about my worries, and she called the hotel again later that night to ensure they would wake me up (it worked-thanks!). I actually woke up before my 8am wake up call and eagerly awaited Abdallah to bring me to the airport so that I could complete the final leg of my journey to Mwanza.

Once at the airport, I began speaking with a friendly Tanzanian man, John (pronounced in Tanzania very quickly as “yawn”) who asked me what I was going to do in Mwanza. I told him I was working with Kivulini (a women’s rights organization working against domestic violence). He immediately knew the name and told me that he was a “good member” of Kivulini. I thought that just meant that he didn’t beat his wife, but I later found out that he is a newly appointed community board member of Kivulini and also a lawyer in Mwanza and Dar es Salaam. He later asked me what denomination I was, Christian, Muslim or Hindu? I told him Christian and he asked me how many hours I spent at church on the weekends. I told him that I attend church on the holidays. Completely shocked, he asked me how that was possible? Didn’t I believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord Savior and how could I practice my religion without going to worship? I tried to explain to him that in the Western world religion is often practiced differently, and many people do not go to church on a regular basis. He continued to throw questions at me, absolutely baffled. Feeling ill equipped about how to hand this conversation, I struggled to come up with anything that would end the topic of conversation, and I finally grasped at straws said that my fiancée is catholic so I am going to start going to church regularly. That seemed to appease him and I excused myself to use to “wash room.”

The flight to Mwanza was very pleasant, and I thought that I could finally settle down once I reached Kivulini House, which was going to be my new home for a little over 2 months. But, driving through Mwanza I was shocked by the rural feel of the city and the poverty that was the standard of living. Piles of garbage everywhere, dogs having seizures on the side of the road, and seemingly chaotic masses of people everywhere. However, I also noticed the vibrant colors of the women’s dresses, the babies tied to their mother’s backs as they carries piles of goods on their heads, and beautiful piles of fruit. In many ways, Mwanza was just as I had imagined it would be, men pulling rickshaws filled with wood, music blaring everywhere, crowded side streets, food cooking on the side of the road and shanty houses. But, seeing this in pictures taken 25 years ago (mom and dad’s pictures of their bike trip through Africa) or in documentaries is much different than actually being here, and realizing that these tensions and stark cultural differences are going to be a daily challenge I have to face and come to terms with this vastly different way of life. One reason I didn’t like Rome, Italy very much because I felt as if people were constantly pestering me to buy things or begging. Women would sit in the hot sun with their babies and then beg for money. In Mwanza, I can escape neither the constant perception others have of me as a white person, and therefore perceived to have lots of money, nor can I avert my eyes or close my ears from the stories of child slaves or beggars on the side of the road with apparent desperation in their eyes and painfully contorted limbs.

My first night in Mwanza was definitely something special! When I arrived at Kivulini House I was introduced to the other interns with Kivulini who are Canadian. Pamie is working with Kivulini because she was in South Africa for 6 months, but her visa ran out, so she decided to work in Tanzania. Pamie took me across the street for my first meal in Tanzania. I ate rice and beans with mysterious crunchy things throughout, which were seemingly fish bones or rocks. I even saw a red ant crawl into my pile of rice just as it was being set down, but, after trying to politely locate it in my rice, I decided to just eat up. The other three Canadians, Missy, Ashley and John, are here through their University working on the pro-biotic yogurt project in a town on the outskirts of Mwanza. The idea is that pro-biotic yogurt can help HIV/AIDS infected individuals fight off the virus. They are here to supervise and continued to develop the project, which was founded under Kivulini. All of the Canadians were immediately warm and welcoming and offered to show me around. They also mentioned that they were invited on a special boat tour of Mwanza that evening. These interns had already been here for a week or two and had met the owners of the most expensive hotel in Mwanza, Hotel Talapia (a common fish to eat in Mwanza). The owner had offered to take them on a boat tour of Mwanza on Lake Victoria to see the famous Bizmark Rock (the landmark Mwanza is most often recognized for). After my stressful travels I was extremely weary of this apparent boat ride with a group of men I didn’t know, and the other interns barely knew. In the end, I decided to go, in part because I didn’t want to be at home by myself, also in part because the other interns were so warm and welcoming.

Well, I am certainly glad that I did go! What a welcoming to Mwanza. When we arrived at Hotel Talapia there was in fact a boat with wine, beer and snacks already set up. Sammy, a very nice gentleman, escorted the 5 of us on the boat and pointed out interesting details. Although we missed the sunset because it was hidden behind clouds, it was certainly a night to remember. After the boat ride, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that a dinner was organized for us. This delicious dinner included a seemingly unlimited amount of alcohol and delicious plates of various foods. There was fire toasted garlic bread, spit-fire roasted goat (which was positioned near our table), roasted chicken and an assortment of different Indian dishes. All in all, there was a very interesting mix of conversation, including a Canadian who is more pro-Bush than anyone I have had a conversation with in the U.S. an organic coffee plantation owner, and a variety of ex-patriots.

After Hotel Talapia the girls decided that they wanted to go to a club. Although this experience didn’t last long since we were all tired, in a matter of minutes we were met with marriage proposals and announcements of undying love from local men. We all declined to accept the offer and eventually made our way home after bartering with the cab driver over the price—phew what a first night! We arrived home at 4am and I only slept and hour the entire night because of stress…