at long last

to put an end to your suspense (maybe).. I made it home safe and sound. Considerably less eventful than my journey to Tanzania, just the usual traveler mishaps and concerns (how do I get to my hotel? do I have enough money for a cab to the airport? will I miss my connecting flight because of the customs line? which baggage claim number are we? how will my brother pick me up from a busy international airport if I don't have a cell phone?) the single part of the journey home that kind of touched my heart was the drive from the Qatar airport to the hotel I stayed in during my 15 hour layover. my driver asked me where I was coming from and what I was doing in Qatar. I told him I had been in Tanzania teaching about HIV and interning in a hospital. immediately he started firing questions about HIV. he was asking how one can get the virus and how do you know if you have it, and if I would advise him to get tested, but then he caught himself in what he was doing, he faltered a little, looked embarrassed, and quickly explained: "well I mean, I don't have HIV of course, but, you know, I was just wondering, we all make mistakes sometimes". It was interesting the effect I tend to bring, with HIV information. just as the work I did with the Tanzanian children was effective because I was white: removed from Tanzanian culture, a reliable and trusted source of information, etc. I think the information I gave to the man in Qatar was effective because he knew I wasn't Islamic and I wouldn't judge him for sinning, or question him about his faithfulness to the religion. HIV rates aren't really that high in the middle east, but the same tragedy occurs, lack of information from reliable sources, and lots of false rumors swarming around the virus. There's a really rewarding part of being the giver of information, and helping people to understand for themselves and apply characteristics of the virus to rumors they may hear to decide if there is validity or just stupidity in it.


to go back several weeks: I spent a weekend in the Boma of a Maasai family. us, GSC volunteers had worked with Isaya (a Maasai warrior) during day camp at the beginning of June. he was a translator. he made the 4 hour journey into Arusha for the 2 weeks of day camp, stayed in a friend's place for the duration of day camp, and then returned home when we were done. Isaya would probably be considered a prodigy by american standards. 3 years ago, he had never seen a white person. he had never left Eluai- his community of Bomas (a collection of huts inhabited by one family). but 3 years ago, he met a white traveler coming through the Maasai villages. Isaya was picked out of a group of warriors, by this white man, for being the highest jumper. the Maasai have a traditional "dance" they perform almost every night, as a village. the men "sing" (grunt in song) and jump amazingly high, and the woman harmonize with the grunts and shake their shoulders which hold elaborately beaded plates. Its a way of relaxing at night after a long day in the heat attending to daily chores (protecting the Bomas from lions, leading the cattle and goats out to graze, cooking, etc.). Note the video attached. before meeting the white man, Isaya had only ever heard and spoken Maa (the Maasai laguage). but within 3 months he had already learned to speak and read English and was learning kiswahili. 3 years later, he now speaks both well enough to translate one to the other and back again, without either one being his native language. this allowed him to eventually get to London this past April for the London Marathon. he was sponsored by Greenpeace to run it with his fellow villagers and brother to raise money for Eluai- they have big problems with finding clean water, causing a lot of deaths in the community. they are raising money to build a well that will tap into a clean source of water. they also have a website if you're interested: www.maasaimarathon.org

The whole Maasai experience was amazing. the tradition and the culture is so lush and thriving. These people live all over Northern Tanzania and Southern Kenya (divided by a country line, but still the same people), maintaining every bit of tradition just miles outside of busy cities. there is no electricity, they wear traditional "Maasai blankets" and sandals. well, I guess that was changed: today their sandals are made of old car tires, (the foot rests inside the tire that is cut to fit the length of the foot). I have never seen stars shine so bright, with no light pollution for miles and miles. at night, our group of 5 girls all filed into one traditional bed: a pile of hay with animal hide over it. the only way we all could fit was to lay on our side and spoon each other. in the middle of the night we had to conduct a switch, to lay on the other side for awhile, but it only worked if one person rolled at a time, and then the next person rolled. we were a pack of sardines. the next morning we woke up to slaughter a goat for breakfast. yummy! we ate raw kidney, roasted thigh and ribs, and of course, we drank handfuls of goat blood from the gutted corpse. it was a super curious process. it is important to name the animal before it is slaughtered (ours was named shifty after an inside joke with the computer key and our hospital staff students at the hospital) in order to honor it. then, each and every part of the animal is considered sacred and useful- especially the blood. the Maasai are like anatomists. they kill the goat by strangling so as to spare the blood that would be lost in a beheading or something like that. then they hang the dead goat upright and slap it until all the blood goes down to the stomach, and as they dissect each part individually no blood is lost. it is an art.

It was unfortunate that I waited so long to visit Isaya's village because it gave me a whole new appreciation of the people, as I saw them in and around town. Its refreshing to know, that the whole world hasn't been lost to globalization, that there still exist cultures who have been able to close themselves off from external influence.


My last days in Tanzania were pampered. I spent my last week in Machame tying things up at the hospital and with my family. I donated my clothes to my little sisters. the looks on their faces were priceless as I explained they could have all the clothes I brought. mama sent Tamara and I off with a kanga. baba took us out one last time to accompany him with his "evening glasses" (his evening beers at the kiosk next door). and then I shipped off to Zanzibar with 2 volunteers from the hospital. It was marvelous to bask in the sun and enjoy ourselves as tourists and not have to try to fit in as locals. we spent 3 days in Zanzibar town, going snorkeling and visiting Prison Island (where they held the slaves before they were shipped to other countries). we participated in the spice tour- a tour of the spice farms Zanzibar is famous for- their biggest cash crop is the clove. each clove tree is government controlled, and highly regulated. Finally, I spent my last day in Zanzibar on the North Beach of Nungwi. we stayed in the Aman Bungalows. I found a sea-side bar where I crashed for my last day ordering pina coladas, reading my book and relaxing in the hammock in the sun. the sand is white, the water is turquoise, and you can walk forever into the ocean when the tide is low. it's amazing.


at long last: here are some pictures