This is Africa

Every moment I see something that would make a wonderful story if only I could take a picture.  I'm wishing that I had a camera installed in my retina at this point... I wish that it was more accepted to take pictures of adults here, so you could see what I'm seeing.  Some sights make me want to cry, while others (and there are more of these) have me laughing constantly at the ridiculousness of it all.

An average day starts at sunrise.  We walk to the main house for breakfast at 6:30am (all meals are eaten outside under a covered area).  Breakfast is consistently an egg of some sort, crepes (minus real butter or powdered sugar), fresh fruit, juice, and beans.  We usually sit around and talk a great deal about food that we miss.  It's official:  We all miss cheese terribly.

After breakfast, we are piled into a CCS van and driven through Baga to our placement sites, which vary from HIV/AIDS clinics, to schools and orphanages, to adult learning centers.  After arriving at Mwasama and greeting the other teachers, I head to my classes.  The group I spend the most time with are the Grade Three children.  They're a bit of a challenge, but we're making great strides.  They all seem to have learned my name:  Madam Wembah (Amber's a tad difficult for many).  I'm grateful when the wind cooperates and the room's not full of smoke from the kitchen.  When a student from another, higher grade needs a chair, he or she simply walks in and takes one, regardless of its current occupation.  So, I'm left with a few students standing until they ask me if they can go down to the Grade Two class and unseat - quite literally - someone else.  Pencils are an absolute rarity and the acquisition of one is often accomplished with a bite or a slap.  My new favorite swahili word:  Acha! (stop).

After tea time, I'm usually finished, so I walk back toward town and stop in on other placements.  Next week, I'll likely do some assisting at AMAP (African Modern Arts Project) with other volunteers.  The purpose:  to provide day care and art education to street children.  The art that results is stunning.  Pili, the wife of Saidi and the mother of baby Barack (yep, after the Prez), is an incredible seamstress.  Most volunteers have clothing or other items made by her while here.

Eventually, we head back to the main house for lunch, followed by swahili lessons and a lecture or other cultural excursion or activity.  Dinner is at 6:30 and we're free for the rest of the evening.  The food here is excellent, though very carb rich.  We all joke about thinking that we'd lose weight in Africa...

On Thursday afternoon, we had our first feedback session as volunteers.  We were encouraged to share our thoughts and frustrations about placements.  It seems that many are struggling to comprehend and process all that we are seeing and doing.  I knew coming into this that I'd be merely a drop in the bucket but that it is the continuous supply of a volunteer chain of which I'm only one link that does the most good.  What I wasn't prepared for were the cultural differences in philosophy, thinking, and simply getting things done.

Example:  Because Baga is 70km from Dar and has no fire department, when something starts on fire, it burns down.  A fire truck is often dispatched from Dar but never gets here in time.  Last year, the District Commissioner bought a fire truck.  It's shiny, it's new, it's useless.  Why?  No one knows how to drive it.  So, it sits, under a carport in the center of town.  When we asked, during our visit to the district commissioners office, we were told, "It's a very long process.  We are selecting."

The same general philosophy applies to everything, thus the saying, "This is Africa", or TIA.  I'm learning to say it early and often, for things both frustrating and sublime.

After a mini-meltdown over my frustrations, we were off for a game of soccer with the CCS staff...

I don't play soccer.  I never have played soccer.  I think one of the reasons I was swept up in the recent World Cup fever was more about the sudden acceptance of being in a bar at 7:30am than it was about the intricacies of the game.  But, when in Africa (and attempting to burn off the roughly 12.2 pounds of rice I've eaten in the past week)...

There I was, ME, playing soccer with a bunch of people born with a ball attached.  Even Mama Thea played...the woman's got her own cleats!  The field was a mix of hills, sand, and scrub, not the most desirable playing field.  On one side of the field, a school was let out for the afternoon.  On the other, a Masai herded his cattle.  I stopped and thought and smiled to myself, "Ridiculous." 

So, after a rather hilarious attempt at the game, we took a water break.  I heard a strange noise coming from inside the van.  Tuma (one of the night guards), emerged carrying a live chicken.

"Is anyone else noticing Tuma and that chicken?"
"Eet is a game, Wembah.  We will catch zee chicken."
"Er, what?"

The chicken was released, and chased, and caught.  I've not laughed so hard in, well, ever.

After becoming extremely sweaty and dusty, we walked back to the summer house.  I made my first, and feeble attempt at laundry in a bucket.  It didn't go well.  After placing all of my items in said bucket, filling it with water and soap.  I stared.  What next?  Do I just stir it around?  It was bad.  I'll be paying the neighbor lady to do it from now on.  Dinner that night was at the Hillside Bar, a buffet with, yep...chicken.

So you see, it all seems a bit ridiculous here.  I've started paying attention to the t-shirts that I see along the road, many quite obviously started their existence on a frat boy or a kid in the states.  Some of my favorites:

* Support our Troops (with a Canadian flag)
* Virginia is for Lovers
* WWE Smackdown
* Puerto Vallarta
* Vote for Pedro

And my personal fave...  "My Nana is a biker".

More and more often, I see my students out and about.  Yesterday after lunch, a group of us walked through town.  I bought some fabric, then took it to Pili and ordered some things made.  She has three other seamstresses working with her, all bent over old-fashioned pedal-run sewing machines.  They can make anything!  We wandered down past the fish market.  The boats had just come in and a crowd assembled on the beach to buy their fish.  I heard a faint, "Madam...Madam Wembah" before I turned and saw shy smiles.  It felt good...like I'm becoming a small part of the community.

We continued down the beach, stopping at a small hotel for a pineapple Fanta before heading back for dinner.  There's a music festival at the arts college (and they use the term "college" loosely) this weekend.  Some of our group are off on safari or to Zanzibar, so those of us who remain went to Baga Point for a Tusker beer before going to see the music.  After ordering from a window, we found some plastic chairs around a table.  The stars were brilliant and the talk mostly surrounded the oddities of our day, our lives back home, or what we'll eat for our first meal back.  We had to talk loud due to the deafening croak of nearby bullfrogs.  Eventually, we continued on toward the theater.

While crossing the field in anticipation of authentic african music and dance, I heard the first thump of bass coming toward us from the theater...  followed by the scream of an electric guitar.  Something was familiar here.  A female voice, flowed across the field, in english, "I love rock and roll, put another dime in the jukebox, baby!"

T.I.A.