Home Stretch

I'm now nearing the end of my time here in Tanzania. I leave in four days, which leaves little to do except pack in as much fun and culture as I can before leaving.

Tomorrow I am going to Saba Saba ('Saba' means 'seven' in Kiswahili, and the festival takes place in the ten days surrounding 07/07- or, 'Saba Saba'), an annual East African trade fair, with Pepy. I'm especially excited about this because it is rumored that traders from Zambia, Mozambique, Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, and Kenya will all be in attendance, in addition to giraffes and lions and cheetahs and stuff. If you don't hear from me again until I'm in Doha, it's because I spent all my money on knick knacks at Saba Saba and didn't have any left to buy internet vouchers.

It's hard to reflect back on my trip quite yet- much like painting a picture, it's easier to understand the whole thing when you stand back and look at it from a different angle. I know it has been amazing- I have learned so much, and met so many incredible people from around the world. I look forward to coming home and telling my stories, as well as experiencing the contrast between our two cultures. I've been told by those who traveled Africa before me that the culture shock really sets in upon return to America, and so I am preparing.

I am eagerly awaiting my return home for several reasons. One, I miss my family and friends dearly. Two, I miss the mountains, especially now that it's summertime and I'm seeing all of the pictures of swimming and hiking and camping that people are putting on Facebook (I imagine this is how cats must feel watching birds behind glass). Finally, I am simply excited to get started on this next chapter in my life- I'm going back to school, and moving into my first apartment. I've always been one to enjoy transitions; changing my lifestyle and surroundings is soul-cleansing and helps me to stay focused on what is important.

As always with moving forward, however, something must be left behind. I have come to think of the Kawishes as family, and it breaks my heart to be leaving and knowing that it could be years before I see them again. I wouldn't change anything about my experiences with them, or at the school, or throughout Dar Es Salaam and Tanzania. I feel I have only scratched the surface of a rich and ancient culture, and though I know it isn't going anywhere, I know that it is still a developing nation and that it has rocky roads ahead, as do we all. I wish I could continue to be here and witness this growth, but right now my best shot at aiding the children of this country is to go home and use what I've learned to develop strategies and resources, and help out those who want to volunteer as well.

I want to thank all of you who have given me support throughout this journey. Even if I haven't shown it here as often as I had hoped to, my experiences have been life-altering and phenomenal, and I know none of it would have been possible if it weren't for the help I've gotten from every single one of you. I want to thank those back home who have been especially helpful since I've been here- those who have listened to my frustrations, rejoiced alongside me, and given encouragement and solace when I've been especially homesick:

Evie, no words can describe. Mainly because we don't use words, but Channel 3. There are a million reasons I am proud to call you my best friend, and you've exhibited every single one of them since I've been here.

Josh, whose patience and late-night tendencies have helped maintain my sanity more times than I can count, and whose friendship has been an anchor.

My mom and dad, for being my pillars and sources of great advice and comfort, and whose flexibility and selfless love knows no bounds.

My grandparents, for their wonderful letters giving news and love from home that, were they written on paper, would be worn from over-reading.

I love you all. Thank you for your support and patience, and I'll see you Stateside in a few days :)

Emily

T-minus 27 days until I can have a cheeseburger

As of today, I have 27 days left in the country. My time here has flown by, and I am scrambling to pack as much into the last few weeks here as possible.

Two weeks ago, I finished my work at Mount Everest School. The last few days of school were incredibly hard; I told my class on Monday that it would be my last week teaching them, and even with the few days left a few of them broke down into tears, setting me on the verge as well. We didn't do any schoolwork that week, as exams had just ended, and instead we focused on games; I taught them how to play Ultimate Frisbee, and they taught me how to play a game called "Rede" (pronounced "reh-day"), sort of like Dodgeball.

The Thursday before school ended, they had a dance contest in the cafeteria. The contest started with the littlest kids from the nursery and worked its way up through the classes, and I was initially shocked. If I had danced like some of these little 4-year-olds at a high school dance, I might have been thrown out. Here, it's cultural, that's just what you do: (WARNING: The next video may not be appropriate if you don't want to see suggestive booty shaking, though it is an accurate portrayal of dancing here. Just letting you know.)

much like this is what you do at home:

(I did an ill-performed demo of "back-home dancing", which was met with concerned looks and sniggers throughout the classroom)

On the last day, it took a full hour to say sad goodbyes to all of my teary-eyed students. I will go back a couple of days before I leave just to say goodbye, but still I am saddened to leave behind this chapter of my life.

At the same time, I am hopeful for the future and the rest of the time I have here. This past week Jackie was on holiday as well, and we went shopping and to the beach a bit. I also got a new hairdo!

I was planning on going to the American Embassy today to see if there is anything that they had in mind for a volunteer to do in her weeks left in Tanzania, but found it almost impossible to make an appointment, as Hillary Clinton is in da house this week.

I will post a bit more as time rolls on this week; it's been beautiful out and I'm excited to have so much free time on my hands to experience more of Tanzania.

BIG shout out to everyone at home! Love you guys :)

Trip To Tanga

This one is a doozy- I went on a school trip to Tanga with the 6th and 7th years, and this is the story. If it looks too long, just hang in there, there are monkeys at the end!!!

I left for Tanga on a Monday morning at the lovely hour of 3:30am. I was expecting the regular schoolbus to pick me up outside the Kawishe house, but instead I was greeted by an enormous tour bus, sort of like the one my Papaw drives for Youngs in North Carolina, but from the '80s. I had the luxury of being the first person (besides the driver) on the bus, and so I had my pick of all the seats. I chose a single seat towards the front with precisely 5 1/2 inches of legroom, something I didn't think would be a problem because I was right next to the aisle.

We went to the school and picked up the kids; my bus was full of 7th year girls, none of whom I knew very well at that point. Then at around 7am we left for Tanga!

As soon as we crested the ridge to the west of Bagamoyo Road, as far as the eye could see were hills and valleys, spectacularly crisp and golden in the morning light, and reminding me of the hills and pastures back home- this was the Africa I had dreamt of seeing for so long (as much as I love being in Dar Es Salaam, I am simply not made for city life). There were massive Boabab trees, tiny colorful birds and butterflies, and the flat-topped Acacia trees, a picturesque African setting mixed with rugged civilization. Almost all of the houses from here to Tanga were constructed with hand-made red bricks and corrugated tin roofing.

We drove for several hours, and though I tried to stay awake so as not to miss any of the scenery, I fell asleep pretty abruptly, likely from a mixture of waking up at 3am and the fact that it was Monday. When I woke up a few hours later, we were pulling into a highway food stop, along with many other buses that were traveling on the same road.

Note: Very few people here use their own cars to travel long distances across the country, preferring instead to use the cheaper (and lo, more environmentally friendly!) public transit. These buses don't mess around, either; their main source of income is getting back and forth as quickly as possible, to maximize their passenger count. They race down the roads at speeds that would make a high school kid in a Ferrari blush, their suspensions straining and horns blaring.

Anyway, we arrived at the restaurant and had lunches of chips (really french fries, what we would call "chips", they call "crisps", as does apparently everyone else on the planet. They also eat their "chips" with fried eggs. Feel free to make your own judgements there) and soda, running into the first and last mzungus we would see on the trip and stuffing ourselves before setting off promptly for the next leg of our journey.

I fell asleep again pretty quickly once back on the bus, and when I woke up we were about to enter into a mountain range the likes of which I didn't know existed in Tanzania. I love the Blue Ridge Mountains, I do, but these were just stunning. We began our way through the mountains, on tiny winding roads that were straight up on one side, and just one slip of the tire to a plummeting, screaming death on the other. Remember my post earlier about traffic? This bus driver- bless his soul, I wanted to kiss his feet once we got off that mountain alive- drove as though there wasn't a five-billion mile drop off to one side. More than once I squealed in terror (I was on the left side of the bus and so I could see straight down to the ground below) and prompted funny looks from the girls on the bus. I tried so hard to sleep on this leg, I did, but as far as I was concerned, if I fell asleep, there would be no one to cheer the bus on and keep it from falling off the side of the mountain.

We finally arrived at the Irente Viewpoint, a cliffside at the top of one of the peaks that looked out over the savannah. We got there right at sunset, and there are no words to describe how beautiful the lookout was. The sun reflected off of the rivers and lakes, giving the earth the look of having golden veins flowing through its dark green and brown skin. The clouds were deep golden and blue, hovering in marshmallow clumps just over a mountain in the distance. I captured a few pictures, which show only a fraction of how beautiful it was there:

As you can see, this viewpoint is extremely high up- I would wager almost a mile, but I'm no great shakes at judging distances- and there are no fences. When I sat down to get this shot, the students all got a look on their faces like I'd just picked up a live snake, and started begging me to leave the edge. I held out enough for just a few photos, and then consented to be dragged back to safety by the children.

After Irente, we started the two-hour journey (back on the mountain roads for a bit, but now at night) to where we would be staying for the night. It was a boarding school, however, the children had gone home for the holidays, so there were extra beds for us. We were fed, bathed, and hit the sack- except there were not enough beds for all of the children. They ended up sleeping two to a mattress (twin size), and I don't think they slept too well (although that might have been more due to my bedtime story about the child-eating Booger that lived in the shack near our old cabin in the woods than their bedding situation).

We woke bright and early the next day, bathed, took tea, and drove another four hours to the tea factory in upper Lesotho, something I wasn't anticipating would be very interesting but turned out to be a gold mine for photography and obscure trivia, both of which happen to be hobbies of mine. Here are some tea factory pictures:

The tea factory was especially interesting for me, because until Africa, I really didn't have much experience with tea. I had the occasional hot cup at work or at home, but I never really went out of my way- I'm just not a "tea person". But here, it's ingrained into the culture. The sad thing is that none of the prime-grade tea stays in the country; it's exported to America and Europe and Japan, where it is bought for close to the price people pay for it here- accounting for currency ratios, that's next to nothing.

After the tea factory, we drove back to the hostel (another three hours) for lunch, and then on our way out of the mountains we stopped at some waterfalls that shall remain nameless because I can't spell it:

After the waterfalls, we started out to Tanga town, leaving the mountains entirely. At this point, I was extremely, stubbornly cranky. I had been sick all that day from what I assumed was food poisoning from improperly cooked food, and hadn't gotten much sleep the night before because there were no mosquito nets and I had to be careful to keep the tiny sheet covering me completely, even though it was swelteringly hot. To top that off, my iPod was dying and I didn't think I could stand another minute of the whiny-voiced singer that was playing at obscenely high volume on the bus speakers. I hate to sound like Debbie Downer, or maybe a Frowny Fran, but the rest of the trip was the ultimate test for my sanity. That night we arrived at another boarding school in Tanga town, where once again there weren't enough beds and this time there were twice the mosquitoes, and no nets.

I was rooming with two girls my age who worked at the school, both with newborn babies. They spoke little English, but added to my Kiswahili and ridiculous hand gestures, we were able to have a good conversation about their families and mine, and how absolutely adorable their babies were. Most babies here sleep through the night quietly in the bed with their mothers, under a mosquito net. I was on the top bunk, right over the mother with the youngest baby, less than two weeks old (babies here are notorious for not crying as much as white babies- I'd be interested to see the study on that).

That night I was miserably sick, getting up every few minutes to go empty my stomach outside. I woke up that morning even crankier than the day before, and hungry- I stopped eating the food on the trip once I realized it was making me sick. However, I was excited for one thing, the part of the trip that had drawn me to go in the first place- the Amboni Caves.

Amboni Caves (according to Wikipedia) are the most extensive caves in East Africa, covering an area of 234 kilometers. They are most famous in America for the "Popo Flight"- "Popo" meaning "bat" in Kiswahili- where all the bats fly out of the cave at once. There are also many legends surrounding the caves, the most notorious being one about two WWII ex-Army soldiers who went in with their dog and never returned, although the dog, identified by ID tags, showed up months later outside another cave, 400km away at Mt. Kilimanjaro. There are also many local superstitions about gods and spirits inhabiting the caves, and they are actively used for local religious purposes, as I discovered when we arrived there and some locals were sacrificing a goat in front of the cave entrance.

Unfortunately, despite gritting my teeth and telling myself I was fine, I was too sick to go inside the caves, and spent the next hour or so switching between being curled in various positions on the benches outside the cave, and feeling good enough to take some pictures. The kids even stole my camera and took some of their own while I was comatose. I saw some blue monkeys and a monitor lizard:

...And was even treated with a trip to the MOST TERRIFYING BATHROOM I HAVE EVER BEEN IN.

This bathroom was literally a mud-and-leaf shack over a hole in the ground, within which probably lived the Booger's cousin. It was the desperation of my situation that drove me to what are possibly the least dignified moments of my life, trying to balance over this dirt hole in the ground while training my flashlight (it was pitch black inside, also) on a spider I had only seen in the Harry Potter films and didn't know actually existed:

Okay, it's not actually a spider, it's called a "Tailless Whip Scorpion" which is much, much scarier. It was about the size of my hand, and those thicker legs on the front are actually pincers. I was thinking of you guys when I took this picture, because I knew no one would believe me if I didn't get a photo of it.

Overall, the Amboni Caves trip was pleasant despite my organ malfunctions, and when we arrived back in Tanga town a while later I was feeling much better and was able to visit some of the shops with the kids in the main marketplace, where they sell live chickens and turkeys and all manner of fruits, vegetables, meats, and crafts. I got several white-person-esque souvenirs and was ready to head back to Dar to sleep.

It took us eight hours on a long, dark, bumpy road to get back to Dar. We passed all manner of pedestrians walking on the impossibly rural road, usually women carrying water on their heads. I sometimes spotted gleaming eyes from the side of the road, probably belonging to a dog or wild pig, but I sort of hoped it was a lion or rhinoceros or something cool. I slept as much as I could, rationing my iPod battery by taking my waking hours teaching the girls songs and playing games.

We arrived back at Mlimani City Mall around midnight, and before any teachers could go home we had to wait for all of the children's parents to pick them up for the holidays. When I arrived home, I think I slept for about eighteen hours. I would like to go back to the caves someday and go through them, but I will bring a box lunch next time.

I want to thank you all for being so patient with my blog! I especially want to thank my parents, who have been my rock throughout this whole trip for better or worse. It's been hard at times but the love of a parent knows no bounds and I have never been more grateful- the encouragement and affection that have come from my Mom and Dad are worthy of medals.

Also my grandparents, my beloved Nana and Papaw, for showing me unconditional love and patience always, and for their letters (both electronic and old-fashioned!) which I love and read over and over.

My BFF Evie, of course. Thanks for letting me use up my week's minutes with you :) You'll hear from me soon!

My brother, for being one of the fastest kids west of Kenya, and for looking so handsome at his prom with his beautiful gal!

The Youngs, my favorite neighbors and family :) It was so good to talk to all of you- only a couple months left til I'm home and can see you in person!!

The Schenkels, for continuing to be a fabulous family #2.

And of course, my ever-wonderful friend Richard, for supplying reading material. You are a lifesaver- one of the Asheville stickers you sent last time is on my computer!

Thanks to the ends of the earth for the Kawishes, and for John & Pepy.

Tip of the hat to my favorite chinwagging neighbor and his stateside lady!

If I haven't mentioned you here, please know all support means the world to me and I can't write enough how much I appreciate and love your words of wisdom and encouragement. Another blog coming up soon about my trip to Bagamoyo!

Nimependa wewe,

Kwa heri!

Emily

Halfway through!

Today, I have been here three months. It's a bittersweet feeling- I'm very homesick, and it breaks my heart to think about the mountains and how beautiful they must be right now. But I've found my passion with the kids at the school and the friends I've made here. There is a lot to catch you guys up on- once again my fault, and I apologize.

The rainy season is completely upon us. It rains almost every day, sometimes a downpour and sometimes just a drizzle- but it is both a blessing and a curse. My nana has a needlepoint that always hangs somewhere in her house that says "If you pray for rain, be prepared to deal with some mud!". We aren't so much dealing with mud here as we are small lakes forming in inconvenient places- namely, the road I have to walk on to get home. I stopped about a week ago and put some big stones in the middle of the dry road so that when it's covered in a few inches of water, I still have a way to hop across. The roads on the bus route home are sometimes completely covered, sometimes just dotted with big puddles, and sometimes we can see the effects of the rain off to the side of the road. There is a space the size of a large parking lot on our way home that is completely covered in water- I've seen little kids up to their shins in it. The drainage ditches on the sides of the road are full of it too- it looks exactly like milk chocolate sometimes. Makes me hungry.

With the rain, there are more bugs. Mosquitos, flies, and fun anonymous bugs that might look friendly but somewhere hide a large stinger or set of fangs or both. With the bugs, there are more bats. After dinner I like to walk around the compound at night, and listen to the frogs (their chirps sound like little bendy straws being stretched out for the first time). Usually if I stand by the pool long enough, I can see the enormous fruit bats swoop down from the trees and skim the surface of the pool, gathering water or water-loving bugs in their mouths, I'm not sure which. Even swimming at night sometimes, they come and skate across the water, something that used to really scare me but now is comforting, like a friend I only get to see on occasion. Their wingspan is the length of one arm, like a cat flying through the air.

I've been slowly working my way outwards from the house. When I first came to the Kawishes, I was nervous to walk the hundred yards down the road to the voucher stand to buy more minutes for my internet. Eventually I walked around and found a small grocery store just a bit further, and when the bakery opened back up down the street I started walking there too (they make incredible samosas- not to be confused with mimosa).

I am now better in Swahili than I ever was in French. I can go to the voucher stand and the bakery and the grocery store in one trip, also greeting others along the way, and never have to use a word of English, an accomplishment I'm very proud of. The locals say that I have a very good accent for a mzungu- some of them assume I know much more Swahili than I actually do. I hope that with 3 more months, I'll be close to fluent. The hardest part is learning individual words. In English, you can usually use the Latin roots for words that you don't know to figure out what they mean. There isn't any way to do this in Kiswahili- it's just a matter of reading and talking a lot and asking when you don't know what a word means. It's difficult, and even some of the elder Africans don't know what all the words mean.

As far as working at the school goes, I'm having a blast. Those kids are the sweetest. Here are a few pictures, for those of you who haven't seen them on my Facebook page:

This is Sylvia.

And this is Elias. He and Sylvia sit in the front of the bus on my and Mr. Mchome's laps on the way home in the evening. They like to hold hands.

Myself and some of the kids from class 6Yellow.

Catching raindrops!

On my birthday, the kids in 6 Yellow stood up and sang Happy Birthday for me in Swahili, and gave me little hand-drawn cards and flowers they found in the field. I could've come home to a Lamborghini in the driveway and not have been so happy. This class also got the highest English grades in the school- I was very proud of them, and it felt really good to know that I've taught them even just a little.

This coming Monday, I'm going with the 6th and 7th grade classes to Tanga, a coastal town about 8 hours north of here. It should be exciting- I will get to see monkeys, baboons, chameleons, a zillion birds, some ancient caves, more bats, and I'm crossing my fingers for a lion or giraffe, even though the teachers say I probably won't see one. Never bad to hope!

I want to thank everyone who sent me birthday wishes- it means a lot to have so many of you supporting me back home! A few shout-outs before I sign off:

Clay, Lydia, and your wonderful family- thank you so much for the birthday blessings! I hope to get to see you all in August!

Clevenger clan- (Aunt Helen, Uncle Adam, Peyton & Patterson, Nana & Papaw, and of course my parents) It means the world to hear from you, and I love you so much.

Aunt Judy & Uncle Gary- Thanks for the card! It is adorable, and made my day :)

GCPC Session and Friends- Your card was incredibly sweet; had me in tears! Thank you so much for the heartfelt blessings, it really does mean a lot!!!

Richard, for sending me all these fantastic books. Thirteen Moons was wonderful- it was so nice to read such a beautifully written novel about the mountains, and it certainly helps the homesickness!

And last but definitely not least, Evie, for being the best friend ever. If I'm not crazy by the time I'm 90 it will be completely your doing.

Everyone else I haven't mentioned here, just know that you all mean so much to me, even if I haven't said it here. Also, if anyone has sent a letter or package and I haven't thanked you for it yet, that means I haven't received it- an issue I'm going to be resolving this week.

Next time I'll put up some pictures from Tanga- should be the best ones yet, if you want to see some monkeys and rainforest!

Love you all,

Mimi ninapenda wewe, tutaonana badai,

Emily

My First Tattoo :) .... was an April Fools Joke.

As it turns out, April Fools jokes don't lose potency over distance :)

^ Not my actual foot

Emily vs. Centipede

So I woke up around 5am today.

And saw this thing flailing around in my shower.

In case you're wondering, that is an African Black Centipede. They are deadly to children and the elderly, and also can cause anaphylactic shock in anyone allergic to bees. Other than that, they cause severe pain, swelling, fever, sweating, and weakness. And at 5am, I don't really feel like feeling any of those things.

Being the procrastinator that I am, I put a bucket on top of it and decided not to deal with it until I got home, hoping that it would die of starvation or drowning while I was gone. Unfortunately, when I got home, that was not the case. I very slowly and carefully removed the bucket to see it just sitting there chilling, as if to say "Hey! I'm going to avenge your murder attempt now!"

I quickly replaced the bucket, and went and got the longest thing I could think of, a coat hanger, to move it out of my shower and into the floor, where i put the bucket on top of it again and scooted it over close to the door.

I opened the door and yelled.

"JAAAAAACCCKKKKKSSSSOOOOOOOONNNNN...????"

....

"THERE'S A CENTIPEDE IN MY ROOOOMM I THINNNKK..."

....

"COME KILL IT PLEEEEASE?"

I know this is a bit off-color for me. I have been known to seek out snakes and bring them home to my poor mother, or other unsuspecting people who happen to be nearby. I didn't run when my brother and I uncovered a nest of baby black widows outside at the barn. I even worked as a snake handler in the reptile and insect room at the Nature Center when I was twelve. But this was an unwelcome surprise, and also I distinctly remember reading about centipedes in my "Most Venomous and Poisonous Animals" book that my parents gave me when I was seven (thanks Mom and Dad, although I'm sure you'd hoped I would never have to put that knowledge to use).

I went out in the hallway to see Jackson doing his homework at the table, headphones on. Deciding it was up to me, I went back into my room and picked up the coat hanger.

It was now or never. I removed the bucket.

I disposed of the body outside, as a warning to all other venomous creatures that might try to attack me at 5am. You've been warned.

Rainy season- maybe.

This week it rained.

As we rode in on the bus in the morning, the clouds ahead were just a little darker than usual. It was clear that they wouldn’t be able to save their rain to tease us for another day.

I had gotten the good seat on the bus and fell asleep quickly. I awoke just as we were pulling into the schoolyard, and I pulled my arm off the bus windowsill to find it soaked and chilly (something that I can promise you hasn’t happened here yet). I felt drops on my face too, and when I looked out the window it was pouring the sort of rain that promises to stay awhile. Even still- it felt like if I moved or breathed the wrong way, the rain would stop and we’d be doomed to another three weeks without rain.

With the rain comes cool weather. I know that I ranted for months before I left for Africa about how much I was excited to be in weather that didn’t involve mittens and two pairs of socks, but the arrival of even a few hours of cool weather was, in a word, awesome. I’m not ashamed to admit that I can handle the heat a lot less effectively than anyone else here. When the temperature here drops below 80 degrees, people don sweaters and jackets. And, for reasons that until recently were unfathomable to me, Africans drink hot tea three times a day.

The whole tea-drinking thing used to baffle me. I always end up sweating after drinking it- sweating like I’ve been presented with a Calculus exam on threat of losing a finger for every wrong answer. However, I was recently reading a book that my dear friend Richard sent me from home, called “House of Sand and Fog”, and one of the main characters, an Iranian ex-general, was speaking of the funny looks he got from fellow construction workers in California when he would drink hot tea from his Thermos. He wrote ‘…But they do not know what I do about the heat, that there must be a fire inside you to match the one around you.” It sort of made sense. The next day I decided not to take tea, and not only was I groggy with caffeine deficiency, I was soaking with sweat a few hours later.

African culture (or at least what I’ve witnessed so far in Dar Es Salaam) is full of little surprises like that. For instance, the time here is a little different; aside from the 7-hour time difference, I mean. The first time I asked “Saa ngapi?” (what time is it?) around lunchtime and got the answer “Saa nne” (eight-o-clock), I was thoroughly confused. The Swahili system of time begins at 7:00am, starting at 1:00, then 8am is considered 2:00, 9am is 3:00, and so on. While I probably won’t get used to it, it makes sense for a society that for the most part parallels with a day and night schedule.

Swahili greetings are different from American ones as well, language difference aside. I know that for most Americans, the only recognized Kiswahili word is “Jambo”, and maybe “asante” or “simba”. But “Jambo” isn’t at all a correct way to greet someone. African culture places a lot of importance on respect for your elders. There are three different ways to greet someone here: Hujambo, Mambo, or Skamoo.

The first one, “Hujambo” (Hoo-djyAHm-bo) is used to greet someone much younger than you. For example, I greet the kids at the school with “Hujambo!”, and their reply is “Sijambo!” (they’re usually giggling when they say it, because it’s hilarious to watch the mzungu try to speak Kiswahili).

To address someone close to your own age, you say “Mambo!”, to which they can reply a number of things- “Mzima”, “Poa”, “Safi”, “Shwari”, and sometimes “Fresh” (I always think of Will Smith in parachute pants when someone says this).

This is where it gets tricky. In America, if you insinuate someone is old, they get offended, even if you’ve just checked their I.D. because they’re using a check at the grocery store with the names “Florence” and “Opie” on it, and they’re buying prune juice and reminiscing about using stone and chisels back in “my day” when it was always snowing and everywhere you needed to go was inconveniently uphill. So when I first learned to say “Skamoo”, I used it sparingly, only saying it to the truly ancient. But after I got a few dirty looks from mothers after saying “Mambo”, I used it whenever I was in doubt that someone might be older than me. The correct reply is “Marahaba”, and they might greet you in return with “Hujambo”.

Food is another unavoidable minefield of opportunities to commit social faux-pas. If someone offers you food, it is considered highly impolite and disrespectful, and also selfish, to turn it down (the rationale, which is understandable, is that if you turn down food, you are also turning down the obligation of preparing food for them someday in return). However, there are a few precautions I took with eating before coming here that weren’t necessary. For instance, when I left, the belief was that in the society I was entering, doing anything with the left hand is dirty and inappropriate. This isn’t true.

Every household and restaurant I’ve eaten at has shared the experience of dining sans utensils. Even beans (maharage) and chopped spinach (mchicha). The food “ugali” is often used as a sort of edible replacement as a spoon, rolled in the palm and pressed in the middle with the thumb to make a bowl. I am always the only one at the table timidly pinching my food up to avoid getting my hands dirty; everyone else dives right in, emerging from dinner looking like potters at the wheel. I can’t say this is a bad idea; I love thinking that there are less dishes to do.

The traditional dress is my favorite part of African culture. There are kangas, kitenges, vitenges, and mashonos, and many more the words for which I haven’t learned yet. Kitenges are my favorite. I’m always in awe of how pretty they are- Mama Kawishe always looks very regal in hers, which are always colorful and elegant. Recently, she told me what my birthday present is- she is having two vitenges tailored for me, which I am very, very excited about. I went to the tailor on Saturday with Pepy to pick out the designs and material, and they should be ready by my birthday, at which point you can all expect a few pictures.

Anyway- signing out. I promise the delay in posting won’t be so long again, and I apologize for keeping my wonderful readers waiting. I want to shout out to a few people, once again:

My parents, who I am thankful don’t mind the outrageous international calling fees and whose calls and letters I am always happy to get.

My grandparents, for the loving emails that I adore and for being the best Nana and Papaw in the world.

ES, SW, KW, JH, DB, CD, DL, JP, and all my friends and mentors at home, for keeping me sane and not too lonely.

Richard, for being awesome and sending me all these excellent books!

And, although they won’t read this, my host family the Kawishes and Pepy, for keeping me happy, safe, and quite well-fed since I’ve been here.

Kwa Heri!

Emily

PS: Just a friendly notice- I would appreciate if the comments board was reserved for friendly messages and constructive criticism. If anyone has issue with what I write, please feel free to contact me privately. Thanks, and happy blogging!