I must say I am rather impressed with myself. An anthropology professor from Luther college had invited B to come talk to a group of study abroad students during the overlap in Arusha. B talked about her career path...how she got from Luther to where she is now, where she sees herself going, and her experiences in Tanzania and the workshop. I was also invited to speak a little about my time here so far (almost TWO months...) and my internship. We ended up getting into a pretty interesting discussion about malaria and I surprised myself with how confidently I could speak about it and what I've learned since I've been here. Apparently though I repeated the phrase, "Well, malaria is complicated" which B and I had a good laugh over afterward. Why can't we just eradicate malaria? A seemingly simple question with, at least from my perspective, an amazingly complex answer. The "don't-forget-to-take-your-prophylaxis" message rang out pretty clearly.
After an amazing dinner at the "Danish" with the students and comforting talk of CMC and the crazed track coach with one of the program facilitators, B and I made our way back to L'Oasis. I didn't want to leave. They have a gym (with an elliptical machine...oh, what I would do for a trip to Philadelphia Sports Club right now), key card access to their rooms, and most importantly Hot Chocolate. The return dalla dalla ride was well worth the lack of the aforementioned. The young riders were pleasantly surprised to have us join them on the ride back to Arusha. They gave B and I nicknames: Sally and Manka (how B got stuck with Manka is beyond me). B traded phone numbers (changing one digit just in case) and received multiple invitations to join our new friends for a night out on the town. Exhausted from our long day and a little weary of public displays of our "wazungu"ness we opted for a quite night back at L'Oasis instead.
Wednesday, July 23
Into Masai Land
"Cultural tourism" round two...this time we escaped Arusha for a glimpse into Masai culture. We met our guide Thomas at the Tourist Center in downtown Arusha but not until after another amazing breakfast at L'Oasis--made to order omelette's, toast, fruit, tea. Unlike Mama Anna's husband, who walked slowly, Thomas was a speed demon. In our rain boots, B and I struggled (at least I did) to keep up as he weaved through the busy Arusha streets. We packed into the dalla dalla and Thomas managed to snag a seat in the front of the bus--SO not fair. We waited for a while for the dalla dalla to fill up, only to wait again for the second dalla dalla to do the same. An older Masai man attempted to speak Swahili to me--although I think it was more of a cross between Swahili and Masai--and admire B's watch.
Finally we made it to Oldonyo Samba--36 km northwest of Arusha along the highway. At the time I was amazed at the paved road. Although it was a lengthy journey (if not allergies then I definitely had a case of the "are-we-there-yet"s), it wasn't bumpy. I labeled it "The Highway to Nowhere" but Thomas later corrected me. It goes to Nairobi.
It couldn't have been any more different from Mulala. The plains were dry, dusty, and expansive. Also, surprisingly free of "wazungu" calls. Not to worry, those were quickly replaced by requests--actually, more like demands--for candy (pipi) or pens. While still overcast I felt like I would probably feel if I had ever been to Arizona (which I haven't). Clad in brightly colored plaid-like fabric and beads, Masai herding their cattle dot the open plains. On clear days, Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru can also be spotted. I'm just not that lucky.
After a tea break--the only thing Mama Anna's and this Masai village had in common--we headed for a tradition Masai dwelling. The "model home" was round in structure but not altogether impressive other than that it is made out a mixture of mud and cow manure. Comforting to know that during the dry season, the cows don't sleep inside the house. To say it was a polar opposite in comparison to the model homes of Cielo in Rancho Santa Fe would be quite the understatement.
Awkwardness ensued when Thomas said, "You might give the woman of the house a donation for letting you see her house." With only a wad of 10,000s (a little too generous a donation) and a 100 coin, either option was inappropriate: ask for change or shortchange. The whole money thing was awkward (okay, another similarity with Mama Anna's). Next off to the medicine man who pulled out a lot of gourds and a surprisingly accurate fortune (for 10,000 TSh). I wasn't sure if Thomas was making stuff up as we went along or if the rocks and shells that spilled out of his gourds are just that well attuned to the cosmic forces of the world. I think the whole thing was creepy but I'm not into that whole rocks predicting my future thing. Plus, he said I was only going to have one kid--that can't be correct.
Then B and I were escorted hand-in-hand to lunch by a pair of young girls. Mine pinched the stretched out hair thing around my wrist. Another literally tried to remove the bracelets on my right wrist. Uh, I don't know about that. I know I don't have candy but maybe if something is attached to me I want to keep it. Just a thought. More awkwardness when it came to paying, although to Thomas's credit he didn't ask us for a tip for his services as guide. Another donation, this time to the non-existent orphanage--orphaned children live with family members or pseudo-foster parents at the discretion of the village elders.
We waited on the side of the road to nowhere (okay, fine...Nairobi) for an hour. Thomas, B and I all pulled out our cell phones creating an interesting scene of the traditional and technology. Finally a dalla dalla that took us to the Masai market where a plethora of noises and colors overwhelmed me. Again suggesting that we "support Masai culture" through opening our wallets I was convinced to buy two Masai blankets...not a terrible buy but still.
Disappointed by the whole awkward money situation and mostly impressed by Thomas's brother who made it all the way from this rural, isolated Masai village to Boston to study on international scholarship at MIT, this "cultural tour" was a little less than advertised but well worth the escape from the Arusha rain and the emergency poncho that had become a recurring stylistic addition to my already adorable Tanzania wardrobe.
All of the pictures are here. (NB: B has much more of a photographers eye then myself. The impressive ones are probably hers but...she did teach me how to use most of the functions of my camera, including the digital macro one)
Finally we made it to Oldonyo Samba--36 km northwest of Arusha along the highway. At the time I was amazed at the paved road. Although it was a lengthy journey (if not allergies then I definitely had a case of the "are-we-there-yet"s), it wasn't bumpy. I labeled it "The Highway to Nowhere" but Thomas later corrected me. It goes to Nairobi.
It couldn't have been any more different from Mulala. The plains were dry, dusty, and expansive. Also, surprisingly free of "wazungu" calls. Not to worry, those were quickly replaced by requests--actually, more like demands--for candy (pipi) or pens. While still overcast I felt like I would probably feel if I had ever been to Arizona (which I haven't). Clad in brightly colored plaid-like fabric and beads, Masai herding their cattle dot the open plains. On clear days, Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru can also be spotted. I'm just not that lucky.
After a tea break--the only thing Mama Anna's and this Masai village had in common--we headed for a tradition Masai dwelling. The "model home" was round in structure but not altogether impressive other than that it is made out a mixture of mud and cow manure. Comforting to know that during the dry season, the cows don't sleep inside the house. To say it was a polar opposite in comparison to the model homes of Cielo in Rancho Santa Fe would be quite the understatement.
Awkwardness ensued when Thomas said, "You might give the woman of the house a donation for letting you see her house." With only a wad of 10,000s (a little too generous a donation) and a 100 coin, either option was inappropriate: ask for change or shortchange. The whole money thing was awkward (okay, another similarity with Mama Anna's). Next off to the medicine man who pulled out a lot of gourds and a surprisingly accurate fortune (for 10,000 TSh). I wasn't sure if Thomas was making stuff up as we went along or if the rocks and shells that spilled out of his gourds are just that well attuned to the cosmic forces of the world. I think the whole thing was creepy but I'm not into that whole rocks predicting my future thing. Plus, he said I was only going to have one kid--that can't be correct.
Then B and I were escorted hand-in-hand to lunch by a pair of young girls. Mine pinched the stretched out hair thing around my wrist. Another literally tried to remove the bracelets on my right wrist. Uh, I don't know about that. I know I don't have candy but maybe if something is attached to me I want to keep it. Just a thought. More awkwardness when it came to paying, although to Thomas's credit he didn't ask us for a tip for his services as guide. Another donation, this time to the non-existent orphanage--orphaned children live with family members or pseudo-foster parents at the discretion of the village elders.We waited on the side of the road to nowhere (okay, fine...Nairobi) for an hour. Thomas, B and I all pulled out our cell phones creating an interesting scene of the traditional and technology. Finally a dalla dalla that took us to the Masai market where a plethora of noises and colors overwhelmed me. Again suggesting that we "support Masai culture" through opening our wallets I was convinced to buy two Masai blankets...not a terrible buy but still.
Disappointed by the whole awkward money situation and mostly impressed by Thomas's brother who made it all the way from this rural, isolated Masai village to Boston to study on international scholarship at MIT, this "cultural tour" was a little less than advertised but well worth the escape from the Arusha rain and the emergency poncho that had become a recurring stylistic addition to my already adorable Tanzania wardrobe.All of the pictures are here. (NB: B has much more of a photographers eye then myself. The impressive ones are probably hers but...she did teach me how to use most of the functions of my camera, including the digital macro one)
Tuesday, July 22
Mama Anna's
Desperate to get out of Arusha, B and I headed out to the rural village of Mulala--1,450 m above sea level on the southern slopes of Mount Meru, only about 20 km outside Arusha. Getting there was quite the chore. We made our way to the bus station--one of my favorite places...what's not to love about harassment, noise, and exhaust?--looking for the dalla dalla with the yellow stripe. We got a little sidetracked and ended up trying to find the stand with the rain boots, a necessity to prevent the whole cold/muddy feet and pant legs problem from yesterday. Still clad in B's emergency poncho (and now her fast dry Patagonia hiking pants too) we scored two pairs of rain boots, the value of which proved much higher than the 12,500 TSh we paid.
Getting the bus was pretty stressful but we were pleasantly surprised when our guide was actually where he said he would meet us. The drive up to the village was full of excitement. The rain had created a slip'n'slide of the road. We bounced up and down in the back seat--secretly hoping we'd get stuck and have to help push the car out. We made our way up to the Agape Women's Group where we were warmly welcomed by the village women to Mama Anna's cheese making place. After a short tea break we started out on a walk/hike through "a maze of lush, green vegetation dotted with small farms." But not before Mama Anna, noticing that we were freezing, threw two Masai blankets on us--not dissimilar from your average Scottish print.
(My allergies were already in full swing at this point...notice the tissue)
Most of the villagers are subsidence farmers with coffee, banana, vegetable and fruit crops. Some--like Mama Anna's family--also keep livestock for milk and beef. Along the
Lemeka Hill Tour we saw coffee and banana farms and once at the viewpoint stopped to enjoy the view of Masai plains, small villages, and the surrounding hills. Mama's husband showed me "local medicine" and tried to help with the allergy situation. I'm not sure if the eucalyptus helped but it was certainly worth a try.
Then back to Mama Anna's where we had lunch and were given an explanation of the various economic activities the women's group has started, like cheese, honey, and coffee making. Most interesting (at least to me) was coffee. The process from bean to cup is a long and labor intensive one. Below is a picture of the beans during roasting.
After roasting the women showed up how to carry "luggage" (read: bananas) on our heads. They make it look a lot easier than it actually is. If only I had listened to my mother all these years and stood up straight...although come to think of it, I'm not even so sure that would help. I wasn't too bad, except when it came to multi-tasking. No dancing, or moving for that matter.
All the pictures (B's and mine) can be found here.
Getting the bus was pretty stressful but we were pleasantly surprised when our guide was actually where he said he would meet us. The drive up to the village was full of excitement. The rain had created a slip'n'slide of the road. We bounced up and down in the back seat--secretly hoping we'd get stuck and have to help push the car out. We made our way up to the Agape Women's Group where we were warmly welcomed by the village women to Mama Anna's cheese making place. After a short tea break we started out on a walk/hike through "a maze of lush, green vegetation dotted with small farms." But not before Mama Anna, noticing that we were freezing, threw two Masai blankets on us--not dissimilar from your average Scottish print.
(My allergies were already in full swing at this point...notice the tissue)Most of the villagers are subsidence farmers with coffee, banana, vegetable and fruit crops. Some--like Mama Anna's family--also keep livestock for milk and beef. Along the
Lemeka Hill Tour we saw coffee and banana farms and once at the viewpoint stopped to enjoy the view of Masai plains, small villages, and the surrounding hills. Mama's husband showed me "local medicine" and tried to help with the allergy situation. I'm not sure if the eucalyptus helped but it was certainly worth a try.
Then back to Mama Anna's where we had lunch and were given an explanation of the various economic activities the women's group has started, like cheese, honey, and coffee making. Most interesting (at least to me) was coffee. The process from bean to cup is a long and labor intensive one. Below is a picture of the beans during roasting.
After roasting the women showed up how to carry "luggage" (read: bananas) on our heads. They make it look a lot easier than it actually is. If only I had listened to my mother all these years and stood up straight...although come to think of it, I'm not even so sure that would help. I wasn't too bad, except when it came to multi-tasking. No dancing, or moving for that matter.
All the pictures (B's and mine) can be found here.
News Flash: I'm White
Our first full day in Arusha included a walk around the city and some less than cultural tourism. And rain. B, being the prepared traveler, pulled out a emergency poncho from her magical backpack--almost Mary Poppins style--for me to wear. We went to the Tourist Information Center even though B had the itinerary pretty much packed. Outside the office we were all but accosted by safari operators trying to get us to take their business cards or book a budget safari with them. Note to self: learn how to say I'm NOT interested in Swahili. For a town whose based primarily on tourism there sure weren't a lot of tourists walking around. We booked two cultural tourism tours and headed back out into the mob of Safari operators.
A curio shop provided a much needed break from the hassle of politely rejecting the many offers. I walked around the shop mesmerized by the wooden sculptures--nervous that I was going to turn and knock everything over--and memories of Mali came flooding back. The rest of the day progressed more or less similarly and consisted of ducking into curio shops to escape street vendors and randoms following us. Not an altogether amazing city. In fact, quite the opposite. On the search for colorful kangas, we were approached by a man who claimed to have the best kanga shop in town. Not so much. After promising not to charge us mzungu prices, he did quite the opposite, quoting 75,000 TSh (around $70) for two pieces of fabric! After we walked out on the negotiations--a fair price is 15,000 TSh--they followed us down the street and firmly demanded we "give them money." Caught a little off guard, and frankly a little scared, "I'm going to die", we pulled out 15,000 and that was that.
Lots of exhaust, which provoked my allergies, and "Wazungu" calls which after a while are pretty annoying. I know I'm white. I know I look a little lost. I know my Swahili is minimal. But is it really necessary to announce it to the entire world?
High spot: Learning to play cribbage (my newest addiction--Dad would love it, it's all about strategy) with B in The Lounge at L'Oasis.
Low spot: Arusha in general.
A curio shop provided a much needed break from the hassle of politely rejecting the many offers. I walked around the shop mesmerized by the wooden sculptures--nervous that I was going to turn and knock everything over--and memories of Mali came flooding back. The rest of the day progressed more or less similarly and consisted of ducking into curio shops to escape street vendors and randoms following us. Not an altogether amazing city. In fact, quite the opposite. On the search for colorful kangas, we were approached by a man who claimed to have the best kanga shop in town. Not so much. After promising not to charge us mzungu prices, he did quite the opposite, quoting 75,000 TSh (around $70) for two pieces of fabric! After we walked out on the negotiations--a fair price is 15,000 TSh--they followed us down the street and firmly demanded we "give them money." Caught a little off guard, and frankly a little scared, "I'm going to die", we pulled out 15,000 and that was that.
Lots of exhaust, which provoked my allergies, and "Wazungu" calls which after a while are pretty annoying. I know I'm white. I know I look a little lost. I know my Swahili is minimal. But is it really necessary to announce it to the entire world?
High spot: Learning to play cribbage (my newest addiction--Dad would love it, it's all about strategy) with B in The Lounge at L'Oasis.
Low spot: Arusha in general.
Monday, July 21
Arusha: City of Exhaust
I loved Lushoto. Everything about it screamed authentic and doable--except the absence of a working ATM. Our entire stay had gone so smoothly but after two nice nights it was time to head to Arusha. Little did we know the bumps ahead.
Bump #1 was the bus ride. We headed back down to Mombo and then the usual mob at the bus station commenced. Everyone is trying to sell something, pears (which we actually ended up buying), bus tickets, samosas, shoes, radios. We were in the market for bus tickets but before buying any I thought it best to actually see the bus and make sure we would have a seat. We ended up on the only bus headed to Arusha that was actually there. We sat in the front row for awhile until someone asked us what our seats were (by asked I mean pointed to our tickets with a questioning look) and we were moved to the back of the bus, B with her backpack on lap, mine shoved with all the force in me into the overhead compartment. The bus ride was anything but smooth and the "I'm going to die" refrain rang again.
My hatred for bus stations was only reaffirmed upon arrival in Arusha. Before we even disembarked, the taxi drivers were all over us. "TAXI?! Come with me! Give you good price." "Need a hotel? Safari?" No, thank you. We were followed by a good number of drivers, safari operators, and hotel spokesmen for a good block and a half. At which point I approached a taxi driver, asked is he new where L'Oasis was, and negotiated our price. He affirmed that he knew where the hotel was, but once we were semi-comfortable in the cab our driver had to inquire with other drivers to figure it out. For once, we didn't get ripped off, probably only because our driver didn't know how far out of town our hotel really was.
Short on cash and ready to explore a new city, we headed for the Barclays (which is one of the few banks that will accept Mastercard). Afterward we headed for an early dinner at Spices and Herbs, an Ethiopian restaurant. Nothing like Addis in Dar, but not disappointing, we had a nice dinner which included a good amount of people watching. Mostly wazungu bickering over the price of a hotel room and children running around like mad.
Bump #1 was the bus ride. We headed back down to Mombo and then the usual mob at the bus station commenced. Everyone is trying to sell something, pears (which we actually ended up buying), bus tickets, samosas, shoes, radios. We were in the market for bus tickets but before buying any I thought it best to actually see the bus and make sure we would have a seat. We ended up on the only bus headed to Arusha that was actually there. We sat in the front row for awhile until someone asked us what our seats were (by asked I mean pointed to our tickets with a questioning look) and we were moved to the back of the bus, B with her backpack on lap, mine shoved with all the force in me into the overhead compartment. The bus ride was anything but smooth and the "I'm going to die" refrain rang again.
My hatred for bus stations was only reaffirmed upon arrival in Arusha. Before we even disembarked, the taxi drivers were all over us. "TAXI?! Come with me! Give you good price." "Need a hotel? Safari?" No, thank you. We were followed by a good number of drivers, safari operators, and hotel spokesmen for a good block and a half. At which point I approached a taxi driver, asked is he new where L'Oasis was, and negotiated our price. He affirmed that he knew where the hotel was, but once we were semi-comfortable in the cab our driver had to inquire with other drivers to figure it out. For once, we didn't get ripped off, probably only because our driver didn't know how far out of town our hotel really was.
Short on cash and ready to explore a new city, we headed for the Barclays (which is one of the few banks that will accept Mastercard). Afterward we headed for an early dinner at Spices and Herbs, an Ethiopian restaurant. Nothing like Addis in Dar, but not disappointing, we had a nice dinner which included a good amount of people watching. Mostly wazungu bickering over the price of a hotel room and children running around like mad.
Sunday, July 20
Lushoto
After lunch we headed back up to the hotel for a nap. At around 6, B woke me up and we decided to nix dinner and continue sleeping. I guess the workshop and the travel really took it out of us. But the 14+ of sleep paid off, we were fit as fiddles for our walk up to the rain forest and Irente Viewpoint. Our guide was Saidi (again, apparently Saidi is a common name here) was a young student who grew up in Lushoto, went to Koranic school but "became" Catholic so he could attend the Catholic school. After he graduated, he decided to instead "just be me" and claims no official religious affiliation.
The rainforest hike through a portion of the Usambara Mountains was challenging but fun. We passed through unspoilt regions of tropical forests, even got to see some monkeys. Even in some of the most isolated areas, I still felt like a mzungu celebrity. Children called us out and announced our arrival to their friends and villagemates as we passed through. After being offered flowers, a group of kids demanded that I give them pens. Unfortunately, I don't tend to carry pens on hikes with me.
After the rain forest we hit up tourist hot-spot, Irente Farm and Viewpoint. We had a picnic lunch at Irente Farm, with homemade bread, cheese, and quark--a sour cream like dressing that's amazing on carrots and tomatoes. Exhausted and freezing cold, I think anything would have tasted good. After lunch we headed up to Irente Viewpoint. I can't resist including the cliche "pensively looking out to the spectacular view" picture. We didn't have the best of weather but the view was still certainly worth the hike. 
After the hike we made another circle through the market. The women in kangas and the vegetables were brilliant. Unfortunately my camera was out of batteries, so I have to steal B's pictures (in fact, all of the pictures in this post are hers). After an uninspiring meal and a tired game of Scrabble, I fell asleep almost instantly.
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