Christian Louboutin

So I spent the weekend with Gatto in Los Angeles and believe it or not I actually missed Morogoro. I was hanging out at a music producer's (of the likes of Kenny G, Mariah Carey, Leona Lewis) house. His girlfriend was everything you think of when you think of LA. I calculated it when I got back (because I'm just that cool) from their house on Sunday and her Christian Louboutin--$700 heels wore by the stars--collection would provide bed-nets for the entire Morogoro region.

Malaria Scare!

Sweat. Chill. Sweat. Sweat some more. Sweat for no apparent reason. Chill. This was my Thursday.
After frustrated phone calls to my parents, I spoke with the Professor. Apparently, he too had malaria. He was surprising calm about the situation. If my "American daughter"--this is my nickname--were exhibiting the typical malaria symptoms I would have found it a little more pressing. Little Mango and I splurged and took a taxi to the hospital, a whole 3,000 TSh! One of the nurses promptly pricked my finger and drew a small blood sample.

Immediately the lab technicians made a thick and thin blood smear. The process I've watched them complete on a daily basis was now unsettlingly personal. Doubtful that it was actually malaria (I've been diligent in taking my doxycycline and using my bed net), I was nonetheless relieved not to have parasites. My blood counts were all normal too.

Phew! I would have had myself airlifted home if I had malaria. Would they let me back in?

School Days

The D Family joined us for the usual Friday night Dragonaire dinner. As their last Friday night in Morogoro, we arranged for Little Mango and I to tour the African Inland Church Tanzania School where S and J had been teaching English for the past three weeks. M&M (the parents) were lending their business and non-profit savvy to the Eastern Arc Mountains Conservation Endowment Fund which funds projects that "conserve biodiversity for sustainable development." Our family vacations usually involve museums, eating, basking in the Italian sun. That they dedicate summer vacation to such a challenging and tiring endeavor is quite remarkable. What an amazing family! I couldn't help but revert to CMC tour guide mode and convince S to at least visit.

On Saturday we met the D Family on the side of the main road, which still remains nameless to me (and everyone else in Morogoro, I think). Little Mango and I jumped in the bed of the pickup and drove to the AICT School. S and J gave us the lay of the land, including the plethora of books, Bingo sets, foam letters, flashcards, etc. they brought along with them. Next thing you know S and J are full-on instructors, and recitation of the alphabet begins.

A, B, C, D, E, F....Z

"Z" is very exciting and exclaimed 4 decibels higher than any other letter. The volume throughout was overwhelming until about H, at which point the loudest (and smartest) students took over. After the lesson, we headed out to the playground. Students literally fought over who got to hold my hand. Soon after the girls and boys were separated, the boys off to play football (not American football) and the girls to play monkey-in-the-middle. Today, the girls who arrived early were handed brooms, the boys were given two soccer balls.

Lessons were followed by time outside. My entourage--surprisingly large considering the short amount of time I had spent there--settled into a pile of dirt where I practiced letters and numbers to those with an attention span longer than twenty minutes. The attention and/or the dirt may explain the lingering sneezing. Picture taking was another activity during the "recess" portion of the day. The kids went crazy when I pulled out my camera. "Take a pick-ture." They certainly weren't shy, each clamoring to see themselves on the tiny LCD milliseconds after the picture was taken.
I was amazed today when kids from the far end of the playground would come up to me asking for a pick-ture, even when my camera was stowed--completely out of sight--in my pocket. I couldn't oblige anyways, seeings as I ran out of batteries. I was also shocked at how quickly a intruding dog was forced from the school grounds. Mere seconds after appearing on the campus, he was driven away by a mob of students throwing rocks at him. Poor puppy, just wanted to join in on all the fun with the kids!

Of course a teacher never plays favorites but I must confess one little student was particularly charming.
I have a new found respect for teachers, especially nursery school and kindergarten teachers. How they entertain, let along teach, for as long as they do is beyond me. After two and a half hours I was ready for a very long nap...

Where's the Chipotle?

I'm getting really excited about Chipotle and anything that comes from Whole Foods or out of Dad's kitchen! I've eaten many a meal at SUASA Club. It's an Austrian themed kitchen but for obvious reasons I have yet to try the wiener schnitzel. You can find the following on the menu at SUASA:
Chicken Chowmein
You can't tell the difference between noodles and chicken, China and Italy unless you ask our chef.
(Doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence. You can see why I've stuck to the vegetable curry!)
Stir Beef
Imagine! The food is kept cooking on your table!

Also hilarious, the side of a Supa Bread truck reads: So good, you can't eat it on its own. I buy Tanga Loaf instead.

My Tanzanian "Boyfriend"

I often joke about my Tanzanian "boyfriend." I first met him while waiting for the boys at the taxi stand to head to Dragonaires. The handshake was long and not wanting to misinterpret cultural greetings I let him hold it for a few minutes, after which I tried to squirm out of the firm grasp he had on my right hand. Commenting on the fact that we had mutual friends, he asked to borrow my phone and I obliged. He called himself...ingenious way of obtaining my number.

The first bit of conversation was seemingly normal. He asked the usual questions: Where are you from? What are you doing in Tanzania? Why did you come here? What do you hope to get out of the experience? When he offered a room in his house to me, I started to Zacharia asked for my hand in marriage, claiming that white English girls are of a purer character than their African counterparts. I was taken aback, offended even, by his statement of hatred for "stupid African women" and his assumption that because I'm mzungu I have money and a good education. His lack of respect for African women, Tanzanian women in particular, left me speechless.

After our first conversation he called me on a daily basis, multiple times each day even. I ignored all of his calls but my subtle rejection was obviously not a strong enough social cue. He would find me as a walked to work and scold me for not keeping in touch with him. Was I sick? If I did not answer the phone how was he to know that I was not. He would ask for money or work, neither of which I would give him.

Yesterday Little Mango was introduced. He found us as we were heading to town. Keeping my hand in his for many minutes, I had to struggle a little to remove it. Later I asked E about him and the stories poured out. Antidotes about his alcoholism, his drug problem, the mess he has created for his family, the lack of respect for women.

Needless to say, I don't think it's going anywhere.

Back to Dar

After a quiet ride with the owner and operator of Peponi in his Land Rover, we got dropped off at the Tanga bus station. If I never have to take a bus (or grace a bus station) in Tanzania again, I don't think I'd be too devastated. The guy who shuffled us into the dalla dalla somehow recognized us and offered us another ride and followed us in our circle around the bus station until we booked our tickets.

We did a short circle around Tanga, in desperate search of the ice cream parlor. Of course, we were followed for literally 2 km by a guy who had requested a cig. Do I look like a smoker? Finally, after lots of angry attempts to get rid of the guy I yelled Niecha! (Leave me!) at him. We found refuge from the heat and the pesky follower in another ice cream parlor that from what I could tell hadn't opened yet for the day.

Warning: I'm about to complain about another sweaty bus ride. We were called to board the bus, along with everyone else sitting in the back two rows. B's backpack didn't fit in the overhead compartment and neither did mine. Sweaty with pushy Tanzanians anxious to sit in their seats all around, I managed to squeeze mine under the seat. Unluckily for B she sat with hers on lap for almost the entire trip.

Ah...finally in Dar! Again, mean and hypoglycemic we made a quick taxi drive over to Sweet Eazy for happy hour and overpriced vegetable stir fry. The calamari made my day but also made me miss DC and my usual calamari consuming companion. (Hope you're reading this Gatto)

Then after a much needed boost in my blood sugar levels it was out to the airport to fetch Little Mango, the newest American arrival in Tanzania. Another great night and the Swiss Garden Hotel, Nutella crepes at Seacliff Village, and another thrilling trip to Shoppers Supermarket. Also picked up North of South and The Yiddish Policeman's Union at A Novel Idea. Set me back 40 bucks but worth.

Back to Morogoro!

The Peponi Routine

Another adventure at the Arusha bus station ensued before B and I began another six hour bus ride. Destination: Tanga...actually Pangani...better yet, Peponi--a small and secluded beach resort. Having eaten breakfast at 7 AM, B and I were all but famished. We were pushed toward a dalla dalla on route to Pangani but after 10 minutes of waiting with my backpack on my lap (the honey I purchased from Mama Anna all over the left strap) and a pest of a man harassing me for money, B and I decided to splurge and take a cab. Luckily before hand we had looked up the Swahili for Piss off! and Leave me alone! so I better equipped to get rid of the guy who insisted on tapping me a little too close to my chest for comfort. When we finally arrived--arrive a taxi ride almost entirely on the wrong side of the road where the road was "better"--we were told we would have to wait until 8 PM to eat the first meal of the day. I almost went into major hypoglycemic fit mode but showed a little restraint and ordered a brownie and a beer instead.

B and I made a b-line for the beach and had a nice walk on the beach, still anxiously awaiting seafood salads and crab pasta.
Later at the bar we practiced Swahili from the social sections of the phrasebook titled "going out," "pick up lines," "getting closer," and "love." The little girls in us definitely glaringly apparent. Little did we know that we'd already fallen into the Peponi Routine: eat breakfast, hang out on the beach, cool off in the warm water of the Indian Ocean, eat lunch, take a nap, shower (hot water is on from 5:30 to 8:30), eat dinner, play cribbage, pass out, repeat.

Pictures are here for those of you that like to be green with envy. Again, the artsy, well-lit ones are B's.

Sally and Manka

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Lushoto, Here We Come!

Packed and seemingly ready for trip, B and I headed to bus terminal in Morogoro. C had already called us a taxi and he was waiting for us in the driveway. That was easy, too easy almost. We got on the first bus, Hood to Mombo. The bus ride was a little bumpy--to be expected--and for some reason the refrain "I'm going to die, I'm going to die" seemed to continually run through my head. Especially when the driver went at high speeds and soared over "speed bumps" along the way. The lady sitting next to me--which wasn't B, we had seats across the aisle from one another--insisted on spreading her legs out over the imaginary boundary I'd created between our seats, which required me to spill out into the aisle.

Expert eavesdropper that I am, I overheard that the next stop was Mombo and we followed my new friend Lucas to a smaller bus headed into the mountains for Lushoto. Even though the bus was all but empty, Lucas decided it was necessary to corner me into my window seat and proceed into a Swahinglish chat with me. Taken by the beauty of the uphill drive and the lush surroundings, I was unamused and unimpressed by his offers to escort B and I to Irente Viewpoint the next day. As we disembarked at Lushoto--a small bus station, but seemingly hectic nonetheless--we were met with the usual onslaught of "help." We headed quickly for the Green Garden Hotel which had two singles for us.

Ready to stretch our legs, we explored to market and ducked into the first decent looking restaurant we could find. The market was much more welcoming than its Morogoro counterpart. We were met with many more "Karibuni"s--welcome--a much needed relief from the "Wazungu!"s heard when we grace the Morogoro Market. At lunch a shy Nancy, aged 3, exhausted all the Swahili I know in about five minutes but seemed entertained just watching B and I eat.

Let the (Mis)Adventures Begin!

With the closing of the workshop--130,000 TSh (about a 100 bucks) poorer from a frustrating theft incident--I was definitely ready for some time on the road. In a unheard of burst of speed, B and I went into town to pick up our dresses, which, in my opinion, turned out really well! All the workshop students were snapping their momento pictures and B and I decided to join in. Why not? At the risk of repeating what has already been well documented, here's a glimpse. Hopefully I'll end up wearing it in the States. Yes, I know it's short. That's probably why Dundy insisted on calling me "legs" for the duration of the night.


After a nice closing ceremony to the workshop (that I missed because I was burning CDs with pictures and powerpoint presentations) and dinner at Dragonaire we all headed back to pack, but not after a picture of what we termed the "Kids Table"--not quite esteemed enough to sit with the faculty from the likes of BMGF or Oxford and talk hard science but at the same time not even really wanting to.

Something to Look Forward To

Lots of things to look forward to in the next couple of days, maybe a little something to check my negativity.

Cake. Talk of a homemade chocolate cake--right out of the cake mix bag--has been circulating for a few days now. I've been craving the chocolate fudge cake from Cheesecake Factory for quite some time but Pillsbury mix in Arabic will have to suffice. Gathering all the ingredients has been quite a process--everything seems to be a laborious process here--but I think we finally have everything together. I'm baking tonight and hopefully enjoying soon after.

Dresses. Last week B and I went into town to get dresses made. We explored town for fabric and made a detour through Morogoro Market. Trying to explain the vague idea I had for my dress required B's Swahili phrasebook and multiple drawings. I'm just crossing my fingers that I don't end up with puffy sleeves (as seems to be a trend here). The seamstress was in awe of how short I wanted it. We pick them up tomorrow and the anticipation is trying my patience. Pictures to come...hopefully they'll be more attractive then my hair when I got it braided.

End of the Workshop. While I have learned A LOT and really enjoyed the opportunity to engage with East African students, I'm ready for a break from photocopies (although B and T-Man have done the majority of that) and printing CD labels. Reimbursement receipts for the students have been a lingering project and I can only look forward to no longer have to fight with them about receipts and documentation and money. It's hard to deny them their requests, especially because it's only a matter of a few dollars, but protocol is protocol--even if T-Man and I have to make it up as we go.

Trip with B. Can you say vacation? My chance to explore this beautiful country has finally come! B and I head to Lushoto on Saturday. Famous for it's cheese--go figure--this smaller town north of Morogoro is near the Usambara Mountains. After some hiking and nature touring it's off to Arusha and some Masai villages. After a few days we head to coastal Pangani for a Coconut Sunset Cruise. Jealous yet? I'm really excited about the beach!

Research with Kitty. When I return, hopefully refreshed and with some good Western food from the supermarket in Dar, Little Mango will be here. Talked to the big boss yesterday and it sounds like there will be plenty to keep me busy for my last three weeks. I'm going to be doing some really interest research and also privy to confidential information. That makes me feel at least a little important!

Less than a month left? I can't believe I've gotten through a month and a half major-disaster free. Knock on wood.

Cartwheels on a Gravel Road

After a little semi-scientific inquiry I've come to the conclusion that Tanzanian food just makes me sick. While I'm still far from proving with any statistical significance that this a causal relationship, there is certainly a strong correlation between the two. As such, I've been attempting to avoid Tanzanian food, which means mooching off the fruits of other's cooking talents--and I've been pretty successful so far! On Tuesday night I went over to the Belgium house for homemade pasta sauce. The highlight of the evening was probably the twenty minute struggle to open the bottle of Tall Horse (South African wine). My inexperience--or the uselessness of anything in a Tanzanian kitchen--was glaringly obvious when I broke the corkscrew. The metal literally broke off into the cork and a battle of physics and strength ensued.

Last night, after a mind-numbing day of spreadsheet malfunctioning and reimbursement receipts for the Workshop students, the last thing I wanted was vegetable curry at SUASA. Although impossible, Chipotle sounded pretty darn perfect. B's soup was a good alternative. B and T-Man and I were having a little party in the kitchen...B working on her soup, me working on the cake. Mom would have been proud of the Lucinda Williams playing off my laptop.

"We're All Primates"

The workshop schedule was rearranged so that Saturday was another full day of lectures and small group discussions. Dundy and I stayed late and got talking about organizational leadership while I waited for Gatto to find a Skype microphone. He's here for a whole year--I don't know how he can stand being away from his wife for that long! I've only been here for a month and a half and I'm going nuts. After a later night at the lab, I headed over to S&V's for wine and homemade pizza. I hate to say it but I think I might actually be sick of pizza. Nevertheless I wasn't going to pass up a night with my favorite Belgium Boys.

Even after a fun night, I was still in a bad mood. I spent all the remaining vocha--cell phone credits--I had to text back and forth with my parents who were looking at colleges with my sista in New England. I was still in a funk on Sunday morning. So much so that I decided to opt out of the Mikumi safari--something about waking up before the crack of dawn and sitting in a car all day, albeit among giraffes, looking at birds just wasn't doing it for me. I spent the day reading What is the What and hibernating. I'm almost finished with the book which means I'll have to find another one, which of course will probably be problematic. My hibernation was interrupted by loud noises on the roof. I figured it was just the rats--haha, just the rats--but was slightly worried that someone might be trying to break into the mzungu compound. C soon clued me in to the true source of the commotion: vermet monkeys!

They were totally unphased by us, snapping pictures of them. Although a little camera shy they continued to pounce and bite each other. Dad would have loved it! We watched them for a good twenty minutes, until the dogs came barking and they all ran away. I'd run away too, these dogs are totally ferocious. Sorry Penny, these guys are out of your league...

Workshop, Workshop, Workshop

One full week of the workshop down and another to go. Yesterday I got the opportunity to stop stapling and preparation of the workshop CDs (to be passed out to the students at the end of the workshop) and got to listen to some of the talks. A senior grant officer from BMGF--can I please have your job?--spoke on clinical trial design and the malaria vaccine pipeline. In small groups we--I actually participated this time--put together our own TPP (target product plan) for a transmission blocking vaccine in Phase IIa trial. P assigned me to the TBV (transmission blocking vaccine) group because of PapaBear--my Dad worked on a transmission blocking vaccine for year at the NIH. We were given about an hour to do it and present a powerpoint with it. Let's just say that it was a hectic hour. People spend months on this stuff and I wasn't really impressed with or proud of the result. However, the exercise got me thinking, especially about possible thesis topics.

The general theme of the week has been exhaustion. For some reason waiting around for that burst of urgency is extremely tiring. I'm sure the pizza and the party that followed over at our place hasn't helped. I was the first to excuse myself from the get together we hosted last night which made me feel a little like the first girl that falls asleep at a sleepover.

(Home)sick

Thank goodness for Pepto (and B for bringing Pepto like an experienced and well-prepared traveler)! My stomach has been very mad at me the last couple of days. The combination of the GI problems and the heat and the demands of the workshop have really worn on me. Of course, it was only a matter of time before the stomach problems kicked in but the coincidence with the workshop has proved embarrassing. I clued B and T-Man in and within a few hours the faculty all took an interest in my condition. Unfortunately, I fear that I will forever be known as that "intern girl that was sick all of the workshop."

At dinner at SUASA with a number of the faculty, each put in their suggestion about what I should eat. I was thinking of a vegetable curry with rice but they suggested just plain rice. So dinner on Wednesday was just that, rice. Not going to lie, at this point I'm pretty sick of rice. And SUASA. And Oasis. And Dragonaire. Crunchy vegetable roll at Kinya with JC and C-Bear and Pinkberry with P would be pretty awesome right about now. 42 days until I return to the States...not that I'm counting or anything...

It's funny how being sick brings out the baby in me. I just want to go home and be in my non-mosquito netted bed.