Strange Words Spoken, Boundaries Broken

There isn’t really such a thing as “Tanzanian Culture” per say. Tanzania is a nation composed of about 120 different ethnic tribes, the most recognized being the Maasai, frequently portrayed herding their cattle across the grasslands, clad in red robes. This week, it was my turn to wear the robes, although women do not herd the cows… The program that I am on is unique, because according to Baba Jack, we are the only group who actually stays with “tribal” people. Others visit them and complete daily activities, but return each night to their tents. The particular group of Maasai people that we stayed with live on the shores of Lake Natron, a huge alkaline lake in Northern Tanzania, close to the border of Kenya. Having done the whole homestay thing before, I went into this one fearless, and excited to delve into the Maasai culture. Armed with a few phrases of Kimaa (the language of the Maasai), basically just greetings (Yeyo takwenya for a women, and Olmurani supai for a young man), I felt sure that this one, especially since it was only three nights, would be a breeze. Man, was I wrong. I am going to preface my story by saying this: The Maasai that I met were incredibly nice. They went out of their way to try and include me in everything and make me feel at home. Any negatives that I have to say about the experience was entirely the fault of cultural divide, not my family. That being said, I will continue. I walked back to my boma with my Mama, after being passed off by Baba Jack and Baba Jerry in the town center. A boma is the name of the houses that Maasai live in- they are constructed by women once they are married, and are composed of a stick frame and roof, and the walls are made of dried cow dung. I was told not to bring any gifts to the homestay, but to make sure that I had my camera, because photos were all they asked for. Thrilled at this prospect, I was only too happy to oblige when all my mother’s friends, sitting in the shade of a small tree to escape the blistering heat, begged me to “piga picha”. Little did I know that meant being attacked by snot-covered children, all wanting a chance to get behind the view-finder and go through my pictures. This became one of the themes of the week. Eventually, I got so tired taking my camera out that I told everyone who asked for a portrait that the battery had died and there was no way to charge it, given the lack of electricity in the village. My 10-year-old sister, Maria, became something like my babysitter while I was there. She spoke Kiswahili, unlike the rest of my family, so that became our source of communication. Considering I have only had about three weeks of formal Kiswahili education, I’m sure you can imagine how limited conversations were. Actually, I can pretty much recount them all here: Every five minutes it was “Christina, do you want water?” “No”. “Christina, do you need to bathroom?” “No”. “Christina, do you want to shower?” “Now? How about later?” “No, now”. “But I just did twenty minutes ago!” “You want to shower”. “Christina, come”. And that about sums it up. I was asked these questions about four hundred times a day, which got really old, really fast. Add in dehydration, lack of sleep, and heat, and my fuse was very, very short. Any older people that I met also had a constant string of questions that aggravated me. “What’s your mother’s name? Father’s name? Sister’s? “Brother’s? American mother’s? American father’s? American siblings? How many children does your mother have? How old are you?” along with constantly testing me to see if I knew that the proper response for “takwenya” was “iko” and for “supai” was “epa”. While the questions were bad, that wasn’t my least favorite part by any means. Growing up, it was expected that I adhere to the idea of keeping your hands to yourself. This lesson is not exactly one practiced by Maasai… There was not a span of five minutes that passed without someone touching some part of me. I know what you’re thinking- how about showering? Nope, my sister’s seemed to feel that I was incapable of doing that myself, so they took it upon themselves to wash me. How about sleeping? Ha. While the stick and cowhide bed that we slept on was large enough for Maria and I to sleep side by side, she insisted on cuddling every night, which I seriously did not appreciate, especially since the heat at night in the boma, where windows are about the size of flashlight heads, was nearly unbearable (and that’s coming from someone who can wear sweatshirts in 80° weather). The second night there, I also found out that Maria talks in her sleep. While I was tossing and turning, she even asked me, in her sleep, if I needed to go to the bathroom, which I found both hilarious and extremely irritating at the same time. The third night I discovered that she snored too. Most nights were spent relatively sleepless, with me checking my watch every five minutes to calculate how many hours I had until I moved out, and trying not to burst into angry tears, unable to comprehend their constant need for physical contact. Every night around sunset, we climbed up a small hill to meet with the other SIT students, a time that I longed for each day. Even then though, I was forced to constantly hold the hands of children that I didn’t know, and one day two even took turns repeatedly kissing my hands. My hair also became a children’s play thing, which was alright at first, but it got old quickly. I  got to participate in some daily activities- I collected firewood (well, sat on a log with Corey and Kaitie while our sisters collected firewood, since apparently we were useless in the task) and carried it back on my head. I helped carry water, attempted to milk a goat (quite unsuccessfully), and, my favorite, learned to make Maasai beaded bracelets. Once move-out time finally came, I felt a sense of liberation. It was glorious to be able to do things for myself again. Thursday night, seven of the other students and I accepted yet another challenge that the week offered- we set off to climb Oldonia Longai- the Maasai mountain of the Gods. When Maasai are in trouble, they go to the mountain and sacrifice a goat, in hopes that their problems will be solved. The climb, however, is not an easy one. It requires six hours up a very steep slope with no switchbacks, and a four hour descent. Sadly, thanks to a very strong rainstorm that blew in around 1:30 am, we had to abandon our mission. The week was one of the most difficult weeks that I’ve experienced, but through it I think that I learned a great deal, not just about Maasai culture, but about myself. I don’t think you could get me to repeat it even if you bribed me, but it is one that will certain continue to shape my character, and one that I’ll never forget. 

 

Me, Mama, and the baby in our Boma

Maasai children

My favorite person in Maasailand- my little brother Papa

Intricate beaded Maasai Jewelry on a Maasai koko (grandmother)

Sarah, Kaitie, and I in our Maasai garb

My Babysitter/Sister, Maria

The Footsteps of Our Ancestors

After spending three weeks in homestay and a week on ISP prep, semi-separated from each other, the whole group was ready to be reunited and head back out on safari. Our excitement was through the roof when we set off for the most anticipated journey of them all- Ngorongoro Crater and the inspiration for many of our dreams- the big one- Serengeti National park. We rolled into the crater, mid-afternoon on a Saturday, and were greeted by something that we had heard a great deal about from people back home, but had not had the opportunity to experience ourselves in quite some time… cold weather! We set our tents up on a beautiful campsite on the crater rim, drinking coffee, practicing headstands, and watching the sun sink slowly behind the clouds. Being that we are a little beyond the halfway point of the trip, visions of home, family, and friends have begun to set in (man, what I would do for a trip to Surf Taco!), so longing for some tie to the states, we started a Harry Potter reading circle. Each reader is required to speak in accents, any that they are capable of, which is sure to guarantee some laughs from the rest of the group. Sunday we descended into the crater with one mission in mind… find the black rhinos. The crater is the only place in Tanzania where these animals can be found- they have been eradicated from the rest of the country. Unfortunately, this mission was not completed successfully, and I will have to leave Tanzania without the prestige of having seen the “Big 5” (The big five refers to the five most difficult (and dangerous) animals to hunt by foot- lions, leopards, rhinos, water buffalo, and elephants. Believe it or not, the most dangerous on the list is actually the water buffalo…). While it was disappointing to miss the rhinos, all was not lost. We had another experience that was probably one of the most incredible ones I’d experienced up to that point. A pride of lions came to join our party. Had I been standing on the ground as opposed to in the safari cars, it would have been impossible to abide by my photography teacher’s warning to “not pet the big kitties”. The lions brushed up against our tires, looked us in the eyes, a few even decided that the shade of the safari cars provided optimal napping spots. There is definitely a thrill involved in being four feet away from a wild lion… So while the rhinos remained elusive, our lion friends more than made up for it. We left the rim of Ngorongoro and headed to Oldupai Gorge- the location where the footsteps of our oldest human ancestors were discovered by the Leaky’s. There, we had a lecture on human evolution, which was a somewhat surreal experience given the backdrop. Once we were caught up to modern time, it was off to Serengeti. I was feeling a little sick when we arrived, but it would appear that throwing the tops off the Land Rovers and singing is excellent medicine. The drive in was incredible. We passed by tons of kopjes, attempting to decide which one looked most like Pride Rock, and pointing out all of the ostriches and wildebeest that we could find. Our campsite was beautiful, and the sight of the orange glow emanating from the setting sun was symbolically reassuring me that I was living my dream. Our time in Serengeti was spent completing studies relating to our Tarangire topics, mine being ruminants. My group and I researched impala vigilance and how it differs when impala are located in close proximity to other non-carnivores. Just like in Tarangire, we were able to trade our notebooks and pencils for cameras and tourist hats every afternoon. Of course, we saw tons of animals, including our first leopards and hippos! Our last night in the park was spent enjoying the view from the top of one of the impressive kopjes. This particular one was once a Maasai sanctuary, and featured several large rocks. Baba Jack warned us that attempting to climb them might not be the best idea, but we could try it if we wanted. Naturally getting to the top of the rock was the first thing that I thought about when seeing the kopje, and was the first to amble up (big surprise, I’m sure…) From the top, it was a 360° view of the dusty plains with scattered acacia trees and herds of buffalo grazing in every direction. It is hard for me to paint a true picture of what this experience was really like for me. Visiting the Serengeti was one of the first things I wrote on my ever-increasing, travel dominated bucket list. It was the reason that I chose this program, and something that without the love and support of my parents, I would certainly have not yet achieved. Mom and Dad, I cannot thank you enough for everything that you both have done for me. Someday I hope that I will be able to introduce you both to this magical place, and you will have the chance to really share in my dream. 

Campsite at Ngorongoro Crater

View of the crater from the rim

Where were all the wildebeeste?

Lions pumzika'ing under the safari car

On the prowl

Oldupai Gorge

Serengeti

Zebras of the Serengeti

Hitting the dusty trail

Baboon baby takes the reigns

Serengeti Sunset

Buffalo crossing

Hippo Pool

 

A Couple of Dags

Thea and I set off on our expedition to coastal Tanzania early last Sunday morning. The trip started off on a rather unfortunate foot, with us getting seriously ripped off for our bus tickets, thus putting us on a very tight budget for the rest of the trip. We took the bus from Arusha to Tanga, a large port city, which took 8 hours, and then hopped on a daladala to the village of Pangani. The ride between the two cities took two hours on the daladala, and like in Arusha, there is ALWAYS room for one or ten more on a daladala. Needless to say, it was incredibly cramped, and contact with strangers armpits and flab were impossible to avoid. Word to the wise- if personal space is important to you, NEVER ride a daladala. Luckily for me, I'm pretty much used to it by now. We arrived hungry, hot, and tired in Pangani at 4 pm, with absolutely no idea where to find the elusive Inn by the Sea. With no money to spend on a taxi cab and an insurance policy that explicitly forbids "piki piki" (motorcycle) rides, we were determined to walk. A nice man named Mto (river) volunteered to guide us. Along the way, we ran into our first saving grace of the trip: Hot Hot. A very well respected villager in Pangani, who knows everything about everything in the village. He brought us to our hotel, gave us a tour around Pangani, even promised that he would take us to meet the local fishing and mangrove commissioners. After a dinner of rice and beans, we ventured back to the hotel, and enjoyed the glorious waters of the now familiar bucket shower. After, crisis struck- the power went off, which wouldn't have mattered at all if the room hadn't been about 100 degrees with the fan. It was an uncomfortable night to put it lightly, and one that Thea referred to as "the worst night ever". Checking out the next morning was a celebrated event. Hot Hot informed us that, to get to our final destination of Oshongo, a small fishing village on the other side of the Pangani River, in addition to paying for the ferry, it would also cost 30,000 shillings to hire a car to take us to our hotel. Well aware that we did not have the money for that, we began to brainstorm other options of how to travel 16 km from the ferry to the village. Bikes, we decided, were the answer. We boarded the ferry with two bikes, three backpacks, and a bag filled with fruit, seriously doubting that the roadway would be as flat as Hot Hot said and imagining how hot the next two hours of our lives would be. Lucky moment number two: we were approached by a woman who worked at the hotel bar (Drifter's) who informed us that the hotel manager happened to have two friends on the ferry, and was sending a car for them, and offered us a lift, free of charge. We gladly accepted, vowing to try our bikes out later in the week. The manger's friends turned out to be lovely people. Leslie, an Australian fisherman who was born in Kenya and had family in the Tanga region, and Claudia, a civil servant from Germany who had worked in Ghana and has done extensive traveling throughout Africa. The two of them semi-adopted Thea and I, lecturing us about the importance of sunscreen and bug-spray, offering us food, and sharing fascinating stories about their lives with us. Leslie even accompanied us in our journey back to Tanga, a feat that would have been most difficult without him. Both Thea and I were very sorry to say goodbye to the two of them, and hope that someday our paths may cross again. It was such a humbling experience to meet people who were so willing to do anything they could to help a couple of strangers, for no reason beyond they were once in our place. New friends did not stop there either. Thea's research project requires her to survey village fisherman about beach management units, and other conservation efforts, so translators were required. We were invited to dinner at on of the translator's homes, and were told that we would be welcomed back at any time. Tanzanians are known for their warmheartedness and overall kindness. After visiting the coast, I now see why. Everyone we met was exceptionally nice. They appreciated our attempts at Kiswahili rather than laughing like most, and we even noticed a severe decrease in the irritating cries of "mzungu".
I went to the coast with the intention  of completing a project about biodiversity in the mangroves lining the river, but after a walk with Les through the intertidal zone, I quickly changed my mind. The life was unreal. Gorgeous starfish in bright reds, giant clams that actually spit water 4 feet into the air (into Thea's face), even well-hidden octopus, living under the cover of sponge and brain corals. I'm a scuba diver, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a reef that beautiful. The overall trip was incredible. It felt more like a vacation than anything else, between the bathtub waters of the Indian Ocean, breathtaking sunrises, views of the Milky Way, bike-rides down the white sand beaches,  and coconut flavored everything. When it was time to leave, Thea and I were half crushed at the prospect of returning to Arusha, but the knowledge that safari are next on the agenda, and then we return to the coast made it tolerable. We were greeted by lots of hugs and questions about the coast when we got back, and there were several half joking "Ugh, I hate you's" thrown in there, but it was lovely to be reunited with the group. Tomorrow, it is off to Ngorongoro Crater to try and find rhinos, and then I finally get to live my childhood dream, the one that brought me here: Serengeti. After that, Lake Natron and Maasai home-stay. I'm sure I speak for Thea and I though when I say that thoughts of the Indian Ocean will never be far from our minds, and we are excited to return and introduce Sarah (who changed her ISP after seeing our pictures) to our coastal paradise.

Leslie, fishing at dawn

Fishing boats off the shore

Thea by the mangroves

Our chosen mode of transportation

Karibu Tena, na Tena, na Tena!

Well, it is official. The part of the trip (other than maybe ISP…) that I felt most anxiety about has come to a conclusion. Homestay in Bangata has ended. When I arrived in the village three weeks ago, all I wanted to do was go back out on safari. I pictured all of the awkward moments that were sure to ensue given the language barrier and, naturally, assumed that my family would probably hate me. The transition was a challenge. As I mentioned previously, it is not easy to move in with complete strangers and be forced to rely on them for everything from food, to instruction, even to water for drinking and showering. Reflecting on it now, I wish I could rewind and start over (probably from the beginning of week two…). My Tanzanian family was wonderful. They accepted me into their home, and made me feel like as much a part of the family as is possible in a three-week span. Times there were not without embarrassing moments and oh boy was I laughed at. I suppose informing family friends that you are visiting the Maasai on the 80^th of March warrants some chuckles… ok, maybe saying “good night” at 7 am, asking my brothers how school was before they even left, and mistaking “kufua” (to do laundry) and “kufa” (to die) do too. (It was rather concerning to wake up thinking that mama was telling me her plan for the day was to kill my brothers. I’m so glad that she was really just washing their clothes). All of these moments were combined into a skit that my friends and I performed at a farewell party that we aptly titled “hatuelewi!” meaning “we don’t understand!”

            This past week was midterm week. We received many assignments, including a ten-page paper on a topic somewhat related to globalization, a five-page paper on the concept of gender, an analysis of our time in Africa so far, a resource flow map and village map, both done entirely in Kiswahili, a comparative paper, showcasing the differences between our maps and those of our families, and a chore chart, dictating what was done by whom inside and outside the home. On top of all this, Kiswahili classes continued, and this week featured both a written and an oral test. Needless to say it was a very busy week, complicated by power outages and money shortages, preventing (some) of us from access to the ever important snickers bars (after all, who can really do their best work if chocolate, or in my case biscuits and sesame seed granola bars, are lacking?). Despite all the work, I still managed to find some time to learn to bake cake (with no oven! Happy early birthday, Erick!), make 7 friendship bracelets to distribute to my family and neighbors, watch snippets of the Hunger Games (sadly we couldn’t donate quite enough time to finish… =/), and even become reacquainted with Western music! Alex, if you happen to be reading this, I successfully went six weeks without Jack Johnson…

            I got pretty close to my brothers, especially Erick, while living in Bangata. It is without doubt, largely thanks to him that I don’t have more miscommunication stories. Our last weekend together, the three of us were sitting in my room, making friendship bracelets. We heard something hit against the ceiling repeatedly. They both mentioned how disturbing the sound was. I said that I didn’t mind and continued working. About two minutes later, they started yelling, and I looked up to see a bewildered bird flapping around my room! Apparently it fell in through a crack between the wall and ceiling. In fright, the bird flew into the wall and fell. Emmanuel ran over and grabbed it, then turned around and cracked a crazy grin. I was immediately struck with panic… My little brother was about to squish this poor bird right in front of me. I pleaded with him to release it outside, and we went to get Mama. She came to inspect the crack, and we returned to the dining room, to find Emmanuel standing by himself. I ask him where the bird was, and he pulled his hand out from behind his back, still grasping it tight. I told him again to let it go, and that time he conceded, and went to put it outside. The bird, however, had other plans. Once Emmanuel loosened his grip, it flew right back into the house! This time, (thankfully) Mama caught it and put it outside before it could continue its tour of the house. Once I was finally sure that the bird was ok, I found the event to be hysterical. Talk about habari moto moto! (Kiswahili classes began every day by students sharing “habari moto moto”, or hot hot news).

             Every night after dinner, the boys and I would sit around the dining room table doing homework, asking questions, and sharing stories. Erick informed me every night leading up to departure that it was the worst week ever because we had to say goodbye. He said that he wished I couldn’t leave until I had been living there for at least a year, and also asked me several times if I planned to return to Tanzania after I go back to America. In response, I informed him that I certainly hoped so, and that I wanted to bring my family with me (hear that Mom and Dad? An 11-year old boy is counting on you to come and visit. Guess we’re going to have to start planning the trip… =D) I told Mama that I wanted to come back and see the family before leaving the country in May, and she told me that I was “Karibu tena, na tena, na tena!”. Welcome again and again and again. When I shared these stories with my friends, everyone exclaimed that they were going to miss Erick and that he was the best little brother ever. I know I’m going to miss not just him, Emmanuel, and Mama, but all the neighbors too. As hard as it was to move into the house, it was so much harder to leave…

            Now it is time to actually figure out what I’m doing about ISP… Thea and I set off for the port city of Tanga tomorrow. Fingers crossed I won’t be so lost about my research project when I return…

This week I was thinking about friends and family at home a lot, as it is a popular birthday week. That being said, I would like to wish happy belated birthdays to my Uncle Tom (March 2^nd) and my sister, Erin (March 8^th). I also want to wish a happy early birthday to one of my best friends, Shira (March 11^th). If any of you are reading this, or even if you’re not, I love and miss you all very much. Wish I could have been there to help celebrate!

Erick, teaching me about the regions of Tanzania

Mama, Erick, and I with the cake we made without an oven

Erick sharing his birthday cake with me

Chow time

Piu