Mud Butt

Houston, we have a problem……

Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Houston, we have a problem……

Houston, we have a problem……………..Today is finally the day, I am going to see babies!!!!!!! I am very excited, and a little nervous. Last night, I read the log book here that the workers at Upendo Childrens Home have been writing in, and reports are very discouraging. Stories of unsanitary conditions and alleged abuse make me very concerned for what I might see. It does not scare me away from wanting to work there, but the negativity in the messages is a little off-putting!
At 7:30 in the morning, we all piled into the CCS van and Simon, the driver, took us all to our various placements. One girl is going to a kindergarden, several girls are going to the local clinic, one of the guys is going to a youth arts workshop, and four of us to the orphanage. We were at our next to last stop when my heart went into my throat. Andrew, one of the young men here, is volunteering at Kilamahewa School, and we dropped him off before going on to the orphanage. I had been told a little about the school, but I was unprepared for what I saw. Literally, a one-room mud hut in the middle of a large dusty field. It usually holds 70-80 children.
Let that sink in for just a moment………………70-80 children in a room no bigger than 15×15. They are ages 3-10. That, however, is not the amazing thing! The teacher is a man named Mr. Massawe. He was too poor to send his children to school, so he began to teach them in his home. Word spread quickly and children from all over the area that were also too poor to attend school began coming to his house (that would be the aforementioned mud hut). He took them in and Kilamahewa School was born. That is the amazing thing.
When Andrew approached the kids, they all chanted out “Hibari” to him as the teacher directed them with his arms. He was waving at them and smiling madly. I was about fifty feet away, sitting in the van, and I was immediately covered in goosebumps. You know how sometimes, you don’t know why, and you don’t know how, but you just KNOW that you are in the right place at the right time. Every fiber of my soul told me that THIS was where I was supposed to be. I wanted to yell at Andrew to come back and let me go instead. As the van pulled away, my eyes filled with tears. This was definitly NOT in the plans!!!
Soon, though, we arrived at the orphanage. I stepped out of the van and an eighteen month old boy ran to me with outstretched arms. I swooped him up and told everyone, “Ok, I am done….I got what I came for!” We were taken to meet Sister Immaculata, the nun in charge of the home, and I took the boy with me. I mean, how could I put him down?! The sister was very gracious as she welcomed us into her office, and introduced herself. I asked her what her expectations were for the volunteers and she just said to love the children as much as possible. Hmmmmm, I don’t think that will be difficult!
After our meeting, the other volunteers disappeared, and the sister took me on a little tour. We went into the nursery where I met Michael, a little boy that had become half-paralyized by menengitis. As he grinned up at me, I just wanted to swoop him up and take him home! I spent the morning with the pre-toddlers, (babies that are just starting to walk), and before long, it was tea time. Rather than milk, they got a sweet, hot tea, and the nurse and I fed them from plastic cups. There are no sippie cups, or bottles…..just regular drinking cups, so they hold a plastic bowl under the babys chin and have them drink. When the extra drips into the bowl, they just pour it back into the cup and keep going. It is kind of amazing!
After tea, a few of the other nurses brought in all of the boys, aged 16 months to two and a half years.
Now it was milk time! Again, they drink out of regular cups, and it is the cutest thing you ever saw! As I looked at all of these little African babies with milk all over their faces, I thought, the milk industry has no idea……this is my idea of a “Got Milk?” ad!!!!
They play for a while and I become a human jungle gym. It is official…..I am a human story-teller doll! I have been peed on, pooped on, snotted on, milk-ed on, and minutes later…..beaned and riced upon! I cannot tell you how happy I was! After a little more play time, they boys sat down for lunch. Bowls of hot beans and rice were bought out and all but the littlest ones were given spoons. A nurse brought in Michael and strapped him into a chair. It turns out that there is one sippie cup here and it is his. Using a bowl to catch the dripping, I feed him while he looks up at me with huge brown eyes fringed in the longest lashes I have ever seen. I put the bown and cup down to pull another little boy off of me, (he has both of his hands firmy entwined in my hair and his teeth sunk into my arm), and Michael deftly turns the bowl of milk over. He smiles and laughs and laughs. Oh man….this is great.
As for the conditions at the orphanage, I think the nuns are doing an incredible job with the resources that they have. There are 55 or so children here, and in a country with rampant disease and poverty, they are doing their best to give them a safe environment. They are fed and clothed (after a fashion) and I am very, very impressed. All of the babies have on used, hand-me down clothes, and none of them wear diapers. there is a half-hearted attempt to potty-train them from the moment they start walking, and I can tell you, it is not working very well! Mostly, the kids pee where they want, (including on me!), and if a nurse sees them with wet pants, she takes them and sits them on a little plastic pot. The picture of three or four little babies sitting on pots out on the playground is absoulutely precious, but I don’t think they are getting the idea! No one wears underwear, so when you notice a suspicious smell, you just start going around a pulling the back of their pants out to investigate. It is kind of like playing that game, ‘where is the button’. They have no kleenex or anything, so as far as sanitation is concerned,…well, there isn’t alot. But, again, the nuns are doing much better than many of the village families are able to do, so my heart really goes out to them. I think that the earlier volunteers that wrote in the log book might have had unrealistic expectations of the orphanage.
As far as toys go, there is a very small assortment of old, plastic pieces of toys littered about the playground. The children love them, and constantly give them to me, just to here me say, “Asante sana….Sawa!!!!” and hand them back. The other volunteers are a little shocked and saddened at the lack of toys, but as far as I can see, the babies are so happy! I think any mother will tell you that a two year old will get equal amounts of delight out of a barbie and a wooden kitchen spoon. It is really something to see.
When the bus finally comes to pick us up, I am exhausted. But even more so, I am happy. I am carrying a thousand smiles back with me after only one day. so how could I ever be unhappy! However, all day long, I could not get Kilamahewa School out of my mind. I love all children. I love them all, but my plans were to come take care of babies! As we were riding back to the house, I heard Andrew talking about asking for a change of assignment. It turns out that he has no teaching experience at all, and feels somewhat overwhelmed at Kilamahewa School. That would leave the school with only one volunteer three days a week. The orphanage has at least five everyday. I just have this overwhelming feeling that the universe is telling me that that is where I belong. I am going to sit with it for a while before I make my decision…….

Anna aka Mud Butt

Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)

Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)

Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)-Monday So, toady we finally had orientation. After a morning of rules, customs, etc., we got a group assignment to go out into the community, and then an individual assignment. Our group assignment was to go to the home of Chief Shio, the chief of the village. We went to his home and his daughter brought out chairs for all of us. When he came out from his home, he sat in front of us and asked us our names and where we are from. He was in his late 60’s or so, and had missing teeth, a threadbare pair of brown pants and an old shirt. He is, like many people, bare footed. His home looks like any other here, and he explained to us that even though a chief is elected for five years, (and he is on his second term), they get no salary or benefits at all. Of course, by benefits, he means a cow or chicken, not health insurance and an IRA. Despite living in what we would consider extreme poverty, he is gracious and dignified. After extensive greetings all around, he took us into his yard to show us his animals. As we went back, he said, “I have been cutting up a goat”, and I was sure that this was not going to be good! However, there was no sign of goat, whole or otherwise, anywhere, so I felt much better! First, he took us to the pigpen to show us his eight or nine young pigs. This seemed unusual to me, because this country has a fair amount of Muslim people, so pig is not something you see much of! After the pigs, he showed us his goat shed, and his garden. I wish that I could give you an idea of what a typical home looks like here. I have not been inside of one yet, but Jessica, a young girl that works here, has invited me to her home, so I will report on that soon. However, the outside is very much like something you would see on a “Save The Children” commercial. A ramshackle collection of small sheds, some with roofs, some without, made of every feasible kind of material that you can imagine. Animal pens are connected one to another, I am assuming so as to save from having to build four walls. There are piles of rinds and peels from vegetables and fruits, and any water you might see appears very dirty. There is often a small fire for cooking, and some sort of latrine. Of course, there is rarely running water and very few people have any kind of electricity. You can imagine that it is exactly like the “Save The Children” ads. However, there is something that we cannot see on the television. The picture is very true to life, but what is not evident is the grace and dignity with which these people live. These places are home to families that work and love and laugh. They care for themselves, their children and their animals as well as possible, and there is a great, great deal of happiness. The children walk through pens in ankle deep manure and after only being here a few days, all I can see are their smiles and happiness. It is really amazing. This report is getting rather long. So I will continue it in another email. Our schedule is getting busier, so I am borrowing a laptop and writing several reports at once. I will be able to send them all every few days when I go into town. Until then, take care!!! Tonga! (Monday Part 2) After we left Chief Shio’s home, we each had our own assignment to do. I was handed a card that read: “Community Drop Off Activity: Go out of CCS gate, turn left and go straight to the main Uru Road. At the main road, turn left and go straight until you come to a small trading center called Rau Madukani. Ask for a place where a welding workshop is. Greet the welders, introduce yourself and ask them where they get their welding materials from.” Two other girls had assignments at the Madukani, so we headed off together. The trading center is a small conglomeration of storefronts, carts, ladies sitting on blankets and men carrying boards with sale items nailed to them. Understand, this market is for locals, not tourists, so most of the items were practical, everyday things. We came upon a long line of women on sheets selling fruits and vegetables, and immediately we were approached by two elders with their hands outstretched. Toothless grins stretched wide as they greeted us, introduced themselves, asked our names, and then asked for money. I smiled and asked where the welders were, and within seconds, we had a throng of local women around us talking a mile a minute! They all leaned in to read the card with my assignment written on it, and argued among themselves in Swahili. Finally, a woman in her twenties reached through the crowd, grabbed my hand and dragged me down the street to the welding workshop. I walked up to all of the men welding, (and lounging) and introduced myself. After greetings, (and realizing that not one of them spoke a word of English), I promptly began working my way through several lines of questioning. Surely one of them would work! Ten minutes later, they are smiling broadly, but still have no idea what I am asking for. I give it one final try. ”Amerika”, I say pointing to myself. They all nod knowingly. “Tanzanian”, I say, pointing to the man nearest me, again with nods of comprehension. Then I pointed to the metal gate that they were welding and held up my hands in question. Blank looks all around. Julie and Nicola had been hanging back, and finally Julie said, “Anna, come on….they are just laughing at us!”. I told her, “No, actually, they are laughing at ME, and I do not mind in the least!”. I was in the process of telling them that I would not be leaving until I knew where the materials came from when a man walked up that spoke English. Damn! I am certain that with enough time, we could have broken down that language barrier! I relented and asked the man. “Tonga!”, he said with a smile, and we headed back to the house. On the way back to the house, a Masai tribesman approached us and stopped to greet us. Over six feet tall, he was wrapped in the traditional red and blue plaid of the Masai. He was probably in his twenties and had tribal tattoos and silver-dollar-sized holes in his ear lobes. I don’t think that calling him a true Masai warrior would be very far off the mark! He shook our hands and welcomed us to Tanzania. He had the whitest teeth and the most beautiful smile, and I had to constantly remind myself that he was real. It was the highlight of my day. The rest of the day was filled with more orientation and Swahili lessons. They have brought in a Kiswahili teacher to tutor us for an hour a day so that we can be as fluent as possible. As I went to bed, words like “Hujambo, Asante, and Gina loca ni nami” cluttered up my brain. It has been a great day, but I am tired and I want to get down to the reason I am here…….the children! Tomorrow, I finally go to the orphanage. Kwaheri!

Anna aka Mud Butt

Mzungu!

Monday, February 07, 2005

Habari!
Well, since we are still doing orientation, I have some free time, so I decided to use it wisely and send home another report! I am keeping a really detailed journal and between emails and that, I am already getting confused, so if I repeat something, I am sorry!!
So yesterday, Dana, one of the women here, gave me a crash course on the clothing Tanzanian women wear. We can get clothing made very cheaply, so I am trying to figure out what I want to have made. There is a type of sarong-wrap called a Conga that women wear wrapped around their waists as skirts. It is made of beautiful African prints and the thing that sets it apart from other garments is the proverb that is written around the bottom. The one that Dana had on says in Swahili, “I am proud of the woman I have become”. However, it is used as more than a skirt…..it is used as a non-verbal communication, mostly with a womans husband. When a Tanzanian woman gets up in the morning, rather than pick out which color she wants to wear, she picks out the proverb that suits her mood! It is a way to let her husband know how she feels without saying anything! There is even one that says something to the effect of, “I know what you are up to”, and when a woman knows that her husband has a ‘small house’, (slang for having a mistress), she wears it. She will say nothing to him, but will parade around all day for all of the world to see. Isn’t that neat!?
As far as a lot of cultural things go, I am certainly no expert yet, but I am learning very quickly! For instance, if a young man can provide a roof and food, a girl will marry him. That is pretty much all it takes. I explained to my Tanzanian friend that in America, the only real reason to get married is for love. He says that that has nothing to do with it here. But, divorce is almost unheard of. If a couple gets divorced, it reflects very badly on the parents of the couple. It brings a lot of dishonor to the family so relatives will intervene strongly if there appears to be a problem.
As for us…..we are all Mzungu. Technically, that means European, but it is a word that they use for all white people. When I walked through the market in Arusha, everyone shouted “Mzungu…Mama Mzungu!”. It is not a slur or insult, just a description. However, in this culture Mzungu means money….always. So it is not unusual for children to walk up to you and say with a smile, “Mzungu, give me money”. I even had some grown men do it! Don’t get me wrong….this is not begging. It is not homeless or street people. It is just something everyone does!
Needless to say, I learning alot!!! Not only about the way things are here, but also about the ingrained cultural bias I have brought from America. It is really eye opening!
This morning, seven of us walked into town to do email, and swarms of children followed us the whole way grinning and saying, “Hello…good morning…how are you”. They are excited to practice their conversational english and delighted when we answer in Swahili. Of course, nothing comes easily!! Yesterday a group of women greeted me with “Jambo” to which I replied, “Loa”. As they giggled uncontrollably, I remembered that I am actually supposed to say, “Poa”! There is no telling what I said to them!!
As the jet lag and culture shock is wearing off, it is slowly sinking in that I am really here. Yesterday as I walked through the village alone, I was overcome with one thought……”When did I become this woman?!?!?” Seriously, when did I become a person that believed that she could travel around the world to a completely different place and feel right at home? On the one hand, I was very proud. But on the other hand, I wondered if I was, in some way, a ……well, …..bit too big for my britches. Does that make sense? Maybe I am not made for things such as this, and someone just forgot to tell me! Well, I am here now, whether or not I belong here, and I am taking in 150% of what is around me. And as far as how I became this woman…..I am pretty sure that my mom had a lot to do with it!
Kwaheri for now…………..

Anna aka Mud Butt

Africa!!

Sunday, February 06, 2005
AFRICA!!! Georgia Peach meets National Geographic

You won’t believe this, but Anna/Muddbutt is in AFRICA, a continuation of her life of adventure. Everyone wonders about Life After Trail. We’ll be transcribing Anna’s posts from The Dark Continent as she sends them.
J. LiteShoeAnd now, from Africa….

Muddbutt:

” have to tell you, this is very much like a thru hike, and all of the same rules apply. The dirt, trash, poverty, ….none of it matters when a bunch of friends are sitting around laughing!

I just walked 2.5 km down a dirt road into town. Along the way I dodged goats and chickens, I greeted young women with huge bundles on their heads, I said “Shikamoo” to elderly women and listened as they laughed and laughed at my Swahili, and I high-fived children with giant grins and missing teeth. I ducked under banana trees, passed coffee plants, inhaled the smoke from cooking fires and roasting maize, and choked on the dust from passing vans loaded with people.

I am in Africa.

I don’t know where to begin, and I am not sure I could begin to describe this to you, but I am going to try! After a long flight to Amsterdam, and an even longer one to Kilimanjaro, I found myself finally here. On my last flight, I sat with two guys my age from Sweden who were going to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. The last several hours of the flight we were over the continant of Africa, and we kept joking that there was not a light to be seen anywhere. As we got nearer the airport, it was still pitch black and we did not even see the runway until we landed on it. We climbed stairs out of the plane onto the tarmac and walked into the single building that Kilimanjaro calls an airport. Three customs booths, one luggage carousel………….we are definitely not in Atlanta anymore!
My driver, John, picked me up and drove me the hour to the Moivaro Coffee Plantation. This is the hotel I am staying at til my program starts. Everything is very, very dark, and everything smells exotic. It is warm and breezy and I can not believe that I am actually here!
When I finally woke up from my jet/lag/tylenol PM induced haze the next morning, I was sure that there had been some kind of mistake. There are exotic flowers and banana trees as far as I can see. I have never been to the Bahamas, but this is exactly what I think they must look like.
As I sat on the veranda eating breakfast, I was surrounded by huge groups of tourists going on safari. They all looked like everything stuck on them the last time they walked through Banana Republic, and I have never seen so much khaki in my life. They were all wealthy, loud and demanding. This is definitely NOT what I had in mind!
I escaped to hike up the mountain, and after lunch, I called John and asked him to be my guide into town. I waited for over an hour for him to come, and in the meantime Estianna, the woman that worked at the front desk asked me if she could ride with us. We sat on the front steps and talked and talked. She has a 2 1/2 year old daughter and she says all that she ever hears is ‘mama, mama’. I grinned as I thought about my friends Nicole, and Lisa. There are some things that geography does not change! She also talked about being so tired, and not knowing whether she should take care of the baby, or the husband, or the parents, or the house…….I told her that it was the same for women in America and she brightened. ‘Really’, she said, ‘I thought it was only in Africa’.
I asked her if she ever took care of herself. She shook her head and said ‘No, there is no time for that’. The conversation that I had with her is one of the most special things that have happened to me so far.
When John arrived, we drove the long bumpy, dusty road into Arusha. Arusha is a fair sized city, and it has big government buildings and a great deal of commerce. If my conversation with Estianna was the most special thing, Arusha was the wildest thing! John took me to the market and walked me through. This is where the dime-store novel sentiment ‘the smells of rotten fruit and a thousand unwashed bodies’ was born. The stalls of fruit, vegatables, rice and beans were piled high and mashed together so that only one person at a time can walk by them… BUT, in Africa, there is no such thing as personal space, and we were packed in!
Now I know what it is like to be part rock star and part circus freak! Arusha is a big tourist town, but John says that tourists only stay at the hotels…they never walk around town or through the market. I think a white woman is a pretty rare sight! Everyone stared and smiled and yelled to get my attention. Children reached up to touch me and crys of ‘mama, mama’ filled the air! That was what they were all calling me! At one point, it got a little overwhelming, and I felt a little panic rise up. But as soon as I noticed it, it was gone in a flash. This is what I wanted….to see the world, to experience other cultures. It was overwhelmingly cool!!!! As we made our way back to the car, vendors surrounded me trying to sell their wares, and women smiled at me. I could tell that I was the butt of many jokes as I walked by, but none of it was mean-spirited. People were delighted at my horrible attempts at Swahili and strangers greeted me and shook my hand. This is the warmest country I have ever been to!
All of that was yesterday, and today, I left the lodge to go begin my program. The driver from Cross Cultural Solutions, (CCS), came to get me at the airport and took me to Rau, the village where I will be staying. Rau is outside of Moshi, a small town about an hour from the airport. Today is market day and as we drove, the streets are lined with people carrying their wares to market. There are Masai tribesman driving herds of cattle down the road, young boys hauling big wooden carts of maize, and women with giant bundles of green bananas on their heads. As we neared the compound where I am staying, the streets got very small, and wove between homesteads. Children are running up and down the street, high-fiving my hand as we drive by. I already love it here!!!
The compound is beautiful and as I met the staff, they showed me around. It is quiet and peaceful until three of the other volunteers arrive. Three young college guys, one of them has already been here for three months, and the other two are here for eleven weeks. Along with Dana, a woman who is staying at the compound doing a research project on Aids, we all sat down to lunch. Later today we will start our orientation, but for now, I have a couple of hours free.
After making sure that it was safe to walk into town, I decided to take off on my own and explore. Everyone that passes me stops to talk and they are so friendly! Here in the village, the only white people are CCS volunteers, so the locals are quick to approach us and talk. Soon after I left the village, I was joined by Gabriel, a young man that works as a Safari guide while saving money for college. After greeting me politely, he asked if he could walk and talk with me a while. I said sure and off we went. He told me about his family and how he used to teach English at the local school. He is obviously well known because everyone calls out and greets him. When I tell him that he is very popular, he just grins and puffs up. He lives next to the CCS compound and he says that everytime he sees me, he is going to come over and teach me some Swahili words. Sounds like a good deal to me!
Well, I am sorry that this has been so long, and I have left out a million details!!!! There is so much I want to tell you, but I will save some of it for later. I do not know if I will be able to come into town everyday or not, but I will try to keep you updated as I can. This is all well and good, and I am loving every second of it….but I am chomping at the bit to get to the orphanage. When I finally get there, I will tell you all about it! Take care!!”

Anna aka Mud Butt

You Can Never Have Too Much Tango…Day 4 Continued

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Day 4 continued………

After driving back to Quito, we all go our separate ways to get ready for a big group Tango lesson    followed by a Milonga tonight. We still have plenty of time, so Njål and I head down to the  Indian Market in the Mariscal area to buy some souvenirs. We get out of the cab and I look    up at the giant black clouds that have rolled across the sky. ¨You know¨, I said, ¨this might be a great time to go have a coffee and let this storm pass before we wander  through     the open air market!¨ He agrees and we head for the Hilton Hotel that happens to be there  on the corner. We settle into a much-too-nice restaurant next to a window and order coffee as the rain starts to pour and lightning begins to flash across the sky. Talk about    good timing!!! We talk and laugh and exchange stories about violin making. The conversation   goes from serious to hysterical and back again, neither of us bothered by the fact that this is probably the worst coffee either of us have ever had. J By the time the coffee pot     is empty and the rain has stopped, it is time for Njål to head to his private Tango lesson.   The shopping will have to wait for another day.
I head home to get things organized and within the hour am in another cab headed      for Cafe Libro. This is a beautiful, small restaurant with a dance floor that hosts all  kind of events, including visiting famous Tango teachers. When I get there, class is about     to begin and the floor is covered with dancers. I chicken out of the lesson, knowing that Njål will teach me later, and settle back to watch. Our group of friends has bunch   of small tables and chairs on the side of the dance floor and I am joined by different   people that I met the first evening I was in town. I later told Njål that it was like being part of the     ‘cool crowd’ in high school!
As the lesson turns into the Milonga itself, I talk to different people, sipping hot      red wine, ( vino caliente) out of a mug with a sugared rim. The energy in the place is electric, but grounded and comfortable as more and more people stream in.     There is a group of very stern, frowning women in their 60´s gathered around a table  across the dance floor and I have fun watching them make a considerable dent    in a bottle of rum. I watch all evening and only once did I see one of them smile. 🙂
At times, I find myself sandwiched closely between new Tango friends, all of whom  treat me like I have been there forever. I am having a good time, but all of the sudden,      the Tango music stops and Salsa music starts blaring through the speakers. I do believe     that the Milonga is finished!!! The other women at the table jump up and start    dancing like crazy, motioning that I should join them. Again, when in Rome, right?!

I dance away while the die-hard Tango people slip out quietly. Noticing Njål standing on the side quietly, I went to ask him if he was ready to go home. Tiredly, he says ‘yes’.    Unfortunately, though, the DJ picked that very moment to play “I Will Survive”!     I begged and cajoled and Njål reluctantly followed me out onto the dance floor.  I enjoyed myself to pieces for the next few songs which consisted of American greats,     such as “YMCA” and “Thriller”. Njål was a great sport and kept me company on the dance     floor til I ran out of energy. It is close to 2 am and it is time to go home.   Tomorrow is my last day of playing tourist and Njål and I have been invited to visit a music    festival outside of Quito. I figure I should save some energy for that……. J

Buenas Noches…………

Anna