I found out this week that there are actually 5 of us living in our home: Jenny, Meagan, Julia, ErinStacy and the rat.
It began, I think, on Sunday night. Julia came into the kitchen on Monday morning and noticed that someone had taken a huge chunk out of the fresh, ripe avocado we purchased the day before. Now, Jenny is usually not THAT hungry to just take a chunk out of an avocado, and I would certainly have eaten the entire avocado and destroyed the evidence. So, upon closer examination, we noticed that there were little poops on the table as well. Certainly not ours (I prefer to use the washroom). There was no other conclusion to be drawn except that we had a rat.
That evening we put out lots of rat poison, carefully mixed in with some wonderful tasting chicken bones and rice. We waited.
First thing on Tuesday morning, we rushed into the kitchen. Sure enough, the rat had eaten the chicken bones, rice and avocado, but seemed to have eaten around the red power-packed poison pellets. We also learned that morning that he likes to eat dish clothes. Go figure.
Now, I have to confess. I know that pride is a bad thing but there is just no way in He** that I was going to let an uneducated Tanzanian rat outsmart me. So, Tuesday night I mixed up another batch of rice, avocado and chicken. Only, this time, I carefully crushed each and every little red pellet into a fine powder and mixed it on it. Oh...it looked GOOD!
All I will say is that last night, we were NOT visited by the rat. Perhaps he had a date; perhaps he was tired and went to bed early. Or, just perhaps, he had met his end the night before. (Of course, we hope that he did not meet his end like the previous rat who got the best of us by dying in the lounge. Now that was a smell)
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I broke.
OK, the last 4 days have been an emotional roller coaster. Where to begin? Oh wait...you already know some of my saga so that makes it easier. With all that in mind...
I came back from Mairowa with the team of teenagers on Thursday. I've really enjoyed it when the teams come in to town because I feel like I am part of something when they are here; I feel as though I have a purpose, a raison d'etre.
Honest moment. When the teams aren't here, I don't feel like part of anything. I feel like one person who is in a foreign country with nothing that is familiar (emotionally). I've been struggling emotionally to feel a part of the ministry organization here in Tanzania. For a myriad of reasons, I haven't felt as though I have been invited to become part of them. This was made very apparent on Friday.
Every day, the ministry team does morning devotions. As there have been many teams in town over the last month, I've only been into the office about 6 days. Friday morning, Julia, Jenny and myself join the team for devotions. At the end of devotions, one of the men from the team went around the room and asked each person, by name, to prayer for a specific area of the ministry. When he came to me, he asked what my name was and thanked me for being a guest.
Already struggling to feel part of a team, having someone ask my name after I have been living here and working here for over a month made it all the more apparent that no, I was not a part of the team. The snippy side of me wanted to respond "Jina langu ni ErinStacy. Ninaishi Arusha na mimi ninafanya kazi Imara" Translation: my name is Erinstacy, I live in Arusha and I work at IMARA idiot. But, realizing that putting this man to shame for not knowing who I was was a cultural no-no, I just replied "Erin" and left it at that. About 2 minutes later, I left and cried.
I am learning so many things about myself and my faith. I learned on Friday that my identity here is not a member of the Imara Ministry Foundation team; it is a follower of Christ and that at no point should I even place more desire, emphasis, or belonging to any group more than Christ. I learned that I may never be a part of anything here and that that really doesn't matter at all. I learned (or was reminded) that God didn't necessarily "call me" to Africa to be part of a team to reach Africans with the Gospel. He called me to come here and focus my relationship and life on Him.
I learned that I am sick of myself. How God manages to listen to my sickly prayers is beyond me. I've learned that I need to be in intercession for others; not make petitions for myself and to help me "get though" this. I am not "suffering" for Christ. There is no "suffering" for Christ. The atonement, Christ's death, the royal priesthood that I am a part of: this is a privilege. I should approach is with joy that is beyond describable. I don't want to count my trials as suffering, I want to count them as joys.
I learned that my attitude can really rot. If I truly believe that God's ways are higher than mine; that His paths and His knowledge is above mine; that He will only do what is best for me, then I had better make an attitudinal adjustment and start praising Him for these gifts that I don't think that I want but that He is trying to give me to bring me to a deeper place with Him.
So many other things too! It is sort of like "A thousand and one Arabian nights"...you have to keep coming back to get the rest of the story.
I came back from Mairowa with the team of teenagers on Thursday. I've really enjoyed it when the teams come in to town because I feel like I am part of something when they are here; I feel as though I have a purpose, a raison d'etre.
Honest moment. When the teams aren't here, I don't feel like part of anything. I feel like one person who is in a foreign country with nothing that is familiar (emotionally). I've been struggling emotionally to feel a part of the ministry organization here in Tanzania. For a myriad of reasons, I haven't felt as though I have been invited to become part of them. This was made very apparent on Friday.
Every day, the ministry team does morning devotions. As there have been many teams in town over the last month, I've only been into the office about 6 days. Friday morning, Julia, Jenny and myself join the team for devotions. At the end of devotions, one of the men from the team went around the room and asked each person, by name, to prayer for a specific area of the ministry. When he came to me, he asked what my name was and thanked me for being a guest.
Already struggling to feel part of a team, having someone ask my name after I have been living here and working here for over a month made it all the more apparent that no, I was not a part of the team. The snippy side of me wanted to respond "Jina langu ni ErinStacy. Ninaishi Arusha na mimi ninafanya kazi Imara" Translation: my name is Erinstacy, I live in Arusha and I work at IMARA idiot. But, realizing that putting this man to shame for not knowing who I was was a cultural no-no, I just replied "Erin" and left it at that. About 2 minutes later, I left and cried.
I am learning so many things about myself and my faith. I learned on Friday that my identity here is not a member of the Imara Ministry Foundation team; it is a follower of Christ and that at no point should I even place more desire, emphasis, or belonging to any group more than Christ. I learned that I may never be a part of anything here and that that really doesn't matter at all. I learned (or was reminded) that God didn't necessarily "call me" to Africa to be part of a team to reach Africans with the Gospel. He called me to come here and focus my relationship and life on Him.
I learned that I am sick of myself. How God manages to listen to my sickly prayers is beyond me. I've learned that I need to be in intercession for others; not make petitions for myself and to help me "get though" this. I am not "suffering" for Christ. There is no "suffering" for Christ. The atonement, Christ's death, the royal priesthood that I am a part of: this is a privilege. I should approach is with joy that is beyond describable. I don't want to count my trials as suffering, I want to count them as joys.
I learned that my attitude can really rot. If I truly believe that God's ways are higher than mine; that His paths and His knowledge is above mine; that He will only do what is best for me, then I had better make an attitudinal adjustment and start praising Him for these gifts that I don't think that I want but that He is trying to give me to bring me to a deeper place with Him.
So many other things too! It is sort of like "A thousand and one Arabian nights"...you have to keep coming back to get the rest of the story.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Building foundations in Mairowa
Another little adventure for me. No- nothing at all as exciting as the last one with the car, but a few new interesting things have happened.
I spent this last week in Mairowa with a team of 16 teenagers from Scottsdale. What a blast! The team came in to work on laying two foundations for homes for two widows that will be completed later in the year.
Now, I must confess the following:
1. I knew that laying foundations would be hard work (just didn't know how hard)
2. I knew that the team consisted of 10 women and 8 men.
3. I knew that teenage girls from Scottsdale love manicures, high fashion, and make-up.
With this in mind, our vans took off for Mairowa. The first day we spent with our pickaxes, hoes and shovels digging two 24' deep x 20' wide ditches that would become our foundations. Man alive, this was hard work. It actually reminded me of the days when my Dad would give my brother and me snow shovels for Christmas, with the expectation that they would be used regularly (in case you were wondering, they were, and thus the reason for a new shovel every year).
The next day I think was my personal favorite: roll the boulder into the ditch. I had never envisioned myself, with a stylish African skirt on, assuming the sumo squat position to roll a boulder into a ditch. I don't think any of the other gals did either because they were a bit dubious at first.
The last day was much easier. It involved mixing cement, sand, water and rocks together to form the footings for the foundation. This was really slow work but it was finished.
I think what surprised me the most about this last week was the resiliency of the gals. I expected the guys to work hard...they are men. But the girls, I have to confess that I really didn't think that they would give it as much as they did. They arrived with make-up bags in hand, fresh mascara perfectly applied, and outfits that, by African standards, were worthy of Vanity Fair. However, they rocked the work site!
Even more impressive was the attitude that they chose to take regarding the lodging in Mairowa. The first night was a rough one: pit latrines, no water to even wash ones face with, and a LOT of insects. But, by the third night, there was hardly a peep from them about the conditions and they slept like babes. They really were troopers throughout the week and I was so proud of these girls.
It was a good time for me to reflect on my own resiliency. Not necessarily involving remote living conditions, but situations that the Lord chooses to put me in to build my endurance. I am still thinking on this, so as soon as I have some interesting thoughts to share, I will. Keep you posted!
ESW
I spent this last week in Mairowa with a team of 16 teenagers from Scottsdale. What a blast! The team came in to work on laying two foundations for homes for two widows that will be completed later in the year.
Now, I must confess the following:
1. I knew that laying foundations would be hard work (just didn't know how hard)
2. I knew that the team consisted of 10 women and 8 men.
3. I knew that teenage girls from Scottsdale love manicures, high fashion, and make-up.
With this in mind, our vans took off for Mairowa. The first day we spent with our pickaxes, hoes and shovels digging two 24' deep x 20' wide ditches that would become our foundations. Man alive, this was hard work. It actually reminded me of the days when my Dad would give my brother and me snow shovels for Christmas, with the expectation that they would be used regularly (in case you were wondering, they were, and thus the reason for a new shovel every year).
The next day I think was my personal favorite: roll the boulder into the ditch. I had never envisioned myself, with a stylish African skirt on, assuming the sumo squat position to roll a boulder into a ditch. I don't think any of the other gals did either because they were a bit dubious at first.
The last day was much easier. It involved mixing cement, sand, water and rocks together to form the footings for the foundation. This was really slow work but it was finished.
I think what surprised me the most about this last week was the resiliency of the gals. I expected the guys to work hard...they are men. But the girls, I have to confess that I really didn't think that they would give it as much as they did. They arrived with make-up bags in hand, fresh mascara perfectly applied, and outfits that, by African standards, were worthy of Vanity Fair. However, they rocked the work site!
Even more impressive was the attitude that they chose to take regarding the lodging in Mairowa. The first night was a rough one: pit latrines, no water to even wash ones face with, and a LOT of insects. But, by the third night, there was hardly a peep from them about the conditions and they slept like babes. They really were troopers throughout the week and I was so proud of these girls.
It was a good time for me to reflect on my own resiliency. Not necessarily involving remote living conditions, but situations that the Lord chooses to put me in to build my endurance. I am still thinking on this, so as soon as I have some interesting thoughts to share, I will. Keep you posted!
ESW
Friday, June 13, 2008
The story continues...
I know that none of you were able to sleep because you have been hanging on the edge of your seats waiting for my next post...
I might as well continue the story. It’s now Wednesday. I receive a call from the mechanic. The repairs to the car are TZS 700,000 at this point. He says there may be more. Should he go ahead and fix it? Well, what choice do I have? I’ve been told by several people that I had not received a good deal on the car. My instincts told me to swing it on over to the Snake Park and have BJ take a look at it. After all, he OWNS a vehicle repair shop. But, I went against my better judgment and let others make the decision for me.
I’ve been told by the mechanic that there was nothing wrong with the car when we purchased it. Is it fair to say that I am doubtful? I’ve owned about 8 cars in my short life, none of which have ever died. He told me that I need to check the car and watch the temp gauge. I said I do, and I did, but when the temp gauge only starts to rise when the smoke does, it seems a bit late. No sense in arguing. He’s a man and as we women know, men are never wrong.
Needless to say, I learned a lot of lessons the hard way this week and I might as well share them. After all, that is why you are reading this blog.
1. Trust your instincts. Had I trusted my instincts and brought the car to BJ, I probably would not have paid as much as I did for the car or I would have been able to have the car fixed prior to the purchase.
2. Learn to speak the language of the country you are living in. I still would have been taken advantage of, but might have been able to negotiate the prices down a bit.
3. It’s only money. I truly believe that this experience of handing out money hand over fist was the only way that God could get me to realize that it is only money. If I need more, He will provide it. Knowing that the money that I have been spending each one of my supporters worked hard to earn, I hate to see it “go down the tubes.” It makes me feel as though I am not being a good steward of the gifts that God has provided to me via them. I easily forget that God provided these funds for THIS EXACT purpose. He knew my car would break down and moved someone’s heart months ago to support me financially to cover this. This experience has very little to do with me not planning properly; it has everything to do with trials. As James says, “Consider it all joy my brethren when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” One of my favorite verses and yet, I so quickly forgot it.
4. I actually can’t do it all. What do I mean? As an unmarried woman, I have become very adept at doing all that I need to do to get by and succeed. It’s not by choice; it’s by necessity. There is no one else who will be helping to pay rent, to put food on the table, to buy the condo, to fix the leak. Because of this, single women in the world today are much more independent as there is no option for dependence. Or at least, human dependence. I can be, and need to be, dependent on God. I have been limiting the ministry of Christ in my life by only remembering what God has done in my life and not what He has yet to do. I think “Oh, God has yet to do that for me so I will take care of it myself.” There is no elbow room for God to work because I have been the captain of the ErinStacy. Well, this little trip really helped to drive it home that I can’t do everything and I certainly don’t have control over everything, no matter how hard I plan to get it right. Maybe I am captain of the ship, but I am certainly not in control of the ocean where the ship sails. And as we all know, the Ocean will swallow the ship.
So, I know this entry has been long and I will sign off. Till next time….
I might as well continue the story. It’s now Wednesday. I receive a call from the mechanic. The repairs to the car are TZS 700,000 at this point. He says there may be more. Should he go ahead and fix it? Well, what choice do I have? I’ve been told by several people that I had not received a good deal on the car. My instincts told me to swing it on over to the Snake Park and have BJ take a look at it. After all, he OWNS a vehicle repair shop. But, I went against my better judgment and let others make the decision for me.
I’ve been told by the mechanic that there was nothing wrong with the car when we purchased it. Is it fair to say that I am doubtful? I’ve owned about 8 cars in my short life, none of which have ever died. He told me that I need to check the car and watch the temp gauge. I said I do, and I did, but when the temp gauge only starts to rise when the smoke does, it seems a bit late. No sense in arguing. He’s a man and as we women know, men are never wrong.
Needless to say, I learned a lot of lessons the hard way this week and I might as well share them. After all, that is why you are reading this blog.
1. Trust your instincts. Had I trusted my instincts and brought the car to BJ, I probably would not have paid as much as I did for the car or I would have been able to have the car fixed prior to the purchase.
2. Learn to speak the language of the country you are living in. I still would have been taken advantage of, but might have been able to negotiate the prices down a bit.
3. It’s only money. I truly believe that this experience of handing out money hand over fist was the only way that God could get me to realize that it is only money. If I need more, He will provide it. Knowing that the money that I have been spending each one of my supporters worked hard to earn, I hate to see it “go down the tubes.” It makes me feel as though I am not being a good steward of the gifts that God has provided to me via them. I easily forget that God provided these funds for THIS EXACT purpose. He knew my car would break down and moved someone’s heart months ago to support me financially to cover this. This experience has very little to do with me not planning properly; it has everything to do with trials. As James says, “Consider it all joy my brethren when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” One of my favorite verses and yet, I so quickly forgot it.
4. I actually can’t do it all. What do I mean? As an unmarried woman, I have become very adept at doing all that I need to do to get by and succeed. It’s not by choice; it’s by necessity. There is no one else who will be helping to pay rent, to put food on the table, to buy the condo, to fix the leak. Because of this, single women in the world today are much more independent as there is no option for dependence. Or at least, human dependence. I can be, and need to be, dependent on God. I have been limiting the ministry of Christ in my life by only remembering what God has done in my life and not what He has yet to do. I think “Oh, God has yet to do that for me so I will take care of it myself.” There is no elbow room for God to work because I have been the captain of the ErinStacy. Well, this little trip really helped to drive it home that I can’t do everything and I certainly don’t have control over everything, no matter how hard I plan to get it right. Maybe I am captain of the ship, but I am certainly not in control of the ocean where the ship sails. And as we all know, the Ocean will swallow the ship.
So, I know this entry has been long and I will sign off. Till next time….
What does $9,138 get you?
Well, last week I would have said a wonderful, recycled 1991 Suzuki Escudo. This week? Yet another colorful adventure to add to the blog.
I left Arusha on Sunday headed south for Lushoto, a small, mountain village, for a week of intensive language study. By car, it’s about 250km away from Arusha; an estimated 5-6 hour drive. As this is quite a long and expensive trip for most Tanzanians, I had agreed to give one of the men from Imara, Paulo, a ride to Lushoto.
We set off in my newly purchased Suzuki Escudo. About 2 hours into the drive, I heard an odd knocking. Within 10 seconds, the following happened: the knocking got very loud, the temperature gauge flew into the red zone, smoke engulfed my hood and power was lost. I pulled over. Paulo immediately told me to turn the car off. I distinctly remember hearing the words: Hakuna shida (no problem!).
Fields of maize on one side, a few small buildings on the other, and my EXTENSIVE knowledge of car mechanics and Swahili led me to conclude: Houston, we have a problem. Within two minutes, a crew of locals had appeared (think Field of Dreams, “if you break down, they will come.”) One of them, being a fundi in mechanics (a “supposed” expert in a field), began to pour water into the engine…
Two hours later, the engine still would not start. We decided that the best course of action would be to flag down a passing bus and make our way to Lushoto and leave the car at a local gas station to be picked up. So, with my stylish new skirt on, I got behind the car with my new friends and we pushed while Paulo steered the car the 1/3 mile to the gas station.We are told at the gas station that the next bus is due to arrive in about 20 minutes. Sure enough, the bus pulls in and the next leg of my adventure begins.
Before I get into the rest of the story, let me explain a few things about African culture that I learned that day which are KEY to this story:
1. If you give someone a ride somewhere, anywhere, YOU are expected to pick up the tab for his food on the journey, as well as his return trip transportation fee and the food for that trip as well.
2. Should some mishap occur along the way ( perhaps, say, a car breaks down) you are then further expected to pick up all costs, including lodging, as well as add on transportation for both of you, even if you are doing him a favor and giving him the free ride. After all, you are MZUNGU so you have LOTS of MONEY.
3. If you are white, you WILL be taken advantage of. Expect to pay 2-3 times more than anyone else.
So, we board the bus. The usual fee from Arusha to Lushoto on the bus is TZS 12,000 per person. Since there are two of us, when the driver quoted TZS 22,000 I figured that wasn’t too bad, even though I had already driven for two hours. About 2 hours later, we arrive into a small, but somewhat busy town. I know that it is not Lushoto, but am hopeful that we are at Mombo, the last stop on the main road and the turn off to Lushoto. So far, not too bad. We have now been on the road for 6 hours and I figure I am only an hour or two away.
I am husked off the big bus onto a dala dala, with the surrounding crowd shouting “MZUNGU! MZUNGU!” while pointing at me. You would have thought they had never seen a white person before. For those of you unfamiliar with the term dala dala, a dala dala is a local taxi bus. Usually, there is seating for about 16 people but somehow about 30 are in the vehicle. People use the door to get in and out, as well as the windows. People are also seen hanging out of the dala dala as it drives down the road, weaving in and out of traffic. It is not uncommon to bring your goat, chicken, or other livestock on the dala dala with you. No, I haven’t asked, but I don’t think that the animal has to pay as well. The driver quotes us TZS 6,000 for two people. No worries, the locals pay TZ 300 so I have only paid 10 times as much. In what has become a common trend, I hand over the money.
As we drive along for the next 2 hours, I notice that 1) we are not gaining elevation and 2) we have not turned off the main road. After two hours, my little heart sinks when I see the sign that clearly says Mombo. It is now 9pm. My trip began at noon but fortunately, I am only about an hour away from Lushoto. We get off the dala dala and wait at the gas station for the next bus.
As we wait, a young man comes over and beings speaking with Paulo. He and Paulo talk for a couple of minutes. I notice that Paulo is no longer smiling. In fact, he does not look very encouraged as the conversation progresses. The other man pulls out a cell phone and about 2 minutes later, points to a cattle truck. What I learn is that the bus in not coming and that the cattle truck will transport us up the mountain for only TZ 11,000. What a deal! So, into the cattle truck we go, again, in my beautiful new skirt.
An hour later, we arrive into the village of Lushoto. I am to call Sabine when I arrive and she will give me directions. Whipping out my new cell phone (yes, I had to buy a new one because for some reason, mine does not work in Tanzania), I dial. No ring, no welcome tune, no nothing. Bateri kufa. Yes, gari kufa but now bateri kufa? In case you don’t speak Swahili, it means dead battery. Paulo doesn’t have a phone so now we need to find someone who will let me use his phone to get directions. For once, I did not have to pay for a service and we get directions.
Now, for the taxi. Yup, for just TZS 3,000 I can get a ride to her house. At this point, I don’t care how much, I just want to be there. In about 10 minutes, I am at the entrance to Sabine’s house and am receiving a warm welcome and greatly appreciated hug. I give Paulo TZS 50,000 to head on home and finally, FINALLY, I go to bed.
In all, to get to Lushoto, a local would have paid TZS 12,000. A mzungu will pay TZS 92,000. And don’t forget, I still have a car that is broken down in the middle of no-where and have to take the bus back to Arusha on Saturday.
Till nex time...
I left Arusha on Sunday headed south for Lushoto, a small, mountain village, for a week of intensive language study. By car, it’s about 250km away from Arusha; an estimated 5-6 hour drive. As this is quite a long and expensive trip for most Tanzanians, I had agreed to give one of the men from Imara, Paulo, a ride to Lushoto.
We set off in my newly purchased Suzuki Escudo. About 2 hours into the drive, I heard an odd knocking. Within 10 seconds, the following happened: the knocking got very loud, the temperature gauge flew into the red zone, smoke engulfed my hood and power was lost. I pulled over. Paulo immediately told me to turn the car off. I distinctly remember hearing the words: Hakuna shida (no problem!).
Fields of maize on one side, a few small buildings on the other, and my EXTENSIVE knowledge of car mechanics and Swahili led me to conclude: Houston, we have a problem. Within two minutes, a crew of locals had appeared (think Field of Dreams, “if you break down, they will come.”) One of them, being a fundi in mechanics (a “supposed” expert in a field), began to pour water into the engine…
Two hours later, the engine still would not start. We decided that the best course of action would be to flag down a passing bus and make our way to Lushoto and leave the car at a local gas station to be picked up. So, with my stylish new skirt on, I got behind the car with my new friends and we pushed while Paulo steered the car the 1/3 mile to the gas station.We are told at the gas station that the next bus is due to arrive in about 20 minutes. Sure enough, the bus pulls in and the next leg of my adventure begins.
Before I get into the rest of the story, let me explain a few things about African culture that I learned that day which are KEY to this story:
1. If you give someone a ride somewhere, anywhere, YOU are expected to pick up the tab for his food on the journey, as well as his return trip transportation fee and the food for that trip as well.
2. Should some mishap occur along the way ( perhaps, say, a car breaks down) you are then further expected to pick up all costs, including lodging, as well as add on transportation for both of you, even if you are doing him a favor and giving him the free ride. After all, you are MZUNGU so you have LOTS of MONEY.
3. If you are white, you WILL be taken advantage of. Expect to pay 2-3 times more than anyone else.
So, we board the bus. The usual fee from Arusha to Lushoto on the bus is TZS 12,000 per person. Since there are two of us, when the driver quoted TZS 22,000 I figured that wasn’t too bad, even though I had already driven for two hours. About 2 hours later, we arrive into a small, but somewhat busy town. I know that it is not Lushoto, but am hopeful that we are at Mombo, the last stop on the main road and the turn off to Lushoto. So far, not too bad. We have now been on the road for 6 hours and I figure I am only an hour or two away.
I am husked off the big bus onto a dala dala, with the surrounding crowd shouting “MZUNGU! MZUNGU!” while pointing at me. You would have thought they had never seen a white person before. For those of you unfamiliar with the term dala dala, a dala dala is a local taxi bus. Usually, there is seating for about 16 people but somehow about 30 are in the vehicle. People use the door to get in and out, as well as the windows. People are also seen hanging out of the dala dala as it drives down the road, weaving in and out of traffic. It is not uncommon to bring your goat, chicken, or other livestock on the dala dala with you. No, I haven’t asked, but I don’t think that the animal has to pay as well. The driver quotes us TZS 6,000 for two people. No worries, the locals pay TZ 300 so I have only paid 10 times as much. In what has become a common trend, I hand over the money.
As we drive along for the next 2 hours, I notice that 1) we are not gaining elevation and 2) we have not turned off the main road. After two hours, my little heart sinks when I see the sign that clearly says Mombo. It is now 9pm. My trip began at noon but fortunately, I am only about an hour away from Lushoto. We get off the dala dala and wait at the gas station for the next bus.
As we wait, a young man comes over and beings speaking with Paulo. He and Paulo talk for a couple of minutes. I notice that Paulo is no longer smiling. In fact, he does not look very encouraged as the conversation progresses. The other man pulls out a cell phone and about 2 minutes later, points to a cattle truck. What I learn is that the bus in not coming and that the cattle truck will transport us up the mountain for only TZ 11,000. What a deal! So, into the cattle truck we go, again, in my beautiful new skirt.
An hour later, we arrive into the village of Lushoto. I am to call Sabine when I arrive and she will give me directions. Whipping out my new cell phone (yes, I had to buy a new one because for some reason, mine does not work in Tanzania), I dial. No ring, no welcome tune, no nothing. Bateri kufa. Yes, gari kufa but now bateri kufa? In case you don’t speak Swahili, it means dead battery. Paulo doesn’t have a phone so now we need to find someone who will let me use his phone to get directions. For once, I did not have to pay for a service and we get directions.
Now, for the taxi. Yup, for just TZS 3,000 I can get a ride to her house. At this point, I don’t care how much, I just want to be there. In about 10 minutes, I am at the entrance to Sabine’s house and am receiving a warm welcome and greatly appreciated hug. I give Paulo TZS 50,000 to head on home and finally, FINALLY, I go to bed.
In all, to get to Lushoto, a local would have paid TZS 12,000. A mzungu will pay TZS 92,000. And don’t forget, I still have a car that is broken down in the middle of no-where and have to take the bus back to Arusha on Saturday.
Till nex time...
Friday, June 6, 2008
Settling in...
Today marks the end of my first “official” week here in Arusha. It’s been quite busy. Since I had been out and about with the team from Scottsdale for the first week and a half, I had not really had a chance to get myself settled on in. So, I devoted this week to that specific task.
First thing to do: get a cell phone. Cell phones work very differently here in Tanzania. Instead of having a calling plan (with a specific carrier, say T-Mobile or Verizon), one purchases a SIM card from any vendor on the street. You then go ahead and load money onto the card so that you can make your phone calls. Since there are three main carriers here, all of which have different reception in different areas, most people have at least one phone number, some as many as three. Mission accomplished.
Second thing to do: get a 4 WD vehicle. Lots of prayer had gone into this task and as an answer to prayer, I was able to finalize my purchase of a stylish blue/grey 1991 Suzuki Escudo on Tuesday. I know, you are thinking 1991?! No, by the standards here, that is not old. It’s just getting worn in.
The big adventure in that was learning how to drive on the opposite side of the road, in the opposite side of the car, with crazy dalla-dalla (taxi) drives whipping past me. The first time was a bit nerve racking, but after that, I think I might now almost pass as a Tanzanian driver.
Third thing to do: sign up for language class. I’m set to embark to the eastern side of Tanzania to a town called Lesotho on Sunday for a week long immersion call. This will be the first in a series of classes that will help me learn the language here.
Overall, I think a very productive week. I realized that just getting these few tasks completed has really helped me to feel settled in. Speaking the language, driving on the roads and being able to connect to folks back in the US...all good stuff.
First thing to do: get a cell phone. Cell phones work very differently here in Tanzania. Instead of having a calling plan (with a specific carrier, say T-Mobile or Verizon), one purchases a SIM card from any vendor on the street. You then go ahead and load money onto the card so that you can make your phone calls. Since there are three main carriers here, all of which have different reception in different areas, most people have at least one phone number, some as many as three. Mission accomplished.
Second thing to do: get a 4 WD vehicle. Lots of prayer had gone into this task and as an answer to prayer, I was able to finalize my purchase of a stylish blue/grey 1991 Suzuki Escudo on Tuesday. I know, you are thinking 1991?! No, by the standards here, that is not old. It’s just getting worn in.
The big adventure in that was learning how to drive on the opposite side of the road, in the opposite side of the car, with crazy dalla-dalla (taxi) drives whipping past me. The first time was a bit nerve racking, but after that, I think I might now almost pass as a Tanzanian driver.
Third thing to do: sign up for language class. I’m set to embark to the eastern side of Tanzania to a town called Lesotho on Sunday for a week long immersion call. This will be the first in a series of classes that will help me learn the language here.
Overall, I think a very productive week. I realized that just getting these few tasks completed has really helped me to feel settled in. Speaking the language, driving on the roads and being able to connect to folks back in the US...all good stuff.
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