Tanzania: A Retrospection

What a difference a year can make.

The months and days of the past year have passed in a flurry of activity, filled with important decisions and a myriad of changes, falling today on April 13, 2010. As I looked at the calendar this morning - ironically while drafting an email regarding The Carpenter’s Kids - I realized that today marked the one year anniversary of my homecoming from Tanzania. Though I recognized several weeks ago that the date was looming, the sudden reflection of those 365 days that passed so quickly and yet seemed years away left me awash with emotion. I felt deep nostalgia for the experience that was growing ever distant, pride for all I have accomplished in this year, and both joy and sadness for the triumphs and hardships I have encountered along the way. I was also bombarded with all the emotion that filled me on that day one year ago; the sound of my heartbeat in my ears and the nervous flutter in my stomach as the hours remaining until my long-awaited reunion gradually ticked by.

Several times today I looked at the clock, subconsciously noting my destination at that time one year ago as I flew from Amsterdam to Atlanta, finally touching ground on American soil around 1pm in the afternoon. I had imagined, awaited, and counted down to that day for much of my time in Tanzania, always longing for and missing the people I left behind, eager to once again be reunited and resume the intertwining of our lives. I had never been the type of person to get homesick, always relishing in the opportunity to get out and experience new things, even as a child scoffing at those whose cries for home had them being picked up from overnight slumber parties at an early hour. Though I had imagined eight months would be significantly more difficult than summer camp and the independent college life, I was in no way prepared for the ache I felt to return home.

Reflection of those feelings fills me with a combination of regret and sadness, wishing that I had paid less attention to the countdown of days, instead unabashedly delving into Dodoma life. Though I did greatly enjoy my time in Tanzania and I wouldn’t trade it for the world, I now realize I was constantly distracted by the idea of home. I wonder now how my experience would have been different had I really let go, allowing my roots to be firmly planted in the rich, red, earth of eastern Africa.

Though those eight months were challenging, I can look back now, one year later, and truly appreciate all I was able to see, do, and learn. Retrospection is an interesting concept, often allowing you to gloss over the imperfections, remembering only the facets seemingly without flaw. I often have days like these, spent remembering and missing the shy smiles of our Carpenter’s Kids, the broken Kiswahili and English chatter in the office, and the wonderful relationships I formed and people I met along the way. Times like today, however, take me back to the raw emotion of those days, the frustrations Liz and I encountered with handling the office politics of two very different cultures, the constant and seemingly inescapable heat, the unreliable internet connection, and always the nagging longing for home. Though it might be nice to ward off these thoughts, remembering only all that was good and joyous, I am grateful for the ability to look back on my experience from both perspectives. I believe that in doing so I have been able to grow and learn, noting things I would do differently if given the chance.

Recently Bishop Mhogolo and Brian Atkins visited Grace Church, Gainesville, one of many stops along their travels to promote the work of The Carpenter’s Kids. It was almost surreal to encounter them here, as if a bit of Dodoma had been dropped right on my doorstep. While Bishop Mhogolo spoke during the education hour, a slideshow of my photos was projected behind him, depicting Tanzania’s gorgeous landscapes, the exotic animals I had encountered on various trips to Mikumi, and the striking faces of sweet Carpenter’s Kids and loving guardians. Though I have given several presentations of my own at parishes across the diocese since returning home, delving through my 10,000 photos in the attempt to find images to match my words, it was not until that day that I sat undistracted, letting the memories of Tanzania come rushing in. I was taken aback by the feelings of sudden nostalgia and an intense longing to return. It is hard to believe that one year has gone by, and I almost feel as if my grasp on the experience is slipping away with the days on the calendar. I long to go back there, to soak up the culture and to uncover the part of my heart that will always be buried in that place. I am so grateful and appreciative of the time I spent there, the people who brought joy and happiness into each day, and the lessons learned along the way. I will never forget them.

On May 1, merely weeks after returning home, my phone rang early in the morning, the caller ID displaying a strange number I did not recognize. My first instinct told me it was bad news, and yet I silenced the call, convincing myself it was a wrong number. Soon after a voicemail appeared, and upon replaying the message I heard Liz’s familiar voice, sharing the tragic news that one of our fellow missionaries had died. Saskia, a 28-year-old speech and language therapist from Holland, had been in Tanzania for nearly three years. She worked at a deaf school outside of Dodoma and was only weeks away from returning home. While riding her bike home one evening she was hit by a taxi, sustaining serious head injuries. She was rushed to the hospital, where Callum and Noel quickly met her. She died soon after, as others who had heard the news rushed to the hospital. I was instantly shocked, trying to grasp that this amazing, vivacious, girl I had bid goodbye at my farewell party only weeks before, was gone. Saskia was truly wonderful, always so optimistic and constantly with a smile on her face. I was also angry at the driver of the car who hit her, having witnessed the reckless driving habits on Dodoma’s streets. It was hard to imagine something of this magnitude occurring within Dodoma, and I truly felt for all those who were there during such a tragic time. I think of Saskia often, and it saddens me to think of all the life she wasn’t done living, and all the people who will miss out on knowing her. We were all so fortunate to be touched by her presence, and I have no doubt that she is missed every day.

Upon returning home last April I began restoring relationships, visiting friends, and catching up on all that had gone on in my absence. In many ways it felt like I had never been away, and I was thankful for that. My friends and family were for the most part unchanged, no drastic events had occurred since my departure, and I was almost able to slip right back into the rhythm of daily life. After Skype phone calls and hours upon hours of gmail chatting while I was away, I had mended a broken relationship, returning to put away my doubts and fall unheeded into deep, true love. The possibility of this new beginning and curiosity for what could lie ahead constituted much of the eagerness I harbored for returning home, and thus I couldn’t have been happier to have my wishes so seamlessly fulfilled.

I had been told by visitors to Tanzania that upon returning home I would experience a case of culture shock, and I had attempted to prepare myself. I was immediately struck by the sheer amount of resources and the aura of wealth that could be sensed at every corner, noting all that we take for granted and all that is wasted without a second thought. I spent some time working back at my old boutique, where the cost of one sundress was equivalent to the average yearly income in Tanzania. A year later I still find myself checking price tags and being repulsed by their numbers, when at one time I would have ignored them, thinking more of how I just couldn’t live without another pair of $150 jeans. “Need” versus “want” has taken on new significance in my life, and I try to always be grateful for even the smallest of blessings.

After much job searching, many “great resume, but no positions available” email responses, and much thought, I decided to return to school in August 2009 with a week to spare before the semester began. Though the medical field had always interested me, I deviated from the path during my freshman year at UGA, instead cultivating my creative side with a major in interior design. The economic situation combined with my brief exposure to the healthcare system of Tanzania led me to my decision to pursue a career in nursing. Eight months later I have nearly completed all of my prerequisite courses and have been accepted to the Medical College of Georgia’s Master of Science in Nursing program. I will spend sixteen months in Augusta, Georgia, and I am excited for a new chapter to begin. I can’t help but feel as if the past two semesters have been merely an intermission, a period of mundane sandwiched between the main events. I know that great things lie ahead, and I am curious to see what’s in store.

The past year has seen many changes, some good and some bad. I have made some momentous life choices, setting a path for the future and running towards it full force. I have found love and lost it, spending the last several months healing the wounds and searching for optimism. The Carpenter’s Kids has grown significantly, welcoming even more children into the loving arms of the Dodoma family. I have recognized the importance of family, of friends, and of finding a passion for something you love. I have realized that I miss Tanzania, and after counting down to my departure I now anticipate a return. I have learned that I, too, have grown and changed, and that living in the moment is often more important than constantly looking forward for what is to come.

Yes, what a difference a year can make.

The Beginning of the End

It’s been nearly two months since I last posted an update, and it’s hard to believe that my time in Tanzania is now drawing to a close. One week from today I will be on a bus, making the journey from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam for the final time in my 8 month stay in Tanzania. These last few weeks have flown by, and the fact that I really am leaving hasn’t quite hit me yet. Yesterday was my final day in The Carpenter’s Kids office, and my anxiety about leaving the small, crowded, and sweltering office that I have enjoyed so much during my time here induced an onset of fever and infection! Though I am merely joking about anxiety causing these symptoms, I did indeed come down with something yesterday, and a 103 degree fever, a pounding headache, and an aching body made for quite a miserable last day. After urgings from my colleagues I finally went downstairs to Mackay House Medical Center for a Malaria test. A finger prick and a fifteen minute wait later, I discovered that I thankfully do not have Malaria. My test did reveal, however, that I was suffering from a case of Leukocytosis, or in laymen’s terms, an elevated white blood cell count. Though my fever stuck around for long enough this morning to keep me home from my last Carpenter’s Kids distribution, I think the extra rest has done some good. My fever is slowly dropping, and I hope to be back to normal soon.

The last couple of months have been fairly uneventful, which explains my lack of any recent postings. Work has continued as normal, and newsletters, emails, and putting together a Dodoma-based website for the program have filled my days. Parish distributions resumed at the beginning of March, and it was wonderful to be back in the villages and interacting with the children and their families. This last month or so has been spent tying up loose ends and training my replacement, New Zealander Scott Wheeler, who will be taking over my responsibilities at the beginning of the month. He been an avid learner and has amazing patience in dealing with my perfectionism and attention to detail, and I’m sure he’ll be relieved not to have me checking over his shoulder after I’m gone! (Photo: Showing Scott the ropes!) He already gets along great with the rest of the team, and he, Callum, and Noel make quite a dynamic trio. Poor Liz will be the only female in the office upon my departure, a fact which I don’t think she is too thrilled about. She frequently says that I really am not allowed to leave, swearing that she’s going to perform a raid on my house to steal my passport or inform the U.S. Embassy that I shouldn’t be allowed to leave Tanzania! Thus far, my passport is still in my possession….or so I think!

Other exciting news on The Carpenter’s Kids front is that my home parish of Grace Episcopal Church has joined the program! I received a call from my dad a few weeks ago after his reading of our most recent issue of the newsletter. He had learned that one parish in which the program had been implemented was not yet linked and expressed an interest in becoming their link parish. Myself and the rest of the staff were thrilled to hear the news, and Grace Church is now linked with Chifutuka, becoming the first parish in the Diocese of Atlanta to establish a link. Chifutuka joined the program in September of last year, and I was able to attend the distribution. I even mentioned the visit in a blog entry, as the children seemed as if they had never in their lives seen a mzungu. To this day I have not visited another parish like it, so it’s wonderful to be linked with a parish that I so clearly remember. Though I have always had plans to come back to visit Tanzania again in the future, the fact that I now have a link parish to visit makes the prospect even more exciting.

Though it was sad to see Maaike and Lianne leave Tanzania at the beginning of February, it was not long before others arrived on our compound to fill the void they left. Two young British girls named Charlotte and Leila arrived in early February, both of whom are 19. They graduated from high school in July and are taking a gap year before attending university in the fall, and their 11-week stay in Dodoma is just a start to their travels. After flying out of Dar es Salaam the same day as I do and returning home for nine days, they then depart on a three-month long traveling tour of Southeast Asia, Australia, New Zealand, Hawaii, and San Francisco. It sounds like an amazing trip and one that I am very jealous of! They have proved to be great company and a lot of fun, and they seem much older than their 19 years. We have spent many a night watching movies at Leane’s and hanging out on weekends. They have been teaching at CAMS during their time here, and their age has made them quite popular with the kids. The three of us will spend a few days in Dar es Salaam together next weekend before leaving Tanzania, and it will be nice to have their company in my final days. (Photo: Charlotte, Linda, & Leila)

Linda, another Brit in her late 20s, and Corietta, and 18-year-old from Holland have also moved into our compound and are teaching at CAMS. Linda is planning to stay for 2 years, while Corietta’s stay is about three months. Though I haven’t really had the opportunity to get to know Corietta in the few weeks she has been here, I am continually impressed by these young girls coming to Tanzania. Being here has been a definite challenge for me at 22, and I can’t imagine doing the same thing when I was 18! Maybe there’s just something about us Americans!

Though I haven’t really had so say any goodbyes yet, my first official goodbye party was held this past Thursday. Magi had arranged earlier in the week for a few people to go to her house for dinner as an informal farewell, but little did I know that there were more intricate plans developing! Magi, Callum, and I had spent all day in a village on Thursday observing a community health education program, and our late return to Dodoma meant that Magi would have little time to prepare. She made the executive decision that we would just go to the hotel instead, and said that she would return to pick me and Leane up a little while later. At 6:30, Magi, Laura, Callum, and Liz came to pick up Leane and I at our compound, and we headed into town. I was confused when we drove past the hotel and stopped outside of Rose’s Café, which was closed. Magi asked if I had ever eaten at the hotel next to Rose’s, and said she thought we’d give it a try, adding that last time only three people got sick! Despite her jesting, Magi headed down a side alley next to Rose’s. As we turned a corner I saw there was a long table set up outside and spotted Pastor Noah sitting at the table. The entire Carpenter’s Kids staff was there (even Willy, whose wife had a baby less than 24 hours before – which Liz and I named!), in addition to Sandy and Martin McCann. Not long thereafter, Bishop Mhogolo and his wife Irene arrived, Irene having just returned from a month in the U.S. the night before. Rose and her mom (the chef) had stayed open especially for the party, and they served us a huge meal of rice, naan bread, and either fish, beef, or chicken curry. This was followed by a cake that Rose had made, and I insisted that Liz indulge me by letting me perform a Tanzanian tradition. It is typical for the guest of honor at a party to feed cake to their guests, and everyone got a laugh out of Liz and I doing this! Magi served as MC for the night, reading off kind notes she had gathered from Carpenter’s Kids staff and friends in New York, Atlanta, and even a note from my parents. Liz bought several “Send Off” cards that were signed by the staff, and they also presented me with two kangas (pieces of traditional fabric). The whole night was a huge surprise, and I was very impressed they were able to keep it under wraps! I couldn’t imagine a better way to say goodbye than with my Carpenter’s Kids family, and the night was truly wonderful. (Photos: all the attendees & Magi and I with Rose and Mama Rose)

Other than a fun day-trip to Cetawico (an Italian-run winery about an hour outside of town) in February, a few more climbs up Lion Rock with Charlotte, Leila, and Linda, and usual work business, not much else has been happening in exciting Dodoma! My last couple weeks have been spent hanging out with Scott and Josh, an American from Michigan who works for the Mennonite Church here. Scott’s wife had to return to New Zealand for a few months, and he moved in next door to me upon her departure. He also bought himself a motorcycle (or “pikipiki” as they are called here), and quickly made friends with Josh, who also has a bike. Since then there has been a permanent mechanic shop outside of my door, and every afternoon the boys are outside working on their bikes. (See photo!) Spending so much time with them has also meant that I have the opportunity to ride around with them from time to time, and one Sunday afternoon we went on a four-hour ride through the beautiful Tanzanian countryside. We’ve also adapted quite a convenient routine for our evenings, as Scott and I will combine resources to make dinner, which either Josh or I usually cook. It’s been a bit of an adjustment to go from spending so much time with girls to being constantly surrounded by Scott and Josh, but we’ve had a great time!

As my departure grows ever nearer, I find myself with mixed emotions about going home. Excitement at seeing friends and family, joy for the wonderful experience I’ve been so fortunate to have, sadness at leaving so many great friends behind, and uncertainty for what lies ahead. It will be difficult to say goodbye to everyone this week, and I’m not sure that I know how. I feel I’ve grown up so much over these past 8 months, and I know that I’ve become a stronger person. This time has been challenging, enriching, heart-wrenching, and amazing all at the same time, and I’m so thankful that I had the opportunity to come here. As I told my friends and colleagues at my going away dinner, The Carpenter’s Kids and Tanzania have made themselves a permanent place in my heart, and I will not ever forget them. I have no doubt that I will return here in the future, and I hope that time isn’t too far away. My thousands of photos and blog entries will help me to remember the details that I may forget over time, but I will never forget the kindness and hospitality of the Tanzanian people, the smiles and laughs of our Carpenter’s Kids, or the stunning beauty and rugged appeal of this place. I will leave here with a full heart and fond memories of all I have done and seen, and with the knowledge that I have been forever changed.

Sarah's Holiday Vacation, Part 2: Doug & Judi Visit Tanzania!

After parting ways with Maaike and Lianne in Stonetown, Liz and I took the ferry back to Dar es Salaam. We arrived at our intended hotel to find that they had no record of our reservation, and thus we searched the phonebook to find another place to stay. We decided to go to the Peacock Hotel, which is where many visitors to Dodoma stay upon their arrival in Dar. We knew it was above the price range we would normally spend, but once we entered the marbled lobby and saw our pleasant, air conditioned room we decided it was worth the cost! After a few hours of relaxing, Liz and I made our way to the airport about 11pm to pick up my parents. We waited outside, anxiously watching the arrivals screen to determine whether or not their flight had arrived. After about an hour of waiting we finally spotted them inside gathering their bags and making their way towards us. Needless to say, there were a few tears shed by my mom and I and some chuckling from Dad and Liz as they ridiculed us, but it was definitely a happy reunion for all! We gathered their bags and made our way to the waiting taxi for the ride back to the hotel, where we spent a few minutes catching up before I left them to get some rest after their long travels. I was glad they had arrived, and aside from a few missing earrings and an iPod that were stolen out of their checked luggage, they arrived safe, sound, and happy to be in Africa.

The next few days were spent in Dar es Salaam, and Dad probably got in a little more shopping than he bargained for! We visited Slipway, the modern Western-style shopping center, and enjoyed browsing through the stores. We also made our way through the intricate maze of craft sellers set up outside the main shopping center, picking up things here and there along the way. Leane, who was also in Dar after dropping off her son at the airport, met us for lunch, and it was nice to introduce my parents to my surrogate “mama”! The rest of our days in Dar were filled with a visit to Tinga Tinga alley to order a few more pairs of sandals from Clement, a trip to the National Museum, and of course visiting all the churches within the city center for dad. On New Year’s Eve (also Mom’s Birthday), we attended a celebration held by our hotel. Upon entering the room we were all given coconuts with straws and led to our table. A huge buffet of starters, main courses, and desserts were served, and we ate while watching the entertainment for the evening. Traditional Tanzanian dancers, a comic show, a balancing act, a fire-eater, and a live band performed throughout the night, right up to the countdown to midnight. As the New Year arrived, everyone in the room moved around, saying “Mwaka Mpya” (“Happy New Year”) and exchanging hand shakes. It was wonderful to be able to bring in the New Year with my parents, and we all realized what a special day it was.

The following day the four of us boarded yet another Scandinavia bus for the trip to Dodoma. Though I had warned my parents that it was not the most enjoyable of trips, they were seemingly surprised to find it wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be! (In my defense, I will admit that it was one of the more pleasant journeys I have made thus far.) My parents were both curious to see what Dodoma was like, especially after Dad read in the Lonely Planet guidebook that “There’s little reason to come to Dodoma, but if you find yourself here it’s not a bad place to spend a day or two. With it’s grandiose street layout and the imposing architecture of many church and government buildings – all sharply contrasting with the slow-paced reality of daily life – it’s easy to get the feeling that the town is dressed in clothes that are several sizes too big.” Despite these not-so-glamorous ravings, I was nevertheless excited to show them the place I’ve called home for the past 6 months. After arriving in Dodoma that evening, we dropped Liz at her compound and made our way up the road to my humble little home. Leane had continued her travels after meeting us in Dar es Salaam, and thus she had offered her apartment for my parents to stay in. Not only did this save us the expense of booking rooms at the Dodoma Hotel, but it also meant that my parents were only a few steps away, which proved to be extremely convenient. Since my house was devoid of anything to eat, we made our way to the Dodoma Hotel for dinner. On the way we passed a group of children wandering down the street, and they were all eager to greet us. I watched as each one of them waited their turn to shake my parents’ hands, and I couldn’t help but feel grateful for these sweet little children! It was a touching moment, and one which made me realize how happy I was to share my new adventures with them. For once I didn’t have my camera on hand, which I very much regretted! After returning home that evening, we all turned in early from the exhaustion of our long day and to rest up for the tour of Dodoma that was to come.

After we finally got ourselves up, dressed, and ready for the day, lunchtime was quickly approaching. I took this opportunity to introduce my parents to Rose’s Café and the wonderful Indian cooking that I’ve come to love during my time here. After enjoying yet another great meal, we set off to explore Dodoma. I pointed out Mackay House, the home of The Carpenter’s Kids office, walked them down One Way Street, lined on both sides with shops filled with a variety of goods pouring into the streets, and led them through the acrid scents of the Dodoma market. We filled up on produce for the beginnings of a home-cooked meal, after which we stopped by Super Dealer to stock up on the rest. Mnaze, the owner of the store, gave us a complimentary bottle of wine in celebration of my parents’ visit and we headed back home, our arms full of the day’s purchases. The three of us shared a nice dinner before crowding around my laptop to watch one of the new dvds they brought with them, and it was nice to be able to relax and enjoy their company.

The following morning I decided my parents needed to get the grand view of Dodoma, and thus we set off to climb Lion Rock. After reaching the hotel in town and spending five minutes trying to explain to a taxi driver where we wanted to go, I decided in my stubbornness that they were charging us too much. Thus, we set out on foot, thinking that we would just get in a bit more exercise by walking the whole way. I began to lead us towards Lion Rock which was visible in the distance, but after about 45 minutes of walking we realized that I had, in fact, taken the wrong road. We then had to hunt down a taxi and spend the next 10 minutes pointing to the hill in the distance, once again trying to explain where it was we wanted to go. Obviously, Tanzanians do not frequently ask for taxis to go to Lion Rock! So, finally, over an hour after leaving home, we arrived at the foot of Lion Rock and began to wind out way up the steep path. We stopped at various points along the way to take in the view, and finally made it to the summit. After enjoying the view at the top and fearing sunburn if we stayed much longer, we climbed back down and set off down the road in search of another taxi. We stopped in town to treat ourselves to ice cream, picked up some to take home, and walked for another 30 minutes before finally arriving back at the compound. Needless to say, we spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around my house, our legs aching from all the walking we had done that day!

The following day was Sunday, and Pastor Noah had invited us to attend his church service at Chadulu. Liz accompanied my parents and me to the unfinished church building on the edge of town, and Dad vested up to participate in leading the service with Pastor Noah. The two of them made quite a distinct pair, and their height meant they towered above much of the congregation. Liz, Mom, and I each followed a reading in Swahili with one in English for the first and second readings and The Gospel, and Pastor Noah pointed out a few areas throughout the service which Dad was meant to read in Swahili. Though he had been practicing a few basic words here and there, some of the sentences were a bit much to handle and left him wondering whether he was even understood! (He thus spent the next few days trying to master these phrases.) Eventually it was time for us to introduce ourselves, and Pastor Noah helped translate my parents’ speeches. The congregation was extremely warm and welcoming, and my parents were presented with Masai robes as gifts. My dad had not come empty-handed, and he presented Pastor Noah with a vestment stole brought from the U.S. After Pastor Noah and my dad served communion to the congregation, blessed a youth choir entering in a competition, and several of the parish’s musical groups performed, the service was brought to a close. I always enjoy watching my father at work, but there was something special about watching him join with Pastor Noah to lead the service. After the service ended, Dad and Pastor Noah were surrounded by parishioners and children, and Dad entertained them by beating out a rhythm on one of the homemade drums, reminiscent of his days spent as drum major at Riverwood High School in Atlanta. Before leaving we stood to welcome the mile-long reception line and hand shakes that are a vital part of every church service in Tanzania, and the whole experience would not have been complete without it!

On Tuesday, Pastor Noah planned a special visit for us to Ndebwe, one of The Carpenter’s Kids villages. Since there were no distributions during their visit for my parents to attend, Pastor Noah kindly offered to organize a visit so that they could experience the work of the program. After driving for over an hour we arrived at the parish church, amazed to find that several hundred people were there to welcome us. The Carpenter’s Kids, the program committee members, and the parish staff sat at the front of the church, followed by several singing groups, parents and guardians, congregation members, and members of the village itself. The turnout rivaled that of an actual CK distribution, and I couldn’t believe that all these people had showed up on a Tuesday morning just to welcome us. The church was filled with people, and those that couldn’t fit inside peered in the windows from outside. We sat at the front of the church as The Carpenter’s Kids and other singing groups performed, and then listened intently as the parish priest gave a touching speech. The depth of emotion in his words meant that the three of us were soon holding back tears, and the speaker himself claimed that he must stop speaking for fear that he himself would begin to weep. In an email home Dad told of our visit:

“Today, we visited a village church about an hour outside of the city. As you can imagine, it's not typical for there to be a church gathering on a Tuesday morning, but some 300 people of every age filled the church (also with walls but no roof yet) simply to welcome Sarah, Judi and me. Their amazing welcome and the wonderful words of the parish priest brought tears to our eyes: "Our American friends have come a great distance and at great expense to show their concern and care for our children. Don't you believe anyone who says unkind and untrue things about Americans. We can't go to America; none of us can afford it. But today we have seen America. Today we have tested America. And we have discovered that Americans are not only our friends, but also our brothers and sisters." Obviously, today is one that Judi, Sarah and I will never forget.”

It was, indeed, a day that I will never forget. Though visiting the village parishes is a frequent occurrence working for the program, weekend after weekend of visits had jaded my appreciation of how special they are. Being in Ndebwe with my parents, however, meant that it was like visiting one for the very first time, and I was glad that my eyes had once again been opened to appreciate my time and experiences in Tanzania. After distributing some soap that Pastor Noah had brought along for The Carpenter’s Kids and extending our sincere thanks to everyone that had come out to welcome us, the parish priest and committee members served us lunch. This was further proof of how welcoming these people really are; we had come with no purpose other than to visit their parish and yet they went out of their way to welcome us and to make us feel at home. Our hearts were full as we said our goodbyes and headed back to Dodoma, and we shared the realization that what we had just experienced was something we would cherish forever.

That evening, Pastor Noah invited us to have dinner with his family at his home. I baked a cake and we took along ice cream as a contribution to the wonderful meal which Pastor Noah’s wife, Mollen, had prepared. My parents, Liz, me, two of Pastor Noah’s daughters and his live-in grand daughter, Lisa, also joined us, and we enjoyed eating and sharing differing aspects of the U.S. and Tanzania. At one point Pastor Noah thanked my parents for allowing me (and Liz) to come to Tanzania to work with him. I found myself deeply touched by kind words for the second time that day, as he told them, “You have planted the seed, but we are bearing the fruits.” At that moment I couldn’t have been more thankful for my parents and the wonderful upbringing they have provided me with for the last 22 years. If not for them I wouldn’t be here, and their visit had continually reinforced what a special time these eight months would be in my life. After eating more than we could bear and preparing to say our goodbyes, Pastor Noah asked us to wait for one more minute. He disappeared into the back of the house and returned, asking my parents to stand. My dad was presented with a fully beaded warrior’s stick which was about 12” long and encased in a diagonal pattern of green and yellow beads. My mom was then wrapped in a two-piece traditional African outfit, embroidered all over with beautiful beadwork and sequins. Pastor Noah’s wife, Mollen, had made both of these gifts herself, and my parents and I were extremely touched by this show of generosity. We expressed our thanks and walked home, our hearts and minds overflowing by the extreme kindness we had been shown that day.

The next day started early and the three of us once again found ourselves on a bus at 6am to head for Mikumi National Park. The 6am departure time soon turned into 7, but eventually we were heading out of Dodoma and were on our way. About 5 hours later we were finally dropped off at the gates to our hotel, relieved to be out of the cramped bus. We spent the rest of the day relaxing in our rooms and preparing for yet another early morning the following day.

We set out with a driver at 6:30am for the 30 minute drive into Mikumi, and the open-aired old Land Cruiser – though extremely slow – afforded many views of wildlife before we even entered the park. I expressed to our guide that I had been to Mikumi twice before without seeing any lions, and thus he made it his goal for the day to search for them. After winding through the park and seeing all the normal assortment of animals – elephants, giraffes, water buffaloes, hippos, monkeys, zebra, warthogs – we finally heard news from a passing vehicle that lions were nearby. After a bit more searching we finally found them. Two male lions and one female lay dozing in the grass, surrounded by three vehicles full of tourists with cameras at-the-ready. One male and female finally grew tired of being so closely watched, and with a few disgruntled roars they headed off to find a more private sleeping spot. The goal of my trip had been accomplished long before lunch time, and we were lucky to have seen them. The afternoon proved to be a bit sparse in terms of animal sightings, as the heat keeps the animals hiding off in the shade. We arrived back at the hotel nearly twelve hours after leaving it that morning, and we came to the unanimous decision that a half-day’s drive would have been plenty! Nevertheless, we enjoyed our trip, and I told my parents they could check off the must-do when visiting Tanzania: the safari!

After yet another long and very cramped bus ride the next morning, we found ourselves back at the Peacock Hotel in Dar es Salaam. Our final days together were spent visiting the main shopping sights (again!) to pick up a few final souvenirs, and generally enjoying each others’ company. On our final night I took them to the rooftop bar of The Kilimanjaro Hotel, the classy place that Magi and I had discovered on a previous trip. We enjoyed a few drinks while reminiscing about the highlights of their visit, and with some reluctance we eventually returned to the hotel. Since their flight wasn’t until 11pm the following day, it was decided that I would leave on the bus back to Dodoma earlier in the day so they would know I made it home before getting on their flight. We took a taxi to the bus station and said our goodbyes, offering reassurances that I would see them less than 3 months later. As I waved out the window and the bus pulled out of sight, I was amazed that their two week visit had already come to an end. We fit an great deal of things into their time here, and I was confident that I had given them a pretty good taste of what Tanzania is like. I was so thankful they had come, and though it was hard not to want to climb in their suitcases and go home with them, I was glad for the opportunity to spend some time with them. Their visit allowed me to take a fresh look at this beautiful country and its wonderful people, and I couldn’t be more thankful for that.

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Three weeks have passed now since my parents returned home, and these few weeks have flown by. The past few weeks in the office have been spent catching up and preparing for the busy events of the coming year, most of which I will not be here to witness, a fact which Liz is not thrilled about! Maaike and Liaane have packed their bags and left Dodoma as well, but thankfully I didn’t have to say goodbye to them quite yet. I have rearranged my return flight schedule to accommodate a one week stay with them in Holland on my way home, and I am already looking forward to my visit. Many newcomers have arrived in Dodoma in the past week as well, and our compound alone has gained three new volunteers. Angela, from the UK, will be working as the principal at CAMS until the full-time one returns from a three-month visit to New Zealand, Linda is working as a teacher at CAMS for two years, and two 19-year-old girls named Leila and Charlotte from the UK are here to work as teacher’s aides for the next 10 weeks. I was excited to have a few new young girls to fill the void left by Maaike and Lianne, and they are already proving to be a lot of fun. In certain aspects it seems as though I arrived here only a few months ago, but as I am coming up on the six month mark I also realize all the wonderful things I have had the opportunity to experience thus far. I know the next ten weeks will be filled with more opportunities and new experiences, and before I know it I’ll be home, looking back on the eight months that seemed to go by so fast.

Sarah's Holiday Vacation, Part I: Zanzibar Island

I’ve now been back in Dodoma for one week following a whirlwind – but very relaxing – three week vacation. Returning to the office after such a worry-free few weeks was a bit of a challenge, and overall I felt extremely unmotivated and unproductive. I have hopes that maybe the coming week will find me back in some form of “work mode” and that I’ll actually be able to accomplish a few things! First on the list of accomplishments for the week: writing this blog. The knowledge that I have so much to cover has been quite daunting, and therefore I’ve been avoiding the task for the past week. I will make every attempt to keep the intricate details of this tale to a minimum in hopes of avoiding a story of epic proportions, though I make no promises!

So, here goes….Part I: Zanzibar Island

On December 22, Liz and I boarded a 7am Scandinavia bus to make our all-time favorite trip from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam. Though the ride was hot and crowded (per usual), we made it to Dar and went straight to the ferry station to buy tickets for the trip to Zanzibar. Merely an hour or so after arriving in the busy city and forking over a little extra money for First Class tickets, we found ourselves relaxing in reclining chairs in the air-conditioned interior of the ferry, watching The Fugitive on screens above our heads. Obviously, we quickly decided that First Class was worth the extra money! After nearly three hours of cruising past sailboats, deserted islands, and sandbars surrounded by aqua-blue water, we came upon the historic port of Zanzibar Island: Stone Town. We took in what we could of the decrepit yet beautiful town in the fading light of the evening, and we went to bed that night exhausted but excited for the exploring we had ahead of us the following day.

After a nice breakfast on the rooftop of our hotel, Liz and I set out to take in Stone Town. I, of course, constantly had my camera in hand, and Liz quickly revised her saying that I usually have her stop every 5 steps for a photo op to every 3 steps! The town is essentially a photographer’s paradise, as unique architecture, beautiful carved wooden doors, and the amazing location on the coast make for great photos. The town is predominantly Muslim, and much of the architecture echoes this statistic, though hints of Creole, Italian, and Greek architecture show up periodically as well. Mosque minarets can be seen rising from the skyline all over town, their monosyllabic calls to prayer permeating the air throughout the day. Shoes of all colors and sizes scatter the steps as people everywhere abandon their tasks and enter the mosques to pray, a duty they will complete four other times throughout the day. Oblivious to this devout practice are the tourists from all over the world who crowd the streets, their only concern being what store they will go to next. Liz and I were quite amazed to see the number of Wazungu we encountered in Stone Town, and I have never before heard so many different languages spoken in one place. Although we hadn’t realized Zanzibar was such a tourist destination, we quickly grew acclimated to the oddity of blending in and we too meandered from shop to shop, overwhelmed by all there was to see and do. After shopping to our hearts’ delight – and amazed by the fact that we’d found several stores that accepted credit cards – we set out with map in hand in search of the Anglican Cathedral.

The Anglican Cathedral was built in 1877 over a former slave market site, and the altar of the church marks the location of a tree where slaves were beaten to determine their strength. The Cathedral also contains several references to Dr. David Livingstone, a Scottish missionary and explorer whom strongly advocated for the end of the slave trade on Zanzibar and in Eastern Africa. A crucifix made from the tree in Zambia that marks Dr. Livingstone’s burial site stands in the church. The Cathedral’s adjoining hostel, St. Monica’s, was built over several holding cells where up to 70 slaves were kept before being auctioned, and Liz and I were able to go into these dark and cramped spaces. Though a monument consisting of stone statues of bound slaves in a pit commemorates the slaves, the entirety of the large building is in itself a monument to the slave trade and those who worked to bring it to an end. It was interesting to hear about the history of the place and all that happened there.

Later that afternoon, Maaike, Lianne, Leane, Josiah, Jo, and Gwendlyn all arrived in Stone Town after their safari in Mikumi. The eight of us went to dinner together at a great restaurant called Livingstone’s with candlelit tables right in the sand, after which we walked to explore a typical Zanzibarian dinner locale. The entirety of a street was filled on both sides with tables covered in fresh seafood. Squid, fish, shrimp, octopus, and a variety of kebabs lay in piles on checkered tablecloths. The men behind each table were eager to offer you food as you passed, which they would then place on their grill and cook for you, complete with a side of chips (fries) or a variety of breads. Thankfully, we were all able to pass on the “delicacies” since we had just come from dinner, but it really was a remarkable sight! Though Leane said she has tested the fare before, I think I’d be a bit skeptical to try seafood that had been sitting out in the open air and sticky heat of the island!

The following day, Leane and her group continued on to the beach on the East side of the island, while Liz, Maaike, Liaane, and I stayed in Stone Town. The four of us decided to take a trip out to Changuu Island, also known as Prison Island. The island was originally used by Arab slave merchants to detain slaves, but it was later purchased by the British, who built what was meant to be a prison in 1890. Though the building was never used as a prison, it was used as a quarantine station for visitors entering Eastern Africa. The beautiful island also houses a community of giant tortoises, the first of which were presented as a gift to Zanzibar by Seychelles in the late 1800s. Excited by the sights in store, the four of us boarded a small dhow for the short trip to the island, the water surrounding us growing clearer and bluer the closer we got. After arriving and carefully making our way from the boat to the beach – Liz was not so lucky and ended up falling into the water, which she then had to wring out of her clothes once reaching dry land – we first explored the prison, which has apparently been restored to its original condition. The sunny yellow building doesn’t appear to be a prison aside from a few bars here and there, and the cerulean blue accents and terra cotta tiles on the roof certainly make it the prettiest prison I’ve ever seen! When I had taken my fill of photos, we crossed the small island to visit the tortoise sanctuary, not quite sure what to expect. After paying our entrance fee and being given a handful of leafy greens, we entered a wooded area which had paths winding through. The tortoises, which were gargantuan in size, meandered around and across the paths, approaching anyone they thought might give them food. Some of the larger ones stood several feet of the ground, and we all came to the conclusion that they were a bit scary! After making our way through the sanctuary and exhausting our supply of tortoise food, we made our way back to the beach to relax before heading back to Stone Town.

The rest of the afternoon was spent showing Maaike and Lianne all the great shopping locales that Liz and I had found the previous day, and later the four of us enjoyed a celebratory Christmas Eve dinner on the sand. We shared the feeling that it really didn’t feel like Christmas for us this year, and we compared stories of how our families would be spending the holidays back home. Though not quite the Christmas Eve any of us were accustomed to, we ate and drank and had a good time, sharing in the company of new friends and new experiences.

On Christmas morning we found ourselves back at the Anglican Cathedral where we attended an English service in the chapel. The chapel was crowded, the sermon a bit rocky, and the carols sung off tune with no accompanying instruments, but it was nevertheless nice to retain one of my holiday traditions by attending a service. After returning to the hotel and climbing into our taxi, we departed Stone Town and headed for Bwejuu Beach on the south eastern part of the island. On the way we stopped at Jozani Forest, home to the rare Red Colobus monkeys. Our guide took us into the forest where we were immediately aware of monkeys in the trees above us, and more appeared everywhere we looked. Aside from a close call with a baboon in Dodoma a few months ago, I had never before been this close to monkeys, and they were often perched less than a foot away. It was amazing to watch their behavior and mannerisms and see how closely their actions resembled humans. We watched as two monkeys carried on their typical grooming and also as a mother sat cuddling her tiny baby, who looked down at us inquisitively with his large, dark eyes. Though we were reluctant to leave the monkeys behind, I decided that there could be worse ways to spend Christmas day than visiting a forest full of monkeys, and we hadn’t even reached the beach yet!

After the long and hot journey, we finally arrived at Twisted Palm Bungalows, our beachfront home for the next four days. We were greeted by Laura, an Italian woman who manages the hotel with her husband. She and several porters helped us pull our luggage up a steep incline of rocky stone steps and led us to our bright green bungalow on top of a hill. The bungalow was a stand-alone structure complete with a front porch and straw thatched roof which had been divided down the middle to create two rooms. Maaike and I took one while Liz and Lianne settled into the other. Before long we found ourselves on the beach, lounging on the slightly uncomfortable wooden and rope beach beds. Though we were a bit disappointed by the cloudy conditions, we were nevertheless excited to have reached our destination.

The next few days continued in much the same manner. We’d meander down to the beachfront restaurant in time to catch the tail end of breakfast before parking ourselves on the beach for the remainder of the day. Though it has rarely rained for the nearly 6 months I’ve been in Africa, the rain decided that our week at the beach was a good time to come, and thus each day was interrupted by clouds and periodic rain storms.

Tired of sitting on the cloudy beach, Maaike, Lianne, and I signed ourselves up for a “Safari Blue”. The next morning we departed from the hotel in a van, our company being a young couple working in Namibia who was also staying at our hotel. After driving nearly all the way back across the island to Stone Town, we finally arrived two hours later at our beachfront destination. A clustering of large sailboats sat docked in the water about 100 yards away, and porters were busy carrying large coolers and supplies to the boats. Groups of tourists stood on the rocky beach, and we were a bit disappointed to find that our boat wouldn’t be traveling solo. The leaders of the safari gave brief introductions – in multiple languages – before splitting us into groups and leading us out through the water to the boats.

A group of about 16 of us piled into one boat, and we set off under menacing skies with the rest of the fleet. Our destination was an island where we would go snorkeling, but on the way we also did a bit of dolphin watching. When all the boats reached the island, we dropped anchor and headed to the shore, where we quickly went to collect our snorkeling equipment. We spent the next hour or so paddling through the water, amazed at all was living under the shallow water. Schools of thousands of tiny iridescent fish swam right around us, as others weaved their way conspicuously through the abundance of coral on the ocean floor. After sustaining a bit of sunburn and seeing all there was to see, we headed back to shore where our group leaders cracked open fresh coconuts for us to enjoy. As the clouds continued their descent, we were shuffled back to the boats to outrun the impending storm.

We soon reached our destination on a nearby island and once again made the long walk from the boats to the shore where rows of long picnic tables were set up. Each boat had their own row of tables, and the guides distributed beer and soft drinks before lining everyone up for lunch. Each person was given two plates, and as we moved down the line an assortment of fresh-cooked seafood, rice, and bread was heaped onto our plates. Though we didn’t think we could eat another bite after the huge meal, the guides then brought out a variety of tropical fruit for us to sample. Mango, papaya, pineapple, starfruit, breadfruit, and many others were passed down the table, followed by coffee and liqueur. We sat chatting for a while with our new Namibian friends, and soon discovered that their vacation was due to some unfortunate circumstances. A mere three months earlier their 18 month-old son died when he got tangled in a fence and was strangled. His nanny had left him and gone inside, and the tragedy occurred in her absence. The couple’s friends had all pitched in to send them on their trip. Maaike, Lianne, and I were all shocked to hear of their story, especially since it was such a recent occurrence, and we offered our sincere sympathies to them both. I can’t imagine having such a terrible thing happen, but I was glad to see they were making an attempt to enjoy themselves.

Eager to work off a bit of the bulge that had settled in our full stomachs, the three of us followed a small group to investigate a 700-year-old Baobab tree. The tree had fallen over at one point and continued to grow, creating an odd arrangement of branches and trunk. We enjoyed climbing on the tree and taking photos before heading back to the beach. By this time a game of beach volleyball was in full-swing, and Maaike and I were quick to join in. The two teams were representative of numerous countries, and despite the fact that the ball rarely made more than two passes over the net before falling to the ground, we all had a great time. Our game was interrupted as we were told it was time to once again board the boats, and we reluctantly said goodbye to our new friends. Our next destination was a mangrove lagoon, where a circle of rocks topped by mangrove trees enclosed a clear pool of water. We took the opportunity to dive out of the boats for a quick swim before the boat captain hoisted the sail and led us back to shore. We arrived back at our hotel a few hours later, exhausted but reeling from all the exciting things we had seen and done that day.

During our stay at Twisted Palms we became quite well-acquainted will the hotel staff, including the Maasai warriors who worked as guards. Maasai are tribesmen who typically live in the northern part of Tanzania. Our hotel, however, employed several Maasai warriors who had come to Zanzibar to earn money during the high season. Through surrounded by Western tourists, these guys attained the traditional garb of their tribe which consists of a shuka (a colorful piece of cloth), cow hide sandals, and often a leather belt. They also wear large beaded cuffs around their necks, arms, and legs, and carry wooden clubs and knifes. Though we at first were a bit intimidated by these guards, our concern turned to slight amusement when we noticed them wearing Western-style sunglasses and playing a game of soccer on the beach.

One night, the cook and servers at the restaurant invited us to go to a local club with them. Though we momentarily wondered whether our decision was a smart one, Maaike and I departed about 11pm with about four of the guys to make the dark walk to the club. We were relieved when we finally arrived, and were not surprised to find that we were the only Wazungu in the entire place. We stuck close by our friends’ sides, worried that we would be left behind, and watched as heated games of pool commenced before us. The outdoor venue was small and crowded, with a small bar behind a metal grate, a dance floor where people danced to the mixed tunes of African music, Bob Marley, and Western rap, and an area for the pool table. Though Maaike and I were able to avoid the dance floor, we were amused when Josiah, one of the guards at our hotel showed up. He stood out starkly in his Maasai garb, and he was always visible as his wooden club rose and fell in the crowd in beat with the music. A few hours later we left and made the walk back to our hotel, happy that we had gone “outside the box” and witnessed the night life of Zanzibar.

A couple nights later Maaike and I received another invitation to join in the fun when Josiah and another Maasai named Luca were going to a club at a nearby beach. We accepted and made the 30 minute taxi ride to a beachfront hotel, where an outdoor bar and dance floor were set up. We quickly realized, however, that Luca and Josiah had developed slight crushes on us, and after a couple hours of thwarting attempts to dance with us and finally convincing them that we needed to go home, we made the awkward drive back to Bwejuu. Though Maaike and I tried to climb in the back of the taxi together, Luca insisted that he sit next to her. I glanced back once or twice to see Maaike squeezed as close as she could get to the window, as Luca sat leaving barely any room between them. I – thankfully! – had the shier of the two, who kept a safe distance on the opposite side of the bench. After Josiah spotted a ring on my left hand and asked (seemingly shocked) if I was married, I decided to tell him I was engaged, which seemed to thwart any further advances. I could hear Maaike in the backseat regaling Luca with stories of her boyfriend back in Holland, which apparently had little effect. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we arrived back at our hotel. Maaike and I sat laughing so hard on our front porch that our stomachs were sore the next day, and we quickly revised calling the Maasai our “Rafikis” (friends) to the more appropriate term, “Rafreakies”. Needless to say, Liz and Lianne were quite amused by our story, and we made every attempt to avoid them as much as possible until leaving a few days later.

Zanzibar was quite the destination spot for Dodoma’s missionary community, and a large group of us was clustered on beaches no more than an hour apart. On one night during our stay, fourteen of us met at a central beach locale for a post-Christmas dinner. Callum and Laura, Scott and Nikki, Brandon, Leane, Josiah and many others composed our group, and it was great to meet and catch up with many of our friends that we hadn’t seen since leaving Dodoma. Upon seeing the photos of the evening, Miriam (who is living back in New Zealand and just announced her engagement!) remarked that the friends we have made here are ones we will remember forever. I think she is definitely right, and I am trying to cherish the time I have left with them. Maaike and Lianne, for instance, return to Holland in two weeks. Though I know they can’t wait to get home, it will be sad to see them go. I have hopes, however, that I will be able to make a stop in Holland on my way back to the States in April to visit them.

After a few relaxing days of lounging on the beach and sharing lots of laughs, we reluctantly packed our things and headed back to Stone Town. Liz, Maaike, Lianne, and I said our goodbyes and parted ways. While Maaike and Liaane were heading up to the northern coast for a few more days on the beach, Liz and I were heading back to Dar es Salaam to meet my parents at the airport that night. Though I was sad to be leaving the beautiful island, I couldn’t wait for my parents to arrive, and it was hard to believe that after five long months I would finally see them again.

To Be Continued…….

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas!

I’m not quite sure how or when the holiday season made it’s stealthy approach, but all of a sudden it has shown up on my doorstep unannounced, bringing with it the signs that Christmas is right on it’s heels. I walk down the streets of Dodoma and see shops displaying artificial trees with colorful blinking lights and tacky, over-sized cards with images of jolly Santas and trite holiday greetings. The Christmas carols which have been playing from the bus station for months finally have relevance to the season, and the craft vendors offer cards painted with images of the nativity rather than those with giraffes and other wildlife. Despite all these signs, however, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Perhaps it’s because it’s still a sweltering 90+ degrees, rather than the biting cold of December back home. Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t heard Mariah Carey and Nat King Cole belting out their holiday anthems on the radio for the last month and a half. Or maybe it’s simply because the holidays are a time for catching up with relatives and friends, and I know that for me, this tradition will have to wait until my return in April.

The holidays this year will be a time for celebrating with new friends and making new traditions, and I’m really looking forward to it. Last Sunday night marked the first official Christmas celebration of the season. Some of the missionaries in town and a few locals gathered for a combination going-away party for a Canadian couple and a singing of Christmas carols. After a pot-luck dinner, the group of about 50 people gathered in the hosts’ garden, surrounded by trees strung with lights and paper bag lanterns scattered along the ground. Each person held a candle to light the pages of printed music, and the flickering of candlelight gave a beautiful ambiance to the evening. Carols were sung to the accompaniment of a keyboard and verses were read as the group sat perched on chairs, benches, and on woven mats on the ground. It was a bit surreal to be sitting outside in the warmth of a Tanzanian evening singing Christmas carols, but nonetheless it brought back all the nostalgia of an American holiday. I couldn’t help but think of one of my favorite traditions of the holidays back home: the midnight service on Christmas Eve. Not only is this service my favorite of the entire year, but it also marks my favorite part of the Dailey family Christmas tradition. The songs, the lighting of the candles at the end of the service, the happy buzz in the air – all these things contribute to the “feel-good” atmosphere that the midnight service creates. It also is one of the few times that my entire family goes to church together, as our activities usually do not find Jennifer, Christina, and I home at the same time. Of course, however, we have to admire Dad from afar, as he has his priestly duties to uphold! Though I am excited to make new traditions this year, this is one I will be sorry to miss.

Our work in the office is winding down, and only four working days remain before the long-awaited holiday break. We finished off our distributions for the year at the end of November, visiting the parishes of Mayamaya and Izava. These two distributions made a great end to the year, as they were among my favorite villages I have visited thus far. The people – though friendly at every village – were very talkative and outgoing, and the children were also more vocal and engaging. I was also given a Chigogo name at Izava, which is a dialect spoken in most of the villages in addition to Kiswahili and some English. Callum and Liz had received their Chigogo names at a previous distribution (Callum’s means “Chief”, while Liz’s means “Our Beloved”), so it was decided that I needed one as well. After a brief consultation, it was decided that my name would be Mamvula, which is the word used for the season when the rain comes. I was given this name because it was indeed raining when we arrived, and since the Tanzanians see rain as a great blessing, I guess I can’t complain! I was encouraged to add this name to my ordinary introduction spiel in the church, which everyone found to be quite amusing. The end of the distributions mean that we have one less working day a week, but as December and January are slow months for us, Pastor Noah was quite content for us to work from home, which we were all happy to hear. I’m not sure I could handle an additional day per week in our hot office, not to mention that my productivity level is substantially higher at home.

After finishing up work, Liz and I will catch a bus on the 22nd to Dar es Salaam before continuing by ferry to the island of Zanzibar. A day later we will meet up with Leane and her son, Josiah, along with Maaike, Liaane, and another missionary and her daughter. From there all of us will be traveling to the opposite side of the island for our stay on the beach. It will be nice to spend Christmas Day with the people that have become my closest friends here, and being on the beautiful beaches of Zanzibar will not be difficult to get used to! After a few relaxing days on the white sands of Bwejuu beach, I will travel back to Dar es Salaam to meet my parents at the airport. Though it seemed that they might not make it here during my stay, their tickets are finally booked, and I can’t wait for them to arrive! It will be wonderful to be able to share my experiences of Africa with them, and for them to see where I have lived and worked for the past several months. I’m not quite sure what our itinerary will involve during their stay, but Dar, Dodoma, and a safari along the way are all on the list. Although it will be hard to see them go at the end of their two-week stay, I have a sneaky suspicion that my final months here will fly by – maybe faster than I’d like – and that I’ll see them again soon enough.

We’ve had a few new additions to the Dodoma family of missionaries lately, two of which moved into Liz’s old apartment a few feet away from my door. Scott and Nikki Wheeler are 25-year old New Zealanders who are here for three months to help out with various programs around Dodoma. They have seamlessly joined into our weekly routine of dinner and movie nights (and a newly established poker night for the guys), and it has been wonderful to add a few more young adults to the ranks. Scott is really hoping to make their stay a little longer, but as Nikki would say, “He has to convince his wife first!” We have discussed the possibility that he could help fill the gaps in Carpenter’s Kids after I leave, a prospect which he is quite excited by. It will be interesting to see how their plans progress. Another newcomer is Brandon, a 21-year old American taking a year off between his second and third years at Westpoint. He is volunteering at St. John’s University, and he has also joined in on our weekly festivities. His Army mentality left many people amazed (and cringing!) a few days ago after he ate a live scorpion, so he has definitely been a dynamic addition to our crew!

Last weekend a group of about 15 of us took a long-anticipated Saturday outing to climb Lion Rock, a small “mountain” on the edge of town. I have been looking forward to climbing to the top since I arrived, so I was happy that we had finally arranged a trip. We headed out fairly early with our Tanzanian guide to beat the midday heat, and after a brief walk along a flat trail we found ourselves briskly climbing up a steep path. Several rock landings along the way made great photo-ops, and the view of Dodoma below us as we climbed got better and better as we rose in elevation. After a short but steep climb, we found ourselves near the highest point after about 40 minutes. Though most of us would not attempt to climb the highest rock at the summit due to the scaling that was involved, Callum impressed us all by his seemingly effortless scamper up to the top. We all stood below and hoped he wouldn’t slip off the steep face, but to our relief he made it up and down safely. After comments by all about how easy he made it look and his insistence that it was easy, we did discover that he had done a bit of mountain climbing in the past: “Oh, I just won a few national climbing competitions back home.” After that statement, none of us felt quite so athletically challenged any longer! The group spent a long time at the top of the rock, taking photos and enjoying the amazing view. It’s always great to see things from a different viewpoint, and this view was no different. It was interesting to look across Dodoma and see how quickly the landscape changed from being clustered with buildings in the city center to the dirt roads and mud-brick houses of the outlying villages. After a precarious and slippery walk (or slide!) back down the hill, we found ourselves hot and tired at the bottom, but appreciative for the great view and good company we had enjoyed. I hope to make climbs up Lion Rock a more frequent occurrence, and I’m already looking forward to our next trip.

Though there are days that I feel can’t pass by quickly enough, I hope that the next few weeks are exactly the opposite. I’m looking forward to our holiday trips and my parents’ visit, and I want to enjoy every minute. Spending Christmas in Africa could turn out to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I plan to take advantage of it. I am finding that the saying about friends is also true of making new traditions: “Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold”. The memories I create this year will be just as precious as all the old ones I know I will miss, but I plan to treasure them all just the same.

Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Tanzania!

Out of Africa

A couple of my friends and readers of this blog remarked that it had been a while since my last post. They essentially demanded that I write a new one, so here I am! The events of the last few weeks really hadn’t given me much to write about, as spending Tuesday – Friday in the office and visiting villages on Saturdays were all events I have written about numerous times. As things become more routine I find that I do have less stories stockpiled to pour out in the short novels I write here, so I apologize that my posts have become less frequent. I try to keep what I write meaningful and interesting, and the monotony of the everyday doesn’t quite meet that criteria. I hope that when you do stumble across and find a new post that you enjoy reading it, and that the time it may take me to write a new one is worth the wait. This past weekend gave me plenty to write about, however, so here I am again, settled in for the few hours it usually takes me to complete my perfectionist cycle of writing, proofreading, and editing these posts!

On Friday morning at 7am Magi Griffin and I settled into our front-row seats of one of Scandanavia Bus Line’s shabby coaches to make the seven-hour ride to Dar es Salaam, the former capital of Tanzania. Magi is a fellow Atlantan and a missionary working in the diocese as Special Projects Advisor to Bishop Mhogolo, and her office is just two doors down from The Carpenter’s Kids. Magi and I both studied art in school (and also discovered that we lived in the very same dorm room in Brumby Hall at UGA several decades apart!) and thus we were traveling to Dar to attend the Mukutano Arts & Crafts show. Though the bus ride was long (we traveled for 7 hours with one 10 minute stop halfway) and got progressively hotter the closer we got to Dar, the ride was much less miserable than the one I remembered from my first day in Africa. I guess after spending 24 hours on planes the eight hour trip was a bit much to handle. Nevertheless, we arrived in Dar where Magi’s usual taxi driver, Frank, picked us up and took us to the Lutheran hostel where we would be staying. After checking in and taking a brief walk-through and photo-op at the beautiful Lutheran church next door, we headed out in search of lunch. As Magi lived in Dar for two years before beginning her time in Dodoma, she knows her way around quite well, and thus we soon arrived at our destination which was a short walk from the hostel. We entered what was almost like a small food court, which had several fast-food options side-by-side. Among the choices were pizza, ice cream, a deli, and even a Western-style burger joint with fries, milkshakes, and the US’s artery-clogging creation of triple cheeseburgers. Magi and I both sat down to an assortment of salads from the deli, and already I was happy to be in Dar. Real salads are the food I miss the most from home, as they aren’t really available in Dodoma. Salads made from cabbage are common, but ones with real lettuce are rare, not to mention that you put the welfare of your stomach at risk anytime you eat fresh vegetables from a restaurant! After lunch we stopped next door in Novel Idea, one of a chain of bookstores in Dar. We spent quite a bit of time just browsing the shelves and enjoying the air conditioning, and I picked up some great little handmade cards. Though we had been in the slow-paced city of Dodoma merely eight hours before, I already felt as if we were worlds away. The high-rise filled, traffic congested, and bustling city of Dar es Salaam is a far stretch from the Africa I have come to know, and this realization became all the more apparent as the day went on.

After leaving the bookstore and finding a cab, Magi and I made our way across town to Jubilee Hall, where the Mukutano arts and crafts show was being held. We paid our 3,000 Tsh entry (about $3) and found ourselves in a huge warehouse-style building with stall after stall of artwork, jewelry, housewares, crafts, and clothing. Many of the stalls displayed crafts made by disabled people and men and women of the Masai tribe, and the proceeds from these sales went directly to their cause. Needless to say Magi and I had no trouble spending money, and I had pulled out my wallet within the first five minutes of arriving. We spent several hours meandering around the different stalls and admiring all of the amazing work on display, every so often finding things we had to have. Excluding the more expensive items of furniture and artwork, most of the small crafts can be purchased for extremely low prices, and even these can be bargained down. Most purchases leave you with the feeling that you’ve gotten a real steal, as even the beautiful and well-made items come at such a low cost. Many of the stalls had great clothes made from the bright kangas that all the African women wear, and as a lover of clothes and somewhat of a shop-a-holic, I particularly enjoyed these. Even though at home I spent exorbitant amounts of money on clothes and would have been shocked to find things I liked at these prices, I couldn’t bring myself to spend the equivalent of about $30 on these clothes. The knowledge that I could buy the fabric AND have things made in Dodoma for about $10 got the better of me, and I reluctantly left all these great things behind. My favorite part of the show was the stalls that displayed furniture and household accessories. Several places had some of the coolest raw wood furniture I’ve ever seen, all of which I wished I could take home. These items were so well made and so unique that they would have cost several hundred or thousands of dollars in the U.S. One mzungu furniture designer had on display an L-shaped couch made of raw wood, the supports of which were made to look like pier posts (rope and all) and one end of which was carved into the bow of a canoe. Though this may bring images of tacky beach house or cliché mountain home furniture into mind, it was actually a very sleek and modern piece. I complimented the designer and she told me that she’d be busy making couches for months, as she had received many orders for it. If only I had my own house and tons of money, I would have gladly taken one home as well! One jarring feature of Mukutano was the huge amount of Wazungu there! Though in Dodoma it is not uncommon to see small groups of Wazungu walking around town, there are usually only a couple together and most likely you’ve seen them before. In Dar, however, they are EVERYWHERE!! The Tanzanians actually seemed to be in the minority in this huge warehouse, and there was a great number of accents that could be picked out from the cacophony of voices. Most of the wazungu seemed to be either chic young couples with adorable children or fashionable 20-somethings, and I couldn’t imagine most of these people living in Dodoma!

At the end of the day there was a small concert, and Magi and I were relieved to sit down and listen after our long day. The concert featured several groups, the first of which was by far the best. The group played traditional African music and all wore traditional African clothes. Two little girls were the feature of the show, as they tirelessly performed intricate dances and acrobatics along with the music. Though attempts by one of the girls and by a singer from another group to pull myself and others up to the stage to join in the dancing, I was fortunately able to stay rooted in my chair! About 9pm we made our way out into the heavy humidity and got a cab to head to dinner, which Magi told me would be her treat. We arrived at a hotel near our hostel and took the elevator to the top floor, which opened to an upscale Thai restaurant overlooking the harbour, complete with waiters who pulled out your chair and placed cloth napkins in your lap. I hadn’t been anywhere this nice since leaving home nearly 4 months ago, and once again I had to remind myself that I was still in Africa! From this elegant restaurant overlooking the city lights of Dar es Salaam I could have been in any city restaurant in the United States. Magi and I enjoyed a huge three course meal, after which we managed to hobble back to our hostel in order to make the nightly 12am curfew. Entering my hot and stuffy room was made even more unbearable after enjoying the relief of air conditioning for the previous few hours, and after a cold shower I was immediately hot and sweaty again. Nevertheless I put the fan on full blast and crawled under my mosquito net for the warm night ahead.

The next day Magi and I continued our shopping quest, beginning with a hunt for a pair of sandals I had seen a few girls wearing the day before. I was told that a French woman sold them out of her home, and despite attempts to find the described location, we momentarily gave up our search. We then continued on to Slipway, a shopping district which I had heard about from friends in Dodoma. I had assumed it was another craft market with decrepid wood and sheet metal stalls like the one we visited back in August with the NY pilgrims, but boy was I wrong! The place we arrived at was essentially an outdoor mall, complete with stores, restaurants, and open courtyards, right on the coast of the Indian Ocean. It was beautiful! On one side of the building there was a stall-style market setup that is only open on Saturdays, and Magi and I slowly made our way through the sweltering aisles. Though not as stressful as my experience in August, I still found it to be somewhat overwhelming. Vendors are constantly yelling out at you to come look at their wares, which are nearly identical to the 50 previous tables that have come before them. We browsed the tables making mental notes of things we wanted before taking a break for great fruit smoothies and returning to quickly make our purchases. We spent the next several hours wandering through the shops and admiring the breathtaking view, enjoying the cool relief the stores provided from the humidity outside. I accosted a couple more women who were wearing the shoes I was searching for, one of whom was wearing some sold by the French woman, who by that time in the day would have been closed. The other girl told me she had a shoemaker make hers for her in Tinga Tinga alley, and this is where Magi and I headed next. Tinga Tinga Alley was a street lined on both sides with the small wood and metal shops, many of which sold artwork. One of these stores was where the shoemaker, Clement, worked, and this was our first stop. One sole pair of the infamous shoes laid on a shelf, and amazingly they fit. Unfortunately, however, one strap was too short, and Clement was not at the shop. We had Musa, a tailor at the shop, to call him for us, and he said he would be there in 30 minutes to fix them for me. Magi and I happily made our way through the other shops to pass the time – managing not to buy a thing! – before returning to meet Clement. Clement took the necessary measurements to fix the shoes for me, and sat down to start his work. Lukily he spoke English, and we sat and chatted with him for the next 45 minutes or so, at which time my shoes were finally done! After paying the bargain price of 25,000 Tsh (about $25) for shoes that would have cost over $100 in the US, and after taking measurements for a custom pair for Magi, we said goodbye to Clement and Musa. I promised him I would be back in January to order a few more pairs, and I plan to stock up before coming home!

A short stop at the hostel and a walk through town in search of a restaurant Magi had been told about found us in an empty vegetarian Indian restaurant. We perused the menus having no idea what most of the words meant, and finally took the advice of the owner on what to order. The food we were presented with was of the likes that Magi and I had never seen, and we dug in with interest and curiosity. Once again we were stuffed at the end of the meal, and complimented the owner on all the wonderful food we had been served. Magi did what she could to investigate what spices had been used in what we ordered, and remarked that she was curious how they had made it. To our surprise the owner then offered to show us the kitchen! So the three of us squeezed our way into the tiny kitchen to see the chefs at work. We left the restaurant full, happy, and having felt like we’d been given the royal treatment. As it was only 8:30 we decided that as wonderful as the stifling heat of our hostel rooms sounded, we did not want to go back yet, so we decided to go for a drink. Magi had heard of a great hotel that opened within the past few years which she had not yet been to, so we walked the couple of blocks to The Kilimanjaro Hotel. Immediately upon walking up we knew we were entering a different world, as palm tree-filled pools and a red-carpeted porte cochere led up to the façade of an elegant hotel. The lobby was amazing, complete with a fiberglass back-lit check-in desk, high end boutique stores, gorgeous wood paneling and marble floors, cozy seating areas, and a spiral staircase suspended over candlelit pools. After wandering around the lobby in pure tourist fashion, we took the elevator to Level 8, the hotel’s rooftop bar. Not only did this place feel like it was much too nice to be in Africa, it also topped the list of one of the chicest places I’ve ever been in my life. Tuxedo-dressed Tanzanian waiters led us to a small private seating area with cream leather couches and chairs next to floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the water. The room was dimly lit by delicate paper light fixtures and candles, and Magi and I sat for hours enjoying the atmosphere. It felt strange ordering drinks that cost more than some people in Africa see in a month. Magi and I discussed how unusual it would be to bring one of the guardians of a Carpenter’s Kid or even one of the guys in our office – who are all well-educated – to a place like this. There is absolutely no connection between their world and places like The Kilimanjaro Hotel, and it’s strange to think that many of these people will never leave their villages, much less see a place like this one. I felt like I needed to pinch myself every few minutes as a reminder that I was still in Africa and that in less than 24 hours I would find myself back on the dirt roads of Dodoma.

After another sweltering night in my room at the Luther House hostel, Magi and I attended the Anglican Church on Sunday morning. Though I found it a bit hard to concentrate due to the incredible heat, I still felt more at home in that church than I had in any service since arriving here. The service followed the liturgy I have been accustomed to since I was a little, and it was nice to hear the traditional hymns as well. Magi and had to leave right after communion in order to grab our things and catch a cab to the bus station, but nevertheless I was glad we had attended. The return trip to Dodoma was very hot (I’m sure you’re noticing a theme here…..Dar is HOT AND HUMID!) and seemed a bit long, and we were both glad to arrive safely back in Dodoma after the long weekend. It was nice to escape for a few days and to enjoy some of the luxuries that the simple life in Dodoma cannot provide. On my previous brief trips to Dar I had decided that I did not like the crowded, noisy atmosphere, but after seeing more of the pretty parts of the city I really enjoyed it. At the beginning of the trip I couldn’t help but think of how nice it would be to live there and to have access to all the great things Magi and I were able to do. After a while, though, I realized that this experience wouldn’t be what it should have been if I were not in Dodoma. While being able to go to Slipway or to The Kilimanjaro Hotel regularly might be nice, it would in no way be the “Africa” that I think it is meant to be. While the dirt roads, no air conditioning, and few restaurants of Dodoma leave a bit to be desired at times, it is what it is, and I’m happy for that. I feel that being here and seeing how people live enables me to somehow connect with the people that The Carpenter’s Kids serves. Living in a place like Dar would make it too easy to cast aside the hardships of these people and forget. As one Carpenter’s Kid said, “We felt like we had been forgotten by the world”, and I feel like it is my duty to remember them.


Wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving from Dodoma, Tanzania! I hope you enjoy spending the day with your families and giving thanks for all that you have. We truly are blessed.