Stranded in Chaotic Nairobi!!

Haha ok, it sounds more dramatic than it really is. Let's back the truck up here a bit first. Plane ride over here = AWESOME! I think I was the only person who spoke English! Chilled with some cool Spanish girls though. But the stars! OMG, over Cairo...fantastic! I've never seen anything like it! Looking out the window at 3700ft and being completely eye level with them! It was like being in space. We flew through a lightning storm too, which was insane. The whole sky was lit up and there was some crazy turbulence. As we were about to descend, a countdown came on the screen, counting down the feet as we dropped. Haha dropped is the apt description too :P I guess living in North America, I have a higher expectation of airline reliability, so it was a bit of a surprise as the countdown hit 0ft and the plane jarred onto the tarmac, which caused the entire cabin to erupt in cheers and applause. I suppose it's a markedly good deal when the plane is actually able to complete the trip in one piece.

We are ushered out onto the tarmac, towards an airport that looks like a prison. Grey walls, spires, maybe 4 windows. Welcome to Kenya. I went inside to get my boarding pass. "Yay" thinks Kelly "the next flight isn't boarding for another hour!" Haha WRONG. I go to the transfer desk, where one would normally get the boarding pass for a connecting flight. WRONG AGAIN. Apparently they don't DO anything there except redirect people like myself. I was sent to gate 9. Upon arriving, they sent me to gate 8. I stood in line. At the front of the line, they told me they don't issue boarding passes. I have to go to gate 6 for that, so I go to gate 6. The airport is more reminiscent of a daycare crossed with the SPCA. Dogs and kids running wild through the throngs of people, barking and screaming, respectively. People in huge saris and nuns and toothless old men everywhere. So I find gate 6, which is cleverly disguised as a regular boarding gate. Don't want people to find out that THIS is where boarding passes are issued!

At the front of the huge lineup, about 20 men are screaming in Swahili. Screaming. Not angrily raising their voices but more like...if this was anywhere else, you'd have sworn someone was going to get their gat. The shit would have been down mofo! But they just kept yelling. And everyone just stood there. I guess they missed their flight and were angry at not being rescheduled. So I wait. And wait. And wait. 45mins later, I get to the front. They give me a boarding pass and tell me to go back to gate 8. I do that. I stand in the huge line at gate 8. At the front, they tell me "Oh, that's no good, that flight already left." It left EARLY. Who does that? Who decides to just fly away BEFORE the departure time?? Sweet. Airport: 1, Kelly: 0. Touche.

So it's back to gate 6. Gate 6 has another huge lineup. Apparently 12 other people missed the DAR flight. We all stand together. I'm happy. I'm part of something! They take another 30mins to sort this out. The whole time everyone is yelling, it's like the stock market of the airline industry. I'm sure if I had an extra $300 I could buy a ticket for whatever or whenever I wanted. They tell me that there is no reason for me to have missed the connection, as I had an hour. Thats what I thought! So I argue. I beg. I plead. I make my eyes really big and say "please don't leave me stranded." When the guy looks like he is going to ignore me and go to the next person, I lean on the counter and make it apparent that I'm not going to step aside. Meanwhile, the lineup behind us is up in arms now because they still haven't gotten their boarding passes and are all missing their flights. One big cycle. No one makes their original flight here. And the times are merely a general suggestion. The man at the counter sighs in exasperation and finally tells me I can be on standby for a possible flight "around noon" because a given time would be way too convenient. They like to keep us guessing.

So here I am, sitting at a Dell computer, circa 1991... chillin' with my thoughts and praying that my bag doesn't get stolen off of the DAR claim. See, they can't find it without a ticket stub. Things checked way back in Canada...that's not something they do here in Nairobi. Well, I wanted a grand adventure! Getting stuck in a place where no one speaks English is pretty rough for a novice explorer. It's pretty rough here. The only sleep I've had in the last 36hrs was an unintentional catnap in the Amsterdam lounge, curled around my bag. I'm supposed to keep checking back with Gate 6. That's fine, nothing else to do here. Except this. And I'm finished. Haha so, cross your fingers that I get into the hostel alright. My ride won't be there to meet me, but I have the address to take a daladala or cab if I need to. The people here are really awesome though! I mean, that whole gate 6 fiasco...JUST like the Malibu rum commercial, you know, the one where they're all in line for the bus and stressing out? "If you are late then I am late" "My fish is sick." Hee hee, that's all I could think of when I was standing there. What can you do eh? Ya gotta laugh :P

Habari from Dar!

6:34am Saturday, Jul 21

I made it!!! Yes, I camped at good old gate 6 in Nairobi until finally someone got me on the 2:30 flight. But I had been quoted 5 days, 2 days, noon, the next flight, 10pm... I just returned to the line each time until someone said what I wanted to hear. I got through the gate and they told us the flight would be delayed (haha surprise surprise) and I fell asleep on the floor. Time change I can handle, sleep deprivation...not so much. So I slept curled in a ball in the corner until they called boarding and a Lithuanian man who spoke no English woke me.

I stepped off of the plane and it was like stepping into a dirt sauna. The air was so thick and heavy that I thought I must be breathing in jet exhaust. Seriously. The farther I walked from the plane, the more I thought "awww crap." This is humidity like I've never experienced before.

I went to the visa desk, which was insane. Back to bidding for what u want. There was one old man taking passports and people were throwing money and papers at him. I watched about 3 people buy their way in. After 45mins of pushing, shoving and general unpleasantness, I had my visa exemption certificate and went to find my bags. Guess what? I walked into the terminal and there was my bag! Just sitting there like a faithful old hound,waiting for me :) I was so tired and dehydrated at this point that I didn't have the energy to carry it. And so, I emerged from the airport, soaked in sweat, stumbling, dragging my bag behind me. I didn't even see the HAPA rep. from the NGO I'm working for. I walked right past him and he reached me just in time to catch the bag as it fell off my shoulder. I sat down on the cement for a few minutes and he laughed. I said "boy am I glad to see you."

We took a cab to the compound. It's gated. Here I'm switching tense beacause it's easier to describe. We pull in and a young man opens the wrought Iron gate. Everything is dusty. I get out of the car and am taken to the mess hall. I sign in and am given a key to shack A2. It's dark now and he takes me to a tiny cabin with an aluminum roof. It has a rusty padlock on the door. We open it up. Inside there are 2 beds with mosquito netting. He tells me this is where myself and another girl will stay. He shows me that there is an old toilet and a faucet in the wall that I can use to wash myself. The roof leaks, the windows have bars on them. He leaves, saying that someone might come get me in the morning. Or maybe not. I am exhausted. He closes the door and I do the chicken dance. Alone. In my shack. I turn the faucet on and stand under it with all my clothes on. It trickles out and is ice cold. I'm in heaven. I scrub myself like never before. Hang up my clothes beside my mosquito netting and pass out.

The door opens at 10pm. My roommate has arrived. Her name is Megan and she's from Canada too. Shes had a long trip like me and I tell her to try the shower. We talk for like10 minutes and then I pass out again.

When I woke this morning I could hear a rooster and honking cars. I am excited to see Africa in the daylight, but everything hurts. We lay around and talk for a while and then decide to get breakfast. We don't know what to do. There are no classes today and we are the only volunteers at the time. We walk around and checked out the compound. Crap, I have to go, my internet time is up and I don't know if this will even post. The keyboard is broken, the computer is so old it cant upload my photos. Maybe tomorrow I'll get to a better one. Maybe not. So far so good, Africa is AMAZING. Completely foreign in every way. I love it. This is really going to be the best adventure of my entire life.

Dar, Singida and then the World!

7:24am Monday, Jul 23
Wow I can't believe how much has happened since I last wrote!! Ok I'm going to try to do this at lightning speed because I don't know how much longer this computer will work. I woke up on my first morning with my eyes glued shut from dust. The mosquito netting tangled around my legs and my shirt up around my neck. Sometimes I'm so classy I wish I could marry myself ;) Really, you should have been there. I chatted with Meghan, my Canadian roommate about how we had no idea what the plan was for the day. Do we leave the compound on our own? Do we get breakfast? We knew nothing and we were the first volunteers on site. We decided to wander.

We met a girl named Angel at the compound. She touched us all over. Our faces, our hair, looked in our pockets. She made me take out my tongue ring to show her that it went all the way through. I guess they don't get that one much in Africa! She kind of tried to hustle us a bit, and she did well until we caught on. Making off with my bracelet, lipsmacker and Meghan's Dentine gum and a pack of Kleenex. The latter more valuable than the former by far. We laughed a bit and went back to our shack.

Musa, our guide (who's name means Moses) took us to town. We were shocked! We rode in a daladala for the first time. It's a car with maybe 7 seats in it, but holds at least 18 people at any given time. I thought he was going to say that it was full when it pulled up, but he told me there was "plenty of room." Haha. So Meghan and I had a real bonding experience, sweating all over random people. It was awesome. I stared out the window, completely wide eyed, looking about as out of place as I felt. I waved at people and they waved back.

Africa is a wasteland. There is no road. Only dust. The seats aren't bolted down and the road is bumpier than anything I have experienced. We complain so much about not having enough buses, enough seats on those buses and the wait times for the skytrain. No one in Canada could ever imagine this place. The desolation looking out the window. The dust, the beggars on the side of the road. The buildings are crumbling and dilapidated; the start of a promising future abandoned. Africa is construction that will never be complete. It has the feeling of a kid who wants to build a fantastic robot for a science fair and then disbands it halfway through when he realizes how impractical that dream is. Africa is a hopeless landscape filled with smiling faces.

We get to town. I stare and stare and stare. I am in awe. We pass a government school with children playing kickball in the dirt. Outside, a woman breast feeds her baby on the sidewalk with her other child sleeping beside her. We joke about the kids covered in flies. We laugh about it, but it's really not funny. We, in North America do not have the stomach for this kind of suffering. For the complacency in which it exists here. Everything is bleak. Everything is broken, everything squeaks, leaks, coughs, backfires, begs. We don't understand how children could live in such poverty. How people can step over a homeless woman breastfeeding her 2 small children. I don't know how I will ever be able to come home to live my life of privileges and forget about what goes on here. Already. I'm not even in the heart of poverty yet. It's all downhill from here, sister.

On a lighter note, the other volunteers have finally arrived. We all met at Coco beach. Musa told us not to swim there because we were too white, even though Carly and I wanted to run in with our clothes on. Instead we ordered beers (Kilimanjaro Lager) and ate seafood and Chris beat the locals in round after round of pool. I met a Masai boy about my age on the beach who told me he was from a tribe in Arusha. We walked along the shore and he showed me different kinds of coral and told me random facts about Tanzania in broken English. It was pleasant. There was a wedding going on, which is why Musa didn't want us to swim, I guess he thought that a bunch of crazy half naked white kids running down to the water would crash the party. We stayed until well after sunset. Then We all frolicked in the surf and these crazy beautiful white crabs ran out ahead of us, startled. We though that was really neat and these young local men caught some for us to look at. I have a photo of one and me pretending to lick an aforementioned crab. I also took a photo of the Masai boy and his coral. It was a fantastic night and Musa told us that he would take us to the "white people beach" the next day, since we we all really wanted to swim.

The next morning we hopped into a Daladala and began the exciting journey to Kipepeo beach. This involved transferring at a coastal market. WOW! The market was packed with people. It was all rickety wooden stands selling everything from whole dried fish to flip flops. The air carried powerful scents of the sea, frying potatoes and unwashed people. We were ALL agape by now. Everyone was calling out to us to buy from their stands. Musa took us to a diner and we ordered rice and (either beef, fish or veggies). I had veggies, it was beans and spinach and was fantastic! Oh I forgot to mention how cheap everything is here. I have spent all of $10. It's 20 Canadian cents for a Daladala, 1 Canadian dollar for a meal, 20 cents per half hour of internet. This is the benefit of being Western in a 3rd world country.

We then took a ferry across a canal. The ferry was chaotic. People yelling, standing alongside cars. Everyone carrying more than I had thought was physically possible, mostly on their heads. One small boy carried a plastic bag, from which a chicken's head poked out and freaked the crap out of Anna. The smell of exhaust and dead fish was thick and stifling. I loved it.

Once again im switching to present tense for time's sake and descriptive merit: We get to the other side. Musa tells us to stay together, hold onto our bags. We do what he says. We watch that our toes don't get run over and that we don't get pick pocketed. We look afraid. We walk off the ferry and the bay is full of rickety rafts and skiffs. The water is dark with pollution. I think "yeah, white person's beach, far far away from the good areas. Out of sight." I think we're all thinking that at this point. We walk. The sun is scorching and I can feel my face getting burned. I am soaked with sweat. I've never sweated so much in my entire life. We take another daladala. It's like putting a bunch of overheated, exhausted people into a steam room. I feel like I can't breathe. My sweat has soaked my shirt and pants. I don't even care about sweat marks. This is Africa, it's expected. After 45mins, the daladala lets u s off at the beach. The sign reads "Welcome to Kipepeo Beach" Haha I think, this is going to be a joke.

We all fall out of the daladala. I hit my head on the way out. I do this every time. It's just what makes me unique. I feel that I don't look like enough of a tourist without sustaining a minor injury when entering and exiting local transportation. It's all part of the plan. We walk into the beach area and I can't believe my eyes. Never, in my life, would I have thought that I would see the exact place that I dream about. Ever. It is perfect. The sand is pure white. Blindingly so. The water is such a light blue that it doesn't look real. The beach is lined with palm trees and grass huts and there is music playing. Rickety rafts are docked all along the inter tidal zone and men paddle skiffs lazily along the coast. Small children are giving each other piggy back rides and it's sunny, as far as the eye can see. It looks like the tropics of the pirates of the Carribean. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Sorry Mom and Dad, but Hawaii, ain't got nothing on this place. We are ecstatic. We run to the ocean. I rip my clothes off and dive in. I am laughing so hard with excitement that I get a nose full of water. Salt water. It's glorious. The water is like a bathtub. People always say that, but this really was. The Indian Ocean. My new favourite place to be.

We all swim and do handstands and there is this great pirate raft about 100 meters offshore. Jeff and I swim to it. Chris and Charlie told us that there were flying fish out there. They were right. Hundreds of them, all around. I fear that they will jump into my mouth when I come up for air. They are small and silver and they shine like metal. I am beyond happy here. We lay in the sand. We read. We talk. We listen to music. The boys play volleyball and the girls lounge. We spend all day here. I wish I could never leave. Ever. I feel that I will spend my whole life trying to get back to Africa.

We are on our way back to the compound and can barely keep our eyes open when Musa asks us if we want to eat. We forgot to do that. We get off the Daladala at Kilwa road pub (the road the compound is on). It's outdoors and just a canopy with lawn furniture in a field. There is a live band playing this great African music and we run into the fray. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is dancing. I don't mean shitty, grinding, dry hump North American dancing. I mean moving to the music. Arms up, anything goes. They danced like children would dance, if they never got to the age where people told them they look ridiculous. They danced as though dancing is not done to be seen, but to be felt. We all felt it. The energy on that dance floor was pure, unadulterated happiness. That does not exist in Vancouver. I didn't think it existed anywhere. But there, in this little shack on the side of a dirt road (if you could even call it that) amid the dust and ruins, we saw this amazing celebration of existence. They danced and danced and the band played and played. The songs seemed to never end. All ages, young, old, fat, slim. There was no trend, no fad. People got lost in the music. They way we used to. When we were little. Everyone was smiling, everyone was laughing and everyone was having a good time.

We had dinner. Charlie and Chris ate whole fried fish (head and all) and I hate spinach and rice. I tried the fish and it was REALLY good. We finally went back to the hostel and passed out. I've never slept so well in my life. I can't explain Africa. It is hardship like I have never seen, but also unparalleled happiness. You can't imagine this place. I can't even wrap my brain around it. It's just so surreal. This is not a place Kelly Christie from Canada could ever think up. This is beyond. This is fantastic. Tomorrow we leave at 5am for Singida. We had Swahili training today, I'm proud to say that my Kiswahili is coming along nicely. I love the people. I love the language. It rolls off your tongue. It's delicious.

I have to go now, my time is up. I will not be able to email for a long time. My hotmail isn't working here. I'm surprised this is. I tried to upload photos, but it's a no go. I will write whenever I can. I will be without electricity, running water and communication for the next 4 weeks. Don't worry about me Mom and Dad. I am with the group. Musa is good, he will watch out for us. You would like him. I am not sending any direct emails due to the time. Know that I love you! I miss you and I definitely wish you were here! I bought a cheap cell phone and I will call if i can get it to work with a phone card. Ok I'm out. Wish me luck in the desert. I will need it. Apparently this, this city, is nothing compared to what awaits us out there. This is the real adventure. This is my life. And it is so awesome, I can't even believe it :)

Kelly of the Desert

8:03am Wednesday, Jul 25
After my last entry at the local internet shop, Musa takes us to watch some traditional dancing. We sit on benches and watch as 4 men begin playing various instruments, including bongos. 2 women and 3 men erupt onto the stage, shaking, stomping, yelling. We are all at once transfixed. WOW. Such energy. Such wildness. We're all smiling and after 3 dances they start pulling us up to dance with them. Between their pulling and Musa's pushing, we all get up. I suddenly find myself shaking, yelling, jumping, twisting. We're all just moving like crazy and the beat is intense. One of the men ties a piece of cloth around my waist. A woman pulls me into the middle of the circle and does this crazy dance with me, kind of running her hands over me as she does it. Everyone is approached by both sexes in this dance and the whole thing is so tribal and very.... ahem... seductive for lack of a better word. Not like back home. Like...primal. It's indescribable. When it's over, we're all sweating, laughing and looking at each other, saying "I can't believe I just did that." Haha we're learning a lot about ourselves.

Musa takes us to dinner. It's at this fancy hotel on the roof, under the stars. We're looking out over Dar and flickering lights and wall-less homes. I call mom and dad excitedly from the cell phone that I bought for $30. I tell them how awesome this is, but I am frustrated with my inability to convey the true experience. Everyone must come to Africa. I eat tandoori prawns and they are amazing. We're all exhausted. We head back home and pack. We have to get up at 4:30am to go to Singida. I'm excited. I think this ride will be a huge adventure. I don't realize how long or hard it will be.

I crawl into bed and use the bedsheet for the first time, as I packed the liner I was using as a blanket. About 10 minutes later, I say "something's biting me, I'm itchy." Megan shrugs this off and says nothing is biting me, I'm just imagining it. I jump up and turn on the light. I am COVERED in little bites. everywhere. My arms, legs, butt. I yell "see!" and she bursts out laughing. I throw my blanket off the bed and shake my whole body out. We're both in hysterical laughter by now. I look for bugs but can't see any. I think it was a flea. Whatever it was, it sure worked fast. I don't know what to do, so I climb into Meghan's bed. It's 1am. We have 3.5hrs to rest.

We wake up to Chris knocking on the door. I moan and roll over. I'm so tired. But I plan to sleep on the bus anyway. Haha. Sure Kelly. We drag our bags into the night and stand beside the road. Goodbye shack A2, I'll miss you and your dribbly, cold, but working shower. We stand there, trucks barrel past us at 70Km/hr and the air is so thick with dust that it looks like an incredibly foggy day. It's so thick, it makes me think that there should be explosions. Shells going off. Buildings tumbling. But there is only the sound of engines and people yelling. We cough and sit on our bags. The daladala pulls up and takes us to the bus loop. Our bus is about 50years old. It has one of those rounded fronts on it, like out of Forrest Gump. Inside it's decorated with Hawaiian leis and stickers. Peace, man.

Meghan, Pepe and I sit in a row of 3 seats. I sit by the window so I can see the sights. We drive. It's not so bad. I sleep a bit, until the sun is fully up. This is when I realize the window sucks. Bad. I have no hat, I'm not wearing sunscreen and it's scorching down on me through the dusty window, which...only opens a crack. It's road trip hell for a while. I'm sweating, my face is blistering, cracking, melting off. I look out the window and bump my nose against it. It leaves a greasy smudge. Wow, that's sexy. I'm a mess and a half. Covered in bites, sweating, sunburned. There is music playing and I'm really stoked about that. It's authentic. It makes this unique. We're driving through the desert, listening to real African music! I watch trees pass, I smile. Then the song comes on again. And Again. I realize it's a looped tape. I don't know what song it is, but the course is Shikamoo, da, da, da. I don't know what the words mean, but after 3hrs, I know them all by heart.

I am shocked that I haven't had to pee. 3hrs and nothing. Thank you Jesus, because there is no way this bus has a toilet. Or even a bucket. Finally we stop. On the side of the road. Haha there's that word again. Road. When I say road, I mean dirt path somehow eked out through years of simply driving over what was there. Occasionally you can see piles of gravel, but don't let that fool you. I'm sure they have been there for years. Decades. Eons. So the bus stops. I am so happy. Everyone runs out. Apparently they had to pee really bad. Then I realize, we're in the desert. Carly and I look for somewhere to hide to do our business. Nope. Then all the women fling up their dresses and let her rip. All together. We stand there with this big question mark over our heads for about 20 seconds and then all the women start laughing. I am embarrassed, for the first time in my life, for NOT peeing in front of someone. We look like squares here in the motherland. So, I pull down my pants, Carly does the same and we pee. A glorious, uninterrupted and well deserved pee. I laugh to myself. I'm part of the group now. If I can do this, Kilimanjaro be damned! Carly is laughing too, so is Meghan. We're all bonding. African road-trip style.

I see how accustomed I'm getting, when I realize that for the first time, I haven't peed on my own leg. Go Kelly! And the crowd goes wild!Back to the bus. We make several stops, but not for bathroom breaks, we do that in the bush. We stop in small villages so that the locals can come sell us stuff through the window. They hold their goods high above their heads. They bang on the side of the bus, they are aggressive. They yell. Don't look them in the eye or they will be banging on your window until the bus pulls away. They sell rip off Gucci sunglasses for a dollar, roasted corn, nuts, flipflops, cell phone cases, baskets, dried fish, nuts, bread. It's intense. After Dodoma (the main desert city) the road gets really rough. REALLY rough. The bus lurches and the road winds. The driver slows down for no corner. He is a man of faith, perseverance and complete disregard for the personal safety of his passengers. For a country where nothing is on time, he is damn sure going to get us into Singida by nightfall. Damn sure.

We are stopped 4 times by men with rifles. My swahili isn't good enough to understand the entire situation, but it goes something like this. We stop, a man with a rifle gets on. Words are exchanged. Flailing hand gestures. Voices are raised. He looks at the passengers. He looks through the cargo hold on the bus. Finally, we are free to go. It really serves to amplify the fact that we ARE in a 3rd world country. Just in case anyone forgets that.

We see a bus flipped over on the side of the road. It is almost identical to ours. We all think "holy shit." The passengers are sitting in the dust, looking stranded and hopeless. I assume that we will stop and help these people, see if anyone is hurt. No. We have a schedule to keep. We keep driving. Anna and I are confused. Maybe it's a competing shuttle service.

The road gets so bad that I am scared the bus will flip. I've never been afraid while on any kind of transportation. I assume that if there are a lot of people on it, we will generally be taken care of and it will be fine. Not here. I hold onto the seat. A few of us look around nervously. The dust is so thick that we close the windows, at times we can hardly see. The green trees that we left are replaced by vast nothingness. For miles. Brown grass, dead trees and sand. I watch out the window. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Child. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Man on a bike. Who are these people? Where the hell do they come from?? I see a few tiny grass roof shacks. Shacks made out of sticks, with families sitting in the dust out front. Children carrying large buckets of water on their heads. The world vision commercials don't have far to go. That isn't just part of Africa. That is Africa. I see children, many of them about 5 years old, wandering the desert alone. No parents. I can't even see a house where they would have come from. Yet here they are, covered in dirt, waving at the bus.

As we head into town, we see more people. They wave, some kids chase the bus. I smile and wave and I forget that I've been sitting in the same seat for 12 hours and am a giant ball of dirt and sweat. I'm excited again. We pull into Singida. Stumble out of the bus. The sun is going down. We drag our bags to a van. Bags get a ride, we walk. This place is FANTASTIC!!! People smiling, everyone dressed in bright colours, music everywhere. The dust is so thick that I have to breathe with my shirt over my nose and mouth. I take some photos. Small vendors line the streets. People call out to us, but we have to go to the hostel. The air is so thick I can hardly see three feet in front of me.

Musa takes us for dinner. We go in jeeps to a small restraunt and they have a buffet for us. We are told we don't have to pay unless we want beer. Haha, beer is a 70 cents. We meet up with these med students working here. A young man and woman. They tell us to be careful about malaria. They both got it. She says she shouldn't have skimped on the anti malarials. She should have got malarone. I am relieved. I'm taking malarone. They tell us stories of being sick. Being stranded. We listen. They give us names of places to visit, things to see. I'm glad we ran into them. They're staying at the same hostel as us.

We go back after dinner and I'm too tired to shower. The toilets are broken. I think I mentioned before that everything in Africa is broken. It's true. Doors, toilets, windows, cars. I read once in someone's blog that "everything in Africa is run down. Everything is re-used but nothing renewed." That about sums it up. The place is one giant rusty machine. If you can get over yourself and your own ideas of the way things should be, this place is magnificent. The people. Oh the people. The culture is all about respect. Elders are so highly revered. Everyone talks to you. Rudeness doesn't exist in conversation. You must properly greet everyone that passes you on the road. You must carry yourself with dignity and respect. There's no public groping, people are dressed nicely, not too covered, but not skanky. No skanks here, man. Everyone smiles. Everyone. This place has so much to teach, to offer. Everyone should come here. This is how people should act towards each other. It's not about what you own. It's all about who you are. Community is a real word here, not a means of geo-economic division. It's da bomb yo. Haha.

So, I sit here, in an internet cafe. I tried to upload photos again, but it didn't work. Oh well, I'll do it when I get back to Canada. I have a TON! I found a yellow hat today with KC on it. Had to buy it. My initials, what are the odds? I better get going now. Sun is going down, gotta get back for dinner. I am in Singida until Saturday, then I ship out to Mvae. To the land of real isolation. Sleeping in a tent with 8 other people. It's going to be a blast. Swahili training is going well. I haven't seen any postcards yet :( Sorry everyone! I didn't think that would be an issue, but they just don't exist here! Anyways, I love you mom and dad! And all friends back home, I hope you're having a great summer! I REALLY am!!! I'm physically disgusting, but this place is just so good for the soul :) I hope I can write some more soon. It seems like I've been here for months, even though it's only been 6 days.

Kelly vs. The Children

5:19am Thursday, Jul 26

Haha ok not really VERSES the children.. ;) I finished typing my last note and Musa is there to meet me. It's nice, he didn't want me walking home alone. Haha. We head back as the sun is setting. I like the way the pink looks through the dust. Musa tells me about the war with Uganda. He says that it was a good cause, but the Tanzanian government became corrupt. He knows everything about everything. I ask him about witch doctors. He looks at me funny, asking if I believe in voodoo. I can't explain to him that I am just interested in how it works, but I try. He tells me that they can turn people into zombies. He doesn't believe in voodoo, but I get the feeling that he doesn't want to mess with it either. I ask him if the guy really goes "ooga ooga ooga" and blows smoke all over you. Musa bursts out laughing and slaps me on the back. We joke the rest of the way. We run into Lilian and Pepe, the other teachers and Musa goes off with them. I am at the hostel gates.

Just then, these small children come out of nowhere. About 7 or 8 of them. Ages about 4-9. I say Mambo. They answer Poa. I snap a photo of them and I am mobbed. Completely mobbed. They jump on me, they want to strike poses for the camera, they touch me all over. The girls are fascinated by my hair. They are all talking at once. I kind of fall over in the dirt and I am dogpiled. I am laughing so hard that I can't get up. We kind of roll around in the dirt together. I have never had so much fun in my life. They are naming body parts, counting, reciting the alphabet. They say "english, english" and "photo photo." I got a few of us all making peace signs and thumbs up. They love it. They are camera starved. They all want to hold my hand and pull me in different directions. A little girl keeps kissing my cheek. I have never felt so much like a little kid, as I did on that road.

I pull my homework out from my bag. They all push each other to get a look at it. Musa asked us to do some Tofali (research) and start a conversation with a stranger on the street to find out about them. This would seem weird anywhere else, but in Tanzania, you can't go more than 50ft without a huge conversation with someone. Especially being a Mzungu (white person). I start asking these kids my questions. "Jina Lake ni nani?" They laugh and laugh. They mock my accent and giggle. They all tell me their names. "Ninatoka Kanada, na wewe?" They all jump up and down when I say Canada. Apparently we are well received here. I ask them what city they are from (Unatoka Mji gani?) and after this, one small girl is so frustrated with my spelling that she grabs my book, bends one of the other kids over and starts filling in my answers on her back! I laugh hysterically at this. I've never seen children with such personality. They have been playing soccer with a bunch of rolled up plastic bags, bound with rope. It's heartbreaking and amusing at the same time. Apparently earlier Ben and Charlie were playing with them. I think I will buy them a soccer ball from the market and still take the one from home to Mvae, which is even more remote. The children are absolutely filthy, most barefoot with ripped clothing. They smile like I have never seen people smile. Missing teeth, grinning from ear to ear. A military truck pulls up and they all start backing away. They tell me "tomorrow tomorrow" and I tell them "Ndiyo, Kesho!" One girl runs back and gives me a kiss on the cheek and a hug and then they are gone. Just like that. I am smiling so hard it hurts when I walk through the hostel gates. What paradise.

We go out for dinner and meet 4 VERY good looking young men who just finished a 10 week stint in Mgumbhu. They have amazing tans. They are all smiles. They tell us that they are coming back. They all want to live here now. They tell us story after story from the camp. Killing chickens, building an oven, making bricks. When they arrived, they were the first white people any of the villagers had ever seen. The tale they recounted was much like that of mine with the children, but adults that touched them all over and talked a mile a minute. They said it was the experience of a lifetime. I asked them about Mvae and they told me that the work is hard and there is a real problem with water. Good to know, I think, but not much I can do. An old man, missing teeth, Mr.Mwiko, gives a speech. He has limited English and talks very slowly. He just reeks of wisdom. When he speaks, everyone listens. He thanks us for coming, telling us how important it is for the world to learn about itself. For all people to mingle and treat each other well and be together as one, because we are all the same inside. He is so full of emotion, it takes up the entire room. When he finishes, we clap and he is smiling at us all. When we get back to the hostel, the med students are showing us photos of a man whose face was bitten off by a wild dog. The moral of that story is don't pat wild dogs. Got it.

Meghan comes into the room in her towel and asks me if I'm afraid of toads. I say "no......why do you ask?" and she tells me that while she was showering, one popped up from the drain and scared the crap out of her. She threw a bucket over it and ran away. Haha Kelly to the rescue! I go out there and Steph sees me. I tell her I'm going to rescue a toad and she follows at a distance. I flip the bucket over and there, amid the soap suds on the cement floor, is the cutest frog I have ever seen. He looks terrified. We name him Eduardo. No one wants me to touch him, but I put my sleeves over my hands and scoop him up. He just sits there, terrified out of his mind. I have a photo of he and I, chillin in the hostel. I let him go in the garden.

I'm in the same internet place now, we went for lunch after class and walked the market. I met a nice man and his wife in a shop. He shook my hand and then held onto it. We stood there, talking, holding hands and everyone smiling. There is a lot of hand holding here. I've seen a lot of men holding hands with each other, same with women. I like it. This is not a place that knows loneliness. Everyone hugging, smiling. It's a crazy, asexual vibe that is so contagious that you can't help but smile. All the time. I'm used to people touching me now and I just feel like such a part of the group. Embraced into a community doesn't even begin to describe it. Everyone wants to help us learn Swahili. They all ask us names of things and where we are from and how we like it here. "Ninapenda Tanzania!!!" "Ninajifunza Kiswahili....pole pole." People laugh at that one.

Even the volunteer group is amazing. We are Canadian, American, Irish, English, Scottish. All hanging out like we've known each other forever. The other night we were all playing cards (me, Meghan, Ben, Charlie, Chris, Jeff and John) and Charlie looks up and says "Not only can I not believe I'm in Africa right now, but I'm sitting here playing cards with 2 Canadians and an American." It's true. This is the experience of a lifetime.

I am heading out now, going to cruise the market. I can now wander alone, I am not afraid here, I know my way around, my Swahili is good enough to communicate with locals on a basic level and I am comfortable with the culture. I am going to go for a walk (Ninafanya Kitembae) and pick up some things at the market. There really isn't much to buy, I haven't seen any bracelets yet, just fabric and sandals. It doesn't matter. I have barely anything. I'm wearing the same clothes every day and just showering in them to clean them. I can't think of anything that I need or want. If that isn't heaven, I don't know what is.

Kelly the Midwife

5:22am Saturday, Jul 28

Yesterday I went to the Singida hospital. I met up with Brad and Nicole, the pre-med students that are working there for the summer. We take a quick tour of the facility. It is FILTHY. Absolutely filthy. Dirtier than my garage at home. The building is one storey and made of cement. The walls are covered in peeling paint and the heat is unbearable. The place reeks. Some of us cover our noses. Outside, women sit along the cement, waiting. Waiting for test results, waiting for loved ones, waiting to have babies. We tour the pediatric unit. We can hear a small boy screaming and screaming in the minor treatment area. It’s tiny. The beds are leather benches. In some of them are a mother and more than 4 children. If they can't all fit in the bed, the sickest children get priority and the healthier ones sleep on the cement floor under the bed. We pass a tiny boy with AIDS. I will never forget that. His face is sunken, his arms are so thin, it’s hard to imagine him raising a hand. He just stares out the window. He’s 11 years old.

This unit is filled with TB, Malaria, Parasites, bowel obstructions, malnourishment. As we walk through, the mothers smile at us. They think we are all doctors here to help them because we are white. No one asks any questions. I talk to a few people, they want photos with us. Mzungus are the height of interest. We walk into a small storage room, where a premature baby is kept. The “incubator” is a box filled with Katangas (fabric that the women wear) and there is a bare light bulb overhead for heat. The baby is TINY. I want to take it home with me and give it immediate medical attention. I just stare.

Nicole tells us about the facility as we walk. There is no medication. No analgesics. No sterile technique. The supply cabinets are bare. No autoclave. No running water. They boil instruments when finished with them. I’m appalled. This is disgusting. It’s scary and disgusting. We keep walking. We end up in the OB/GYN unit. This is where everyone lines up to give birth. There are 3 beds. By beds I mean leather benches. Filthy, no coverings. The sharps container is a 10 gallon bucket. There is a hole cut in the lid and it’s only sitting on top, as the bucket is overflowing with used needles. There are drops of dried blood on the lid. I am paranoid that I will accidentally kick it over. In the other corner is a tin bucket, filled with urine. The women all pee in here. In the corner, in front of everyone. There are no curtains.

The beds are in a row and 3 naked women lay spread eagle. Filthy Katangas barely covering them have been removed. They make no noise, save for occasional grunting, sucking in air sharply with each contraction. Remember there is no pain medication. All 3 women are having their first baby. One is 20 years old. 2 years younger than me. The look on her face is fear, but she doesn’t say anything. I feel wrong standing here, looking at them like this. But as Nicole says, “TIA” (this is Africa). It sure is. Just then a woman grunts. The baby is crowning. She walked 40 Miles to come here to deliver. We wait. It’s just me, Nicole, Anna and a nurse who graduated from DAR 2 weeks ago. We tell her “pole” which means sorry and tell her to push.

The baby arrives. They don’t do episiotomies here and the woman receives a second degree tear, exacerbated by the fact that she has been circumsized. They all have. These women are exhausted. She finally pushes the baby out and it utters it’s first cry. It’s a boy. We weigh him “3.3Kg” that is enormous here. We smile. I gaze upon the baby's new face. I am a stranger. I am the first thing he sees in this world. I feel so…strange but wonderful. I hold him and smile and smile and tell the mother “safi sana.” Her eyes are closed and I don’t even think she hears me. Anna and I hold the baby while she delivers the placenta. The other women are all watching, minutes away from delivering their own. There is no privacy. Everyone is going through this with an audience. I thank God that I was born in Canada.

The evening supervisor asks us about medicine in North America. He can’t understand how we can have epidurals and machines to do things like check vital signs. We tell him that it is to avoid pain. He doesn’t understand. Neither do the other nurses. They think that this is so funny, that women in North America can’t handle childbirth and do all of this to avoid discomfort. They look at me like I am from an insane land. Maybe I am. It makes me think about our culture and how we spend every second of our lives trying to avoid reality. We’re so ungrateful. We sue doctors. Here they kiss their feet. What is wrong with us at home? How did we become so selfish? I give the baby to his mother and she sees him for the first time. They just lay there, looking at each other while she is sutured up. It’s powerful. I can’t believe I am standing here. I just walked in off the street. TIA is right. Nicole tells us that they have about 13 babies a day. More are on their way as we leave the hospital.

We go for dinner and say goodbye. We’re told there aren’t enough beds in Mvae and the work is almost done. I’m going to Mghumbu instead. It’s a larger site and there is more to do apparently. Interesting. It was so sad saying goodbye to Musa. I’ll never forget him, he’s one of the coolest people I have ever met. He IS Africa. Today we meet up with the people staying on at the villages. It’s just us now. Us volunteers and a guard. Thrown into a village in the middle of the desert. I am SO excited. Everyone we met who has done it has just raved about it.

We go to the market and haggle for groceries and supplies. I buy a Katanga for my bed and a blanket. Outside we meet 3 street kids. 2 of them are best friends. Duma is 5 years old, he lives on the street and his friend who is 8 takes care of him. The 8 year old smokes and drinks and is very wiry and tough. But they love us. Duma jumps into my arms, tries on my sunglasses, kisses my cheek, holds my hand. They keep asking for me to take photos with them. They cuddle us and laugh. I can’t believe they live on the street. They are filthy, barefoot and scabby with runny noses. Duma is so cute I just want to keep him. They hang around our necks like monkeys. We dance with them, teach them high fives and to say “cool dude” I love these little street kids. I love this place.

We are going for lunch now, then heading out to our remote villages in a jeep. Everything is still wonderful. I am continuously amazed by the culture. The days here seem to last forever. I met a woman today who is a medical worker. She is old, maybe 70 and she does AIDS testing. She says she has been here 22 years. She was white, from America. She was so sparkly and happy. I want to do this. I am going to come back to this place to work. Don’t worry Aaron, I am having the time of my LIFE here. This is where I always wanted to be and it is better than I dreamed it was. Bad things happen here all the time, but there is so much good, just walking down the street, you can’t help but love it.

The Balloon Lady of Africa and the Death of a Chicken

6:59am Saturday, Aug 4
To say that the road to Mghumbu is rough is the understatement of the century. We all pile into a Jeep, scrunched together. Sweaty. Cramped. I am excited to be getting to the village. The jeep bounces and the road winds. A few times it lurches so hard over a bump that I get that sick freefalling feeling in my stomach. A few times I am worried that it will actually tip over. We pass another jeep that has tipped and that tightens the uneasy knot in my gut. Africa is not equipped with seatbelts. We finally arrive. Locals chase the jeep, waving and smiling. I feel like the president. It’s bizarre. They stand at the gate. Watching. We ask Kieran what they are waiting for and he says nothing, they just want to see what we are doing.

The village that we are helping has never seen white people. Ever. The group before us was mobbed something harsh and we have guards to stop them from coming inside. Everyone wants to touch us and hear us talk. The camp is one big army tent. I remember seeing this movie with my dad once when I was a kid, called the Red Tent. It was about a group of people that get stranded in Antarctica and live together in isolation in a red tent, hence the title. I find it charming and fitting that we will be spending 3 weeks in sweltering, isolated Africa in a big Green Tent. It makes me smile. We get out of the jeep. I’m happy that we made it. Period.

Ciara and Kieran are the cool Irish couple that stayed on for an extra 3 weeks with us. They are teachers in Ireland and kind of like the camp authority figures. They know how things work and they show us what to do. I’m so glad that they are here. No one else is here. We all find this a little hard to swallow. We are alone. There is no HAPA rep, no coordinator, no guide. We are left in the middle of nowhere in a compound that has a wall made out of dry grass and sticks. There is a guard on at all times, who usually speaks almost no English. We are the blind leading the blind. The tent smells like dust and the military. I like it because it reminds me of cadets. I’m comfortable here.

We hang all of our stuff in baskets from Singida, so rats don’t get into it. Our mosquito netting is blue and all of our cots are lined up, military style. Home sweet home. We cover our mattresses with Kangas and get organized. Charlie and I take our mattresses outside and shake them out. I cough at all the dust that flies out and we give each other funny looks and give up. For dinner we fry toast and spread cheese on it. It’s delicious. We hit the sack and I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I wake to this horrible noise. A high pitched strangling sound and I put my ear plugs in. Meet the camp chicken. It’s this horrible thing with scary yellow eyes and mangy feathers. I’m creeped out by it. It flaps and runs and I chase it from bed to bed and it makes annoying chicken sounds at me. I was so excited about hanging out with a real live chicken. I’ve never really been around barn animals before. But as I throw the blanket over it and toss it out of the tent, squawking for the third time, I realize, that chickens….are total dicks.

We begin work on the school. Day 1 consists of filling aluminum dishes with sand from one big pile, carrying the dish on our heads to empty it in another. We do this for hours, until the sun is too hot to work. Then we call it a day and head back to camp. The air here is lighter than in Dar and it smells like dirt and smoke. If I stand really still and watch along the horizon, I can see smoke rising from small fires set by locals. They make coal and burn garbage. My clothes smell like campfire and it only serves to add the feeling of stifling heat in the camp. I close my eyes and take in the smells. I know that when I get home, that is something that I am going to try to remember when I’m sitting alone in my room.

People line the gate from morning until after dark. Usually children, but sometimes men and women stand there and watch us. We joke that it’s like a reality show. It’s very strange. We get used to it pretty fast. I am fascinated by the children. They are even more bedraggled than those from Singida town. Their clothing is in tatters. They are beyond thin and most of the 7 year olds carry babies on their backs. It’s another world here. I walk over to the gate and they jump on me. It’s much like in Singida, the kids touch my hair, tell me the names of things and hold my hand. I sit in the sand with them and they all laugh at everything. It occurs to me that these children are so happy because they don’t know what they are missing. They have this serious undercurrent in them, I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but it’s something like wisdom. They know hardship, but they aren’t quite jaded. It’s a look that I have never seen on people before. But you know it when you see it. It’s not something you can forget.

They giggle hysterically and put their arms around each other. They bounce babies up and down and then tie them onto their backs with kangas. Their motions are fluid and expert as any mother’s. It’s funny that in Canada, we would consider any 7 year old in charge of a baby to be child abuse. Here it is so normal, I forget to bat an eye. We roll around together. I teach them a patty cake game and they call me “Rafiki” which means friend. I feel awesome.

I decide to blow up the balloons that I brought (this was an incredibly awesome tip from a guy I met at MEC back home, who had just returned from Ghana). The sun is starting to set and the children still stare longingly at our camp from the gate. I start blowing up balloons. I blow up about 30 and stuff them in an old mosquito net. I then walk casually over to the gate and toss them all into the fray of children. The reaction is instantaneous. They start screaming. I have never seen such thrill and excitement. They shriek as the balloons rain down on them. They put their hands in the air and jump up and down and look astounded. They smile huge smiles and laugh and laugh. I start to laugh and soon we’re batting balloons around and yelling. More children arrive. Some clutch their balloon like it’s a prized possession. Holding them to their chests with a look of amazement. I am SO glad I brought them. The squealing seems to last forever. I revel in it. I take photos and the kids climb all over me. I am pulled to the ground, pulled in 4 directions, tugged on. I am an amusement park. After this they stand at the gate and yell "Mapilizo!" which is "Balloon" and wait. I am the balloon lady of Africa.

On day 3 we eat the chicken. It starts out as Charlie innocently tries to catch it. I tell him to throw the blanket on her. He chases the chicken around for about half an hour and finally catches her. He hangs onto her for a while, trying to figure out how to keep her out of the tent. The guard walks over and asks if we want him to kill it. We all kind of look at each other. We all really hate that chicken. We reason that the chicken was really being suicidally annoying this morning. She really had a deathwish. I can’t watch, but Charlie and Anna go with the guard and I look the chicken in her evil, yellow eye for the last time. I can’t say that I’m going to miss her. They go off into the tall grass and a minute later she is dead. Charlie says it was really humane. I feel a bit better. We put her in boiling water for 2 minutes and then pluck her. The feathers come out with this satisfying snap. Like when you pull out one of your hairs by the root. I think I should major in chicken plucking. The guard guts her and takes the innards. God knows why, I guess he eats them. The skin on the chicken’s feet comes off like socks. I think this is strange. I’m learning a lot of weird things in Africa. We have her in stir fry. There is hardly any meat to her. When we tell the guards that back home, you can slice a chicken breast into pieces, he doesn’t believe us.

I wake up on Thursday really sick. I run to the bathroom several times and can’t go to work. I take an astounding amount of medication. I am a firm believer that one of the key factors in traveler’s sickness is waiting too long to treat it. I take extreme measures. I pop a whopping 2 immodium, 2 gravol, 1 Ciprofloxacin, 2 Tylenol and go to sleep. I sleep until lunch and when I wake up, I feel great. Proof that medication whilst traveling is a valuable ally.

We go to visit the priest. It’s a 2hr walk in the beating down heat. We walk through sand the entire way. Everything is dead and dry. I think back to all of the movies I have seen where people get lost in the desert. I realize, as my feet slip on the sand, that walking through a desert…is exhausting. After 30mins I am soaked. I am burned. Charlie and I play questions and sing punk songs to pass the time. I play air guitar. We finally arrive and the priest gives us soda and mini bananas. We relax on his sofa and then it’s time to go. It was an uneventful visit, but we want to make it back before dark, as we don’t have any torches. Jeffert, the guy that took us there, says he will take us on a shortcut back. We agree that this would be best.

We pass a village which is so tiny, it doesn’t look real. Everything is made of grass, it looks like a movie. We walk through and EVERYONE runs up to us to touch us. I wonder if they have ever seen Mzungus here. I doubt it. No one speaks English and they all speak at once. Then about 70 kids swarm us. There are so many I feel like I’m being carried away in a wave. They follow us for miles. I wonder how far from there village they should go. It’s getting dark. Finally Jeffert tells them to go home. He grabs my hand and I feel instantly uncomfortable. I have held many strangers’ hands, but this is different. This is the “no” feeling. We walk hand in hand for a minute, I contemplate how to extricate myself from this situation when suddenly, he stops. He holds my hand in both of his and says my name a few times. I gulp. I wish the others weren’t so far ahead. Right when I can’t take it any more, I pull my hand away and grab my camera, talking so fast in English about it being broken that he can’t follow me. I walk fast and decide that last is not a good place to be in this line of people. I notice the pace quickens through the sand and Jeffert tells us “Haraka, Haraka!” When we ask why, he tells us that there are lions in this area. It’s getting dark. I run on ahead, I don’t know what’s worse, to go too far and meet a lion or go too slow and meet a Jeffert.

I run up to Carly and she makes a joke about sexual harassment we can get at home and we stick together the rest of the way. We dislike Jeffert. It’s dark when we make it back to camp. We’re almost running. In the grass I imagine white, dripping teeth. I replay scenes from “The Ghost and the Darkness” in my head. Carly and I plan which trees we could climb as we walk. I dislike Lions. We get home and I’m exhausted. We’ve walked for 4hrs through the heat and I sleep like a log all night. I feel so alive. My skin has gone a pleasant shade of tan and I can feel my muscles tightening. I’m filthy and my hair smells like desert. I’m a wild woman. The guys are all shaggy beards and ripped pants. We’re rough. We’re becoming tough. Every night I turn off my head torch and breathe deeply the desert air. I look at the million stars that I have never seen before and wonder what the rest of my adventure will be.