My last few days at WEECE were peaceful. I wrapped things up with the girls (and Mussa) and had them write their final letters. I'll be bringing the letters home with me and giving to an ESL teacher I knew from my high school who will then give them to her ESL students to start a penpal program. Her department agreed to pay for postage and will send money for postage to WEECE. My hope is that the WEECE students will not only improve their English but will learn about the world from the ESL students, since they really do not much outside of Tanzania, specifically only their Kilimanjaro region. Some of them do not even know what countries border Tanzania. Mama Mrema had me also, because of my suggestion weeks ago, type up a schedule on excel of the day at WEECE since there isn't much structure. So, I created a schedule of when things should be taught and how to use volunteers in that time. I made a volunteer logbook as well, that Mel, an Australian volunteer who left a week ago but had been at WEECE for 2 months, and myself had been working on. We had all volunteers put in their contact information, goals for their stay, what they accomplished in their stay, and what volunteer placement organization they came from. I printed out a hard copy and created a folder by the main door, labeled volunteer stuff, with this inside, instructions on where to find things on the computer (there's a volunteer stuff file on the desktop as well) and an inventory of all the supplies and donated school supplies. In the inventory not only did I put the names of things that had been donated and an explanation of how the filing system works for the supplies, but I wrote what I thought the strengths and weaknesses of the students were in each subject and what would be best to work on. In the file, there is also a note about the pen pal program, in case the staff at WEECE neglects it (which unfortunately I think they will) the volunteer can help. Luckily, on Monday a new volunteer showed up, who will be at WEECE for 4 weeks. It was good for me because I could show her everything I did, so it wouldn't be a waste, and she had someone there to show her the ropes, since WEECE can be scary and confusing if you arrive alone. That Monday I think she was scared anyways because after a brief orientation with Mama Mrema, she was interrupted by a pick up truck that backed into the WEECE courtyard and dumped a huge load of dried out, corn on the cob. Without any explanation, Mama Mrema got up and ran to the classrooms told the students to come out and then grabbed a stack of burlap sacks and threw them at the students. The students didn't seem baffled by the whole situation like Alex, the new volunteer, and myself were. They then began filling the bags with corn and carrying them to Mama Mrema's yard, directly behind WEECE, where they would dump the corn, return and repeat. It was actually pretty fun helping them with this tedious task. They harvest the corn, in this area, later than we do when the corn is dry so that they grind up and turn it into corn flour, that they use to make Ugali. Ugali is a staple food here, that tastes like nothing but is filling. It's a thick dough made from just corn flour and water that locals usually eat with their hands along with meat, beans or some type of vegetable stew. Mama Mrema will use half of the Ugali to feed herself and the students, and the other half to sell.

That same afternoon at WEECE, the District Medical Commissionaire showed up to collect the medicine that the large American group had brought about a month ago. They brought about $56,000 worth of medicine to be distributed to a small dispensary in Nganjoni, the village WEECE does a lot of work in. However, these American doctors must not have done their research before coming here. About 1/3 of the medicine could not be used. As the commissionaire walked around the huge boxes of medicine, he would look first at his clipboard, then at the medicine, and then shake his head.

It turns out that a bulk of the medicine, a hydro cortisone, expires in August of this year. So, today. And even if this medicine had been brought last year, this cortisone is not used that frequently and would go to waste anyway. Another medicine they brought, is an antibiotic that requires an IV technician and is also only used in severe cases and would be used at the dispensary level. It would have been better if the doctors had just brought over the counter medication like Aspirin. I was shocked actually that they didn't because anyone that knew anything about Tanzania would know that the main health problems are high blood pressure and similar heart problems. This is in part due to genetics, but also due to the diet which uses a lot of oil and also due to how stressful life is. In the western world, we have plenty of over the counter medications that deal with hypertension and would have been much less money. This makes me question the doctors' motives for bringing the medicines. Because of the amount of money it cost to buy the medicines, the doctors were put in the local newspaper with the headline, “American Doctors bring $56,000 worth of medicine to desperate village” (or something like that). I felt bad for Mama Mrema. She was embarrassed and disappointed in all the work she put into making their stay comfortable. I, on the other hand, felt a little bit less guilty about participating in their honorary celebration with them all those weeks ago in Nganjoni. Hopefully though, the commissionaire can bring these medicines to hospitals in the area and they could be of some use. The hydro cortisone, will be thrown away though. There were maybe 150 boxes of it.

On my last day at WEECE, Thursday, after my final interview with Mama Mrema, Mama Mrema decided she wanted to give me an evaluation. She basically told me that I was too scatterbrained and wanted to do everything, and that that was impossible. Do I want to do research? Do I want to teach? What? I felt it was hopeless to try and explain the fellowship to her one last time, so I just told her, you're right. She then laughed and said, “Yes of course. But don't worry. I used to be just like you.” That day I had made small cards for all the staff and students and brought cookies. The students were sad to see me leave and walked me to the end of the road as I waited for the daladala. Mama Mrema just said, “Ok Bye.”

That same day, I headed to the bus station to get the bus to Dar Es Salaam, where I would meet up with Fatma, a Tanzanian Heller student and stay for the night before taking the ferry to Zanzibar. Fatma, is a religious Muslim woman in the Sustainable International Development program but was home in Dar for the summer with her husband and toddler. We had met once before leaving Brandeis in the Spring, and she had told me if I was ever in Dar to let her know. So, I did. She picked me up at the bus station took me out for lunch and then invited me to stay overnight with her in her home. She barely even knew me. Dar Es Salaam is the most overwhelming place I have ever been. It is too hot, there are too many people, too much traffic, everyone is yelling at you and the mosquitoes are huge. The day I arrived was Fatma's son's second Birthday, so we had a party for him, complete with cake, ice cream, and banana and goat stew. His little cousins that live down the street also joined us, as well as Fatma's brother who lives with her, her sister in law that also lives with her and her house girl. It was the first birthday party I had been to that had to be constantly paused at the sound of the Call to Prayer. At any call, Fatma and her family would get up and go to pray in their room designated for prayer. The next morning, I took the ferry to Zanzibar. Zanzibar is as exotic as it sounds. I stayed in a hotel in Stone Town, which is city of narrow streets, only accessible by foot, bikes or the popular small motorcycles. The architecture is very Arab influenced due to the Arabian sultan who ruled the Island. Another Tanzanian Heller friend, Davis, who had been teaching me Swahili before I left, was in Moshi on his way back from the Serengeti where he had been doing research, and told me he wanted to help me out in Zanzibar but wouldn't be there. He had lived on the island for a few years and knew a lot of Zanzibari. He had his friend Ali, who arranges tours, to meet me at the hotel. Ali, a Zanzibari but with a British accent (I'm not sure why), picked me up and took me to his office. Within minutes, he had arranged for a guide to give me a tour of Stone Town and the old slave market, followed by a tour of a Spice Plantation. Since I was Davis's friend, Ali didn't charge me anything for the tours. Zanzibar feels much different than main land Tanzania. There are a million tourists there, and it was hard to tell whether or not Zanzibar was truly a unique, mysterious place on its own, or whether or not it was just because that's what tourists wanted to see.. That same night, I met up with another Heller SID student, Davis told me about. She's American but doing her practicum in Arusha, Tanzania for the year and had been studying Swahili in Dar Es Salaam and was in Zbar for the weekend. It was nice to feel the Brandeis community and to get support from the Brandeis community all the way in Tanzania. I could write a ton about Zanzibar, as it is an incredible place, but I'll save that for later. The next night, the ride back to Dar Es Salaam, was a little chaotic. I was overcharged for the ferry ride, on the ferry the water was choppy and we were on the boat for a good 3 hours (it should've taken 1), I got a sick, a nice French woman helped me though, I got to Dar, a taxi took me to buy a bus ticket for the next morning and a hotel near the station, and charged me double what he had promised, the next morning I learned that the bus conductor had also charged me double, and I was on the slower, less comfortable of the several buses going to Moshi. In the moment, I was extremely upset. I regretted coming to Zanzibar, made a scene in the hotel yelling at the taxi driver who was still there. I then called my mom telling her that everyone in Dar is a con artist and how wrong it is to take advantage of wzungu. However, on the bus back to Moshi the next morning, that took 10 hours and should have taken 7, a group of men who sell boxes of cookies, juices, snacks, water, etc. at the bus station, were laughing about wzungu who were looking for expiration dates on packages as well as the amount of calories. The group of men were laughing hysterically. I couldn't help but also laugh. As mad as I was about being ripped off so much at the end of my trip, I could understand why. We, westerners (wzungu), must come off as idiots. We take pictures of vegetables at the market; we wear the most expensive, intense trekking gear, when the people who live in the mountains just wear flip flops; we count calories because we worry about gaining wait and do not worry about if we are getting enough food each day. I thought I had become savvy enough in Moshi bargaining for better prices and things, but Dar Es Salaam and Zanzibar are completely different places. Of course, there are numerous similarities, but like any different cities within a country, they all have their own identity. If I had been feeling less tired and boat sick, I might have been more alert to everything, but there is no point in dwelling on it now.

At the time of this conversation the bus, I then felt lucky that the worse thing that happened to me, while I was here, was that I lost some money by being ripped off for being a mzungu. I didn't get terribly sick, and I didn't get hurt. Around the time, I was thinking all of this on the bus, the bus ended up stopping for 45 minutes at the site of bridge construction (ran by Chinese, who are the heads of most major construction projects in TZ). Again, at first I was frustrated that we were stopped, but then I thought; “Where do I have to be right now? Why am I in a hurry?” I think this summer I really have learned a lesson in patience, and I only realized in my bus ride full of epiphanies. No one on the bus got upset that we were stopping, but instead went outside to get fresh air, to go to the bathroom or to give their chickens they were carrying with them some food. I'm sure some of those people had important places to go, but there is no room for stressing about time in Tanzania. As much as I, and probably other volunteers and interns, would like more structure and planning here, life here is unpredictable. Some mornings you may wake up without electricity. If a neighbor dies, it is your cultural obligation to provide food for their children, so you may have to cook more that day. On laundry day, it might be raining, and you cannot hang your clothes outside to dry. Although there are different stresses here than in my own life, I have learned, from the Tanzanians, that it is not always worth it to stress about things as insignificant, in the grand scheme of things, as time and sticking to a plan. As I am finishing up packing and saying good bye, I am a bit sad to be leaving the people and the country I got to know so well in just 9 weeks, but I am also of course excited to go home not only to see my friends and family and have more variety in my diet, but also to think about my experience and what other lessons I will take away from this summer. I'm sitting in my favorite internet cafe drinking a Stoney Tangawizi,, a ginger soft drink you can only get in Tanzania, for the last time, and I am heading to the airport in a few hours and will be home Tuesday morning.

Things are changing here. It is the high season for climbing, so there have been a lot more westerners roaming the streets of Moshi in large groups. Also, a lot of my close friends have been leaving recently, which has been a little sad. I've met new people, but I of course miss my friends that have left. At WEECE, things also feel different. Last week the students were only there for half days because they were unable to come up with school fees. I had no idea the school fees were so high until Jenny, the young sewing teacher who was once a student there herself not too long ago, went around my classroom asking for them. It costs about 138,000 tsh every 6 months. That's a little bit less than $100, and that includes lunch, bu that is a ton of money for a Tanzanian family. Especially for the families of these girls, who are very poor, some living in villages on the outskirts of town and inaccessible by car. WEECE students came there because they could not afford secondary school. Some have not even gone to primary. Most of them could not pay Jenny, so this week not all of the students had fabric and could not go to sewing class. Instead, often times at the last second, even if I was doing something else, I was asked to teach. They also could not feed them lunch until Thursday, so the students had to leave at 1 instead of 4pm. I should explain how schooling works here. First and foremost, it's expensive. Taxes are supposed to go toward schooling, but at least in this past year, 85% of that money went to redecorating the minister of education's office, sending him and his workers to Europe for “educational seminars”, and other similar expenses. At least that is what a former teacher and member of the strongest opposition party up for election in the upcoming vote. Government schooling is much less expensive then private schooling, but after primary school before advancing to form 1, the equivalent to middle school, they have to take 1 exam on almost everything they've learned. If they don't pass, there only choice is to take it again but then, they can only attend private school. Let's say they pass and move onto form 1, after that, before what we would call high school, they take another huge exam. Much fewer pass because in primary school students are taught entirely in Swahili and have one English class a day. Then, they get to secondary school and everything is in English. Classes aren't interactive, mainly because they are so huge, but if a student doesn't understand something, they usually won't voice that. Instead they copy from the board and memorize. It's a complicated system with complicated problems. Anyways, it was weird for me that they were being asked for such high school fees for only a vocational degree certificate.

With changes in company, changes in the mood at work, I feel strange. I feel as if I have not been here long enough for so many changes. I leave two weeks from tomorrow, and I look forward to what these last weeks bring. So far, I have learned so much, experienced so much and have enjoyed a lot of my time here. I'm starting to reflect on my experience as a whole, and I'm looking ahead to when I come home.

A lot has been happening here. WEECE has been quite frustrating. Last week after announcing a surprise holiday, the students left early, and me and the volunteers were left with Mama Mrema, my supervisor who I have lost so much faith in, as she constantly is screaming at us and changing her stories. However, I write a lot to the other fellows about work as well as complain about it to my parents, so I think I'll write about something else. Over the weekend I went to Tanga, which is a coastal city about 5 hours south east of here. The bus ride was very uncomfortable but very pretty. I went with my new roommate, I haven't had one all summer until a week ago. Her name is Sarah and she's from Calgary in Canada. We passed by the pare and usambara mountain ranges. They were mostly green mountains with lush forests. In every village we stopped in, men would rush the cars with boxes of cookies, juice, banana and other snacks. Also, the further east we went the more Muslim I noticed people got. Most women wore hijabs and full burqas and most men wore hats (I'm afraid I sound ignorant, but I don't know what they're called). Tanga was beautiful. The buildings are older and dutch influenced. The city sits sleepily on the Indian Ocean, which is covered in large cargo ships and barges.

Saturday, Sarah and I rode bikes along the coast and out of town,with a guide, to the Amboni Caves. There, we went cave exploring, or spelunking. The caves are some of the oldest in this part of the world. It was fun, but the bats were a little gross; especially when they all flew at us. Witch doctors have ceremonies in these caves. One had just happened when we were there. They left behind a bowl of blood and some strange flowers. After the caves, we rode our bikes to these sulpher springs where another witch doctor was collecting water from the springs for his “medicine.” After the ride, we were hot, tired and sweaty, so we went to lunch and lots of water at this cafeteria style diner, where we ate curried prawns, veggies and rice. After lunch, we walked through town and to this private beach. All the beaches are private, but this one only cost about 50 cents to get in. It was strange though. There was not sand, and you just walked down stairs to get into the water. Also, it was uncomfortable because there were mostly men and children there. The few women that were there, were just there with their children, and when they went into the water, they were wearing drapey, long, sari like clothing head to toe. We were stared at for just pulling up our skirts over our ankles to dip our feet in. Oh well. At least we can say we dipped our feet in the Indian Ocean. Nevertheless, it was beautiful. That night we ate dinner at a fancy hotel. It still only cost about $10 per person. We ate huge pieces of fish outside on a soft green lawn, overlooking the ocean. Tanga has few wzungu, and I think is very underrated. The prices were much better than in Moshi, and the people were more laid back. However, it was awkward at the beach and also that night when we watched the Uruguay Germany game at an outdoor bar that was again, mostly men. Much different, in that sense, than Moshi.

This week, the theme has been healthcare and hospitals in Tanzania. At WEECE on Monday, Johanna, the secretary told me her heart was racing very hard, and she couldn't breathe properly. She then began hyperventilating and passed out. So, I ran down the street and grabbed a cab. Thankfully the hospital was just down the street, or so I thought. The hospital is the biggest hospital in the area, so I thought the service would at least be descent. When we got there, no one helped us get Johanna out of the car, and instead just laughed at us, as it was a struggle because she is a larger woman. Then, we had to find our own wheelchair. The emergency room was a small room with no doctors and no nurses but several sick patients who had been half helped. All of the cabinets with syringes and medicines were open as well. I had to pay for the doctor to access her medical records, then I had to pay for every individual test. It was ridiculous. I stayed there with her and the two teachers, Jenny and Aurelia who had came with as well as one of the volunteers for three hours. Still, nothing had happened. Then, we finally got her admitted to the ward, where there nurses in matching pink, who looked like they were about 15. Next to our bed, in the ward, or rather the hallway was a really sick young girl, they just seemed to plop on the table. I don't think they were bad doctors and nurses but rather severely under-staffed. It was an interesting experience. Strangely, the next night, Eva told me she was going to visit her grandmother at St. Joseph's, a private hospital in the area I lived in. We walked there with juice and fruit because the hospitals do not provide much food to the families. This was a nicer experience in a strange way. This hospital seemed more put together, at least in the small room that was geriatrics, except my friends who I went on Safari with, who are med students had been working there, and told me that was not the case. Her grandmother was only 67 but I thought she was my grandmother's age and in her 90s. She wet the bed while I was there, kept forgetting who I was, and could not eat on her own. Her face was tired and her body was frail. Eva told me she had the pressure, which is what everyone says they have. I think something to do with chronic high blood pressure, which is common because of all the oil in the food. Life here is difficult and the state of the elderly is exemplar of that. In the small geriatrics room, I ran into a masai woman I knew. She is a member of one of the vicoba banks at WEECE, the masai one obviously. She was wearing her traditional long masai earrings, jewelery and shuka and she recognized me immediately. We sang some vicoba songs together, and I think the sick, elderly people really enjoyed it. We sang mama ni bebe, the song I sang before with the vicoba about the women carrying everything on her back, physically and metaphorically. Also, I come home in 3 weeks! See you soon!

This week, Monday through Wednesday, I went on a safari to Tarangirye (sp?) National Park, the Ngorongoro crater and Lake Manyara. I went with two girls I met in my neighborhood, who are volunteering at a hospital (they're med students). I've become pretty good friends with them here, and it was nice that I liked the people I spent those three days with. Our guide, Mussa, and our driver, Halide, were also amazing. On the way to Tarangire we passed the most Maasai I'd ever seen. It was like driving through rural America and passing Amish people in buggies, except these were maasai shepards in red shukas, who were living in dung made huts with grass roofs. Tarangire was amazing. We drove into savanah grass filled with zebras. However, after you see a milliion zebra, like I feel like I did in those three days, the shock wears off, but they are still amazing. We passed giraffes, fighting male impalas, the most beautiful birds (I wrote down their names if your interested) and wildebeast. We approached a dried up pond and saw elephants! I don't know if you all know this about me, but I love elephants. This first day of elephant spotting doesn't even compare to the other two though. Everything about this area is amazing. If we weren't seeing animals, we were seeing huge balboa and acacia trees and thorny bushes. That first night, we went to a Maasai village. A real one. Not a tourist one. I was a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing actually. They sang for us, let us take their picture, danced and gave us a tour. We were in what's called a Boma. In a boma, there is one husband in one hut, and in the surrounding hut, each one of his wives and their children. He rotates each night which wife he wants to sleep with. The women make the homes, cook, do all the chores and the children tend to the cattle. What to the men do? They go out and drink all day. They actually told us this information. The women also, as we soon learned, bring in a lot of the money from selling crafts, and soon bombarded us with "karibus" or welcomes to their tables to see their merchandise. It was very overwhelming. I wanted to support them, but at the same time, I didn't want the money to go to the husband and the hunting men that lived in the Boma and their drinking habbits. After that cultural experience, we camped at Lake Manyara. Well, kind of. The tents had beds in them, we had hot showers, western style toilets and a cook who made our dinner. We did have a campfire though, which I guess makes it camping.

Tuesday we went to the Ngorongoro crater, which is one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. When we first drive into the park, we're on the rim of the crater, which is cold, very lush and green and misty. Out of the mist, we see an elephant walk by our car. It was magical. When we drove into the crater, the geography and weather immediately change. The bottom of the crater is massive. You can't even see from one end to the other. The topography is more like a desert or a savannah. The first thing we see? A cheetah. From a distance but still a cheetah. We also saw a lake covered with flamingos, more zebes (as we started to call the zebrah). We saw a ton, but for the interest of time, the highlight? A male lion that walked out from the field to our car as we were sticking our heads out the top, I think just to show off. He was clearly older, but huge. It was incredible. We saw another lion later in this part of the crater that was a bit jungly and had yellow acacia trees. This lion though was in a tree. I didn't know they did that! We also had a vervet monkey jump into the top of our car and steal a banana.It's scarier than it sounds.That night our campsite, our guide surprised with us a bottle of champagna. Like I said, it wasn't real camping.

The third day was my favorite. Lake Manyara is so underrated when compared to the ngorongoro crater and the serengeti.We saw hippos, a lot out of the water, baboons, including babies, and everything else I mentioned before minus lions. I'm running out of time! But the highlight of the day and perhaps the trip? At least 10 elephants including 2 babies, surrounding our car and crossing the street. We watched them for a good 15-20 minutes. They were incredible. We couldn't make any noise because we were already basically outside, we were sticking our heads out the top, but if we wanted to, could've touched them. My internet time is out! This was my favorite part of the week! I'm sorry I haven't been updating this more. I'm busy!

Yesterday was a really fun but really exhausting day. I woke to downpouring rain (early) to go on a coffee tour. The guide took me and 6 of my friends, or rather aquaintances, other wzungu I've met in an old daladala. As we were driving up a steep muddy road, by now the rain had stopped, the van swirved out of control side to side sometimes almost going off the cliff. We decided it would be best if we walked the rest of the way. This would've been fine, but the walk was soo slippery and muddy and uphill. It took about 2 hours. Two of the girls had flip flops on and just ended up taking their shoes. I had good hiking shoes, and I was still struggling. We walked through huge crowds of people leaving church that was neear the top of this steep hill. A lot of the men and women, the women dressed in very nice kangas (african fabric) and the men in suits, wore rain boots. And I thought that was a western thing! A group of about 20 kids followed us for most of the way, laughing at us the whole time. The landscape was beautiful though. We passed through banana farms, coffee bean plants and the view of Killi and Moshi was really pretty. We finally got to the coffee farm, which was about as local and organic as it gets. It was just a family that cared for the plants and they used old Chagga procedures to care for them. Well, we get there tired and hungry and very muddy, but the coffee farmer,Oscar had just stepped out. Our lunches were also in the car at the bottom of the mountain. So, they took us on another treacherous hike to a waterfall. The path was narrow and muddy and on a mountain. But again, quite pretty. We passed homes made of sticks and mud, old women in kangas who ran down the path and laughed at us with our walking sticks in hand, and kids begging us for money. The waterfall was beautiful. It was probably the biggest one I had ever seen. When we got back to the coffee farm, we met Oscar, who was a young very funny man. I felt like an ass for scarfing down our well balanced lunches in front of his kids (or siblings?) who just stared at us. They were clearly hungry and clearly malnourished. They stared at us like puppies, but we're the sweetest and most polite kids and only smiled and made conversation with us.

Anyways, the coffee process is interesting. Oscar had us pick some beans that were ripe. They have to be a bright red color. The beans are slimy when he first peels them, in this machine that looks like something the pilgrims used...pretty old fashioned. These beans have to dry for several days, so he showed us ones that had already been dried. He did some other things to the beans, and I took pictures, but I honestly don't remember what he was doing. I do remember him roasting them in a pan over a fire made from sticks. The smell is amazing. After this we ground the beans by pounding them with a big stick. I bought a smaller version to grind my own coffee like this. Of course there is a song for this, and I'll bring that skill back with me as well.

Before we drank the coffee, he asked if we wanted coffee candy. Who says no to candy? Well, coffee candy is just ground coffee mixed with sugar, like real sugar, just picked...or whatever. Yum. The coffee was the most delicious coffee though. He made us a fresh pot over the fire. I bought a huge bag of it, that will be picked and prepared right before I leave in August.

When the van came back to get us, it made it up the mountain, the ride down was terrifying. We almost rolled off a cliff. So, again we got out, and like the wzungu asses we are, stood there and took pictures of the struggling driver, guide and van as they all tried to get the van unstuck and to stay on the road.I remember the van becoming unstuck when a taxi who's front window said, Homeboy, passed us in the grass off the road. All you can do in Tanzania sometimes is laugh.I came home that night, tired, a little nauseous, really dirty and hungry,but it was an amazing day. Small coffee farms are pretty cool.

I was beginning to have doubts in how effective my organization really was, since all I had been hearing was problems and there solutions that somehow seemed to not always make sense to me. However, yesterday afternoon at WEECE, I was able to be a part of something really simple but also pretty special. One of WEECE's projects are vicobas. Vicobas are village community banks, and each WEECE member community has a vicoba. When, Jenny, the young, really vibrant sewing teacher and former WEECE student, invited me to be a part of Vicoba, I didn't understand how I could be a part of the bank. When I opened the black WEECE gates on our bumpy, muddy road, I was surprised to see a line of women wrapped in kangas, brightly patterned fabrics singing and dancing in a line in circles. Mama Aurelia, the other, older sewing teacher, grabbed me and threw me into the line of women and wrapped me in a kanga. The song they were singing was about how women carry everything on their backs, which is why they were bent over as they sang. Not only does she carry the children but the water, the family, the work and the heart. After about 30 minutes of learning the song, Vivian, the American grant writer who is visiting, came into the gates and we performed her. The performance felt like the start of a celebration, which made me question how this had anything to with banks. However, as the songs concluded, the women became very serious and sat on the porch covered in a vine of yellow flowers. In the middle of the porch was a table that had a large, red metal box on it. Three women, one a massai women in distinct, red massai clothes and tattooed lines on her face being one of them, opened the box with three different keys. No one could get into the box, or what I soon learned the vicoba bank, without all three women present. Soon after the box was opened, the women got to work crunching numbers, counting the little money they had and recording all of this info, in a small blue book. The women never used the words money or shilangi (tanzanian money) as Mama Enylisia, the masai women, explained to me that that would be bad luck. Instead, they referred to some money as goats and some as cows. These women were the most efficient bankers. When anyone would put money in the red box, she would yell out how much she had and then four others would count to make sure. Everything was so exact and accounted for. Morgan Stanley could learn a lot from them. Everything was business and serious until the padlocks were back on the box. After that, the women lifted a kanga covering another table to reveal lots of food. This was almost a perfect representation of life in TZ; things are serious in one moment but people still find room for celebration and community.

Hello!

This weekend was another good one. Saturday, I went to the market with Eva. When she told me we were going to the market, I thought it was the food market. Instead, we walked through a dirt path, past burning garbage to rows and rows of wooden shacks with "Western goods". There were some with just sheets, some with jeans, some with aprons one that said, "Feeling Foxy at forty." It was like a mall...kind of. In one area there were women sitting in piles of shoes just yelling in swahili what i think were prices really fast, like an auction. Saturday night, I had a very unusual experience and went to Miss Kilimanjaro. Of course it started 3 hours later than it was supposed. Here people say we are on TFT..or Tanzanian flex time which sometimes turns into TMT or Tanzanian maybe time. It was like Miss USA. It was outside at club Laliga, and the participants were, like in any pagaent, clones of each other. All were tall, thin and very relaxed, straight hair. There were also really strange performances in-between the time with contestants. There was a dance group that daggered!...Jamaican, very sexual, club dancing for those who don't know. Tanzanians love ass shaking. During the talent portion, some girls decided to do skits. One, I think was about a girl getting pregnant, but I can't be sure. Another, was about a woman and her drunken husband who beat her and took her money for alcohol. The audience laughed, but I'm pretty sure there was a serious message in there. Most of the other girls' "talents" were lip syncing. I was unaware this was a talent. There were a million other performances from Tanzanian singers and dancers. I half watched the competition but spent a lot of time at the bar watching the U.S. V. England game. Most people, not just Americans watched as well. World Cup is crazy here. Everywhere I am I hear the game being played from somewhere. The kids in my neighborhood stand around a really small TV outside and watch, with the chickens of course running nearby. It's kind of nice to be in a country that actually likes soccer.

Sunday morning I woke up very early for a mini, day safari in Arusha National Park. I went with a few volunteers from CCS. When we got to the park, after having paid the guide lots of shilangi, he asked us for money because the park's credit card machine was broken. We didn't have money left, so he went to go deal with that with one of the girls in our group of 4. The rest of us 3 waited in the land rover. He had left the car running, so we decided that we would help him save gas and would turn the car off. When he returned, he said, "What did you just do? It had very little charge." So, of course the car wouldn't start at the entrance to a National Park that was over an hour away from where all of us lived in Moshi. Some guys gave the car a push, and thank God, it worked! When we first entered the park, we saw about 5 giraffes. Giraffes in the wild are amazing. Throughout the day we saw a million of them...not literally....but a lot. We also saw zebras, baboons, warthogs, water buck, colubus monkeys, tropical birds, and unfortunately, just elephant poop but no actual elephants. Hopefully when I go on a larger safari I'll see them. A note about safaris though, most Tanzanians will never go on a safari and see animals like Giraffes since they don't have zoos either. It's pretty depressing to drive past the small villages on the outskirts of parks, like literally there are mud huts all the way up to the doors of Arusha National Park with children who will never get to simply pass through the gates.

At night, Vivian, the American woman who I learned about WEECE from, came over for dinner. It was great to see her and her friend, Cynthia. They both played mom and asked whether I'd gotten sick, made sure I was being safe with water, taking malaria pills, being safe at night, etc. That's all for now, as I'm a bit tired. More in a couple of days.

Hello! To start with some work, I've been implementing some new things at WEECE. First off, I'm trying to create an online store of the crafts and clothes they sell in their shop, which is on a small, local dirt road. Tourists and westerners (wzungu) are who would be interested in buying these things. So, I'm looking into creating a paypal account and am helping price the goods and clarifying the inventory they keep (which isn't very good). A previous CCS volunteer has just set up an excel spread sheet to help them budget and see how much money they're spending as well as how much they're making.

Also, I've been doing a lot of research on women's rights laws here and on spousal abuse prevention laws, and so fourth, and I'm putting together a program to start on Monday teaching the girls and women in the vocational school (there are 14 of them from ages 14-23), about women's rights. Most women think it's acceptable for their husbands to beat them, for a husband to rape his wife and for women to be inferior to men. They also think rape is acceptable under many other circumstances, i.e. a woman is showing too much skin. I'll be careful not to cross too many cultural lines, but I want to talk about the preexisting Tanzanian women's rights, that because of cultural unofficial laws, most women don't know they have. I'll also talk about the history of women's rights in my own country and break off into discussions to get to know the girls more individually. I'm still working on all of this though. We'll see.

People have been asking me about the food in Tanzania: Well, it's pretty simple. It's very fresh, and I try to stick to hot food, so I, thankfully, haven't gotten that sick yet. There is a lot of rice in Tanzanian cooking and cooked greens. Everyday, I eat at least a couple slices of avocado. The avocados are huge here and delicious. yummm. We also eat a lot of papaya, passion fruit, mango and oranges that are actually green and yellow on the inside, but taste just the same and as sweet as an orange at home. Sometimes we eat cooked beans with vegetables and this spongy food, ugali which tastes like nothing and is made from maize. You eat it with your hands to scoop up vegetables or beans. If you've had fufu, it's essentially the same thing. There is a lot of cooked cabbage here, that is mixed with carrots. It's a bit similar to cole slaw but without the mayo (or whatever that is in cole slaw). Tanzanians make their own version of chapati. I'm assuming that it was influenced by the Indians here. It's delicious! It usually has some sort of veggie in it. People cook bananas here when they're green, but they aren't sweet like plantains. They kind of taste like potatos. We drink a lot of fresh juices we prepare with the fruit from the market and every once in awhile add some ginger. Tanzanians love this weird dish called, chips mayai which is basically an omelete with french fries in it. I'm not crazy about it. They also eat meat here quite a lot, but I've avoided it. The chicken is fresh as it comes from next door. But, I also usually avoid that. It would be like eating my neighbor. I can't do that!

A last note, I don't know about the U.S. but people are getting very excited for the world cup. I can't tell you how many times a day I hear K'Naan's world cup version of Wavin' Flag, and how many times I hear this interaction or one like it, Ivory Coast? Hapana (no)! Brazzzziiill!

Yesterday was a good day, so I think I'll tell you about it before I tell you about today which was a little more difficult. Three little boys from across the street came over. Sharife, who is 4 and adorable and very funny, kept saying marahaba everytime I talked to him. Marahaba is a greeting an elderly person gives a younger person after they say "shikamoo". So I would say Shikamoo monkey, shikamoo baba, etc. He was there with his friend Abi who lives with him. Abi told me a long story about a dog, mbwa. But I couldn't understand the rest. He was very expressive though. Then Sharife's brother Alifeh came over. They asked me if I had seen Lion King haha, and then they say sang hakuna matata. But they'd seen lion king in swahili so they sang all of hakuna matata in swahili. Very cute. Then they asked me about Harry Potter. Haha I put on “yuri yuri” for them, a very popular song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZtoU7WWUwI and they danced bongo moves that they called piki piki, which means motorcycle. I'll put up a video of it sometime, and you'll see why. Alifeh is an amazing dancer. All of them were good though. Alifeh could moonwalk and breakdance. The kids here seem very well behaved. These kids just came over here. They didn't have to ask anyone permission or even if they could hang out here. They just came and hung out. It was very fun with them. They also love Akon and 50 Cent.

After the boys left, I hung out at the house. Eva made pillau--- a Tanzanian rice dish. It was very yummy. Then, Debbie, Ibrah's girlfriend, came over and took me to her house at Moshi Technical, the university that her dad is what I think is the groundskeeper at. The university was very lush and green but there was a lot of overgrowth of plants, that looked fine, but would never be seen in an American university, where tidieness is essential. We walked around and as per usual people starred at me, whatever. Her house was ok. The walls were dirty but had once been white. On the TV when I came in, Tom and Jerry was on. We watched Tom and Jerry with her sister, Naomi, she's 12, and then they put in a dvd of bongo music videos. She brought me Fanta that was passion fruit flavored—delicious. Fanta is really popular here. It comes in tall, skinny glass bottles, like all soft drinks here. Anyways, the music videos were mostly Bongo but some were Ugandan. Ugandan music videos are very heavily influenced by American rap and hip-hop videos and music. Debbie asked me at this point, because of someone in a video's chain, what Ghetto was. That was funny to describe. After I thought she finally got it, she said, “Like your hair!” I don't know what that means, but a note on my hair: People are fascinated by it. Is it real or rasta? How did you do that to your hair? One thing I noticed very American at Debbie's: Her dad doesn't like Ibrah and so when he asked how I knew Debbie she was very careful at instructing me what to say and what not to say. She knew how to lie to dad about boys. We Americans are not that different than Tanzanians.

After some time, Debbie and I left Moshi Technical and went to meet Ava who was at her Aunt's house. We walked there, of course passed a herd of cows led by small boys, and reached a very nice neighborhood. I think her Aunt and her family have a lot of money, but it is hard to tell in Tanzanian homes. This home was particularly nice though. I met Eva's cousins, whom she calls brothers and sisters. One is named Consolata, one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. She's 17 has very short hair as all Tanzanians do and is light skinned, kind of close to my complexion, and has beautiful eyes. Then I met Junior, I think he's like 10, another sister (forgot her name) maybe like 12, and a really cute little boy, Eric. After them, I met Raymond who is 20. He is a very attractive Tanzanian, as are most. He also climbed killi last year, and him, like everyone else, is making me have second thoughts on climbing. He wants to go again and said I could join their group. Maybe...Raymond drove us to the Highway Supermarket after we left. Highway Supermarket is a big-ish roadside store that I would say is the equivalent to a Tanzanian Walmart, except it is not similar at all. Eva bought me a delicious hazelnut ice cream cone, and she got one too. Later that night, we watched a Bongo movie. Bongo movies are about the same quality as an episode of Cops and are terrible, so terrible they're funny. You know those movies? During the movie, Ibrah and I got into an intense debate about homosexuality which is illegal here. He said because it is illegal there are less of them. In the U.S. there are a lot because people are choosing that lifestyle. Of course, that opened up a huge discussion. I should have just kept my mouth shut. Let me go back to the walk home with Eva actually, (my mind is a mess. Sorry). We walked back with our ice cream, and on the way, I loved Tanzania. I wouldn't say I love Tanzania all the time, but in the moment, I really loved TZ. We passed some wealthy Tanzanians probably going to a wedding, as the women had very elaborate head scarves and dresses, and they were all packed into a Range Rover. Then we passed a Massai woman and man with very stretched ears and walking sticks. Then we passed a lone goat walking around, later we saw his herd. We also passed a huge group of wazungu. Weird seeing them in these parts. Then we passed a woman in a burqa and some kids playing catch. We stopped by them to get fresh roasted corn. The corn was growing tall behind the man selling the corn he was cooking over coals. The road home from Highway Supermarket to Soweto, is the Tanzania I love. Women in crazy, printed batik, goat herds, free, amazingly cute kids and fresh roasted corn. However, today I saw another side of Tanzania. A side that makes me sad.

My organization has given me a bit more guidance, but I've really had to just do things on my own. Today, I went down the muddy road to talk to some WEECE members. These women had come to WEECE to seek legal counseling. Jaqueline, the 15 year old granddaughter of my supervisor, although probably not the biological granddaughter since everyone calls everyone their relative, came with as a translator. The Americans who work with my organization asked me to collect stories of the women being helped in WEECE so that they could use their information for presentations and to help in a documentary they want to make. The first woman I met was named Tiffania. She had needed legal counseling because she had built a home with her boyfriend, who was at the time soon to be her husband and father of her children, and her brothers, sisters and mother came without permission and moved in. Culturally, they had every right to that home since TIffania was not married. They threatened her husband constantly because they only saw the house and Tiffania as wealth and not as a home. According to Tanzanian law, Tiffania had rights to the home, but even that is not enough for the government here. The culture of oppression towards women wins. We also met a woman who came to Moshi for the day from the village because she had a child out of wedlock and was already a poor, uneducated girl living in the slums. After her child was born, the father refused to pay, even though according to Tanzanian law he only is required to pay 10 tsh a month. This is literally nothing as 1,000 tsh is about $1. Instead, she is blamed for having a child without a husband. The father agreed to pay about $40 a month to WEECE to give to her, Johanna, but has not shown up since January. So, every month Johanna takes the bus with whatever money she can scrape up and arrives at WEECE in Moshi hoping that he has come with money to support her baby. There is never money, so Mamma Mrema, my supervisor, gives her bus fare and sends her on her way. She is frail and sad looking, and Mamma Mrema says she has lost about 50 pounds and was always thin, since he stopped paying her. Johanna's eyes are constantly teary and her light pink and brown konga is clearly heavily worn. I do not love this Tanzania.

Habari! Now I am more comfortable with living in Ibrah's but transportation is hard from there. I either have to take two daladala, taxi or pay for Ibrah's gas for him to take me. However, today I walked into downtown Moshi from WEECE, which took over an hour--but that could've been because I was terribly lost. The journey was mainly hard because of all the stares. People either can tell I am western and wonder what I'm doing or ask for money, or they just have no idea where I'm from. Either way, it's kind of uncomfortable being looked at so much. Especially, since some white people don't even get as many looks, and so yeah, it's weird. Anyways.... I love Eva, the cook. She is becoming a great friend, and we are teaching each other a lot. Some Tanzanians are amazing people!
Some of my faves I've met:

Emma (pronounced): He is a taxi driver that Ibrah knows, so I don't have to know my exact address for him to take me home, which is nice, since there are no street addresses here in Soweto (my neighborhood). Emma and I joke around a lot even though he speaks very little English, he always cares that I get home safe and waits for the guard, Steven, to let me in when he drops me off. He says, Tess you are my dada (sister) so I have to make sure you are nzuri (well/fine).

--Most everyone seems to call each other dada (sister) and kaka (brother). If I speak in Swahili people light up and are not annoyed or offended by my mispronunciations, but instead, call me dada and treat me in away that an old friend would instead of someone who has known me for sometimes just a minute.---

Mussa: I've met several Mussas, but this Mussa is a Kili guide, and like a lot of Tanzanians, is kind of reserved but underneath his calm nature, has a great since of humor. Mussa has climbed Kilimanjaro more than 65 times (all the way to the top) as a guide. Today when he came over after dinner (he's friends with Ibrah) we talked about World Cup and argued what teams we would cheer for. The verdict? Cheer for African teams until they're out, and then cheer for the teams with the most Africans on them.

Mamma Dominica: Mamma Dominica runs a tailor shop at WEECE from a micro-loan. She thinks I'm 15 even though I've told her several times, “Mamma, mimi ni ishirini!” (I am 20!). However, she is a warm presence and is making me a shirt and skirt from a konga (a large printed fabric) I brought her. She also calms me down at WEECE when I'm frustrated at the pace of things.

This brings me to a huge frustration I'm having at WEECE. Although I've only been there 2 official days, there is no guidance for anything. I can do whatever I want which I suppose sounds liberating, but I don't know what and how I can do things without offending anyone or in a way that is productive. I think I'll start interviewing the girls in the vocational school and get their stories, and then eventually, as my Swahili improves, I'll start speaking to the WEECE members. The pace here is extremely different than the U.S. It is also hard with the volunteers that come in for a short time, start new programs and things and then leave. For instance, today, three volunteer teachers from CCS went to Arusha. In only the 2 weeks that they have been here, they have started teaching art, computers more in depth and have helped with English, even though there already is an English teacher. So, today during the time the girls would have had art during only the past 2 weeks, nothing happened. The girls played tag and ball games during that time. Then, the English teacher who also teaches at a primary school across the street, came late and then only stayed for about 5 minutes. So today, all the girls ages 14-23 learned was briefly, by a teacher who needs more schooling herself and does too many jobs at WEECE in which she is unsure to do them, taught power point to only a few girls as they don't have many computers and about menstrual and sexual health from an Australian volunteer who is only here one more month. What happens when she leaves? This Australian volunteer also has organized all their paperwork and has tried to create some sort of office system, which sadly will end when she leaves.

There is a lot at WEECE that should be done and will never happen. This realization is soo frustrating.

On a lighter note, I met some mzungus my age in town the other day, and I had my first experience at Kool Baa (bar). The bar is small and has one pool table and a tiny dance area. Lots of mzungus hang out there but also rastas who like to prey on mzungu girls. Apparently, religiously they aren't rastas but instead just smoke lots of ganja, have dreads and don't work very much. Some masaii hang out at Kool Baa also. You won't see very many TZ women there though. Nonetheless, it was a fun time, and I had my first TZ beers: Kilimanjaro and Tuskar. It was also nice to meet people from the U.S. who had spent last summer here and loved it so much they came back!

-Later

Sorry this is so long! I've journaled a lot lately, and here are some notes from my journal:
Night 1:
I stepped off the plane in Kilimanjaro airport into a muggy, dark climate. I then walked into the airport and picked up my visitor's declaration, signed it and turned it in to the counter. I then walked up to an old conveyor belt that was baggage claim and grabbed my suitcase. The largest bug I've ever seen crawled over my foot at this point btw. I walked outside to a line of mostly Tanzanian men holding signs with names on them. Ibrah, my host, held a sign with my name on it and wore a yellow tee shirt that said, Navy Pier Chicago with a matching Chicago baseball cap. We loaded my things into a small old car and drove off. Tanzania is dark. The road to Moshi is about a 45 minute drive. I could see a million stars over grassy plains. Along the road, walked women in hand made wraps and men with their thumbs out for a ride. In the distance what looked like huge clouds, was what Ibra told me Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was about 9 pm TZ time and people were sitting on porches lit by purple lights. Some of these porches might have been bars. I've only seen a little bit of Moshi from the car, but I did see people sitting outside talking and relaxing on porches under straw top roofs. We pulled into a narrow driveway behind a large metal gate. The guard, a Masaai man named Steve, opened the gate for us. Salama (sister) he says. He is wearing a long, flowy, red plaid Masaai cloak. Ibra then introduces me to Eva, a beautiful 25 year old woman with braids pulled back in a pony tail, dark skin, and a green blue floral wrap who lives here as the cook. However, Steve and Eva don't act like staff but like family. After moving into my room, where I'm writing in my journal now (to be put online later) from underneath a mosquito net. We then went to part of the house across the courtyard (seperate from my room and bathroom). We sat around a small, old TV and watched a nollywood movie (nigerian). The same movie could be heard in the distance being blasted by another tv. On the dining table was a ton of food. A bowl of cucumber, tomato and onion salad. A bowl of potatos. A tray of weird colored orange slices, huge avocado slices, apple slices and bananas. There was also a bowl of a TZ dish, I forget the name of that had plantains, some sort of meat (I didn't ask) veggies and some sort of sauce. P.S. There is currently what I think is a very loud, screaming cat, or two. Hopefully not a large cat. And lots of little flies on me. (a little later) As I was writing this just now, the power went out-but don't worry that's common, and I have a very bright flash light. TZ smells like dirt. So far at this “hostel”, really more just a house on a dirt road surrounded by other houses with families and chickens, I'm the only mzungu (westerner. In my room or anywhere in the house, you can hear everything. The windows rarely have glass on them but instead are just barred with metal. I'm curious to see TZ in the morning.
Day 1:
Today I woke up to roosters crowing. For B-Fast we had these fried rice ball-things called vitumbua (I think), TZ chai made with coffee and eggs. We ate while EATV played music videos in the background. All were east African except a Nicki Minaj video for “Massive Attack,” that popped up. “Why is she naked?!” asked Ibrah—my host, who runs the house but makes me uncomfortable and when we're in town and he speaks in Swahili never lets me know what's going on, which frustrates me. I think this just might exemplify some patriarchy in TZ already. When we left the house for the first time down the dirt road, I saw women in beautiful wraps walking down the street gracefully with huge baskets on their heads filled with everything from laundry to bananas. Kids strolled down the street in uniforms some as young as I would say 4 or 5. Kids are a lot freer here and are also really cute. There are passion fruit trees all down the street as well. I met Mama Mrema today, who runs WEECE, my organization, and is my supervisor. She is very motherly. We had a funny conversation today about dinosaurs. She had no idea what they were! They don't teach kids about dinosaurs here, which was funny to me. I met the girls at WEECE who are ages 14-23 today as well. They weren't able to go to secondary school either for health reasons, money reasons, etc. They were making necklaces and one, Dorotea, gave me hers. They were amazed by me because they couldn't figure out if I was Bongo (Tanzanian) or Mzungu (American). In the hand my hair gave me away as not being Bongo. :( There are way less Mzungus here than I thought. It is rare to see a non-Tanzanian in Moshi. The girls really like me so far or are just amused by my mzungu ways-- one or the other. They all wear orange skirts and white tucked in blouses. Most have short hair and think mine is too long. At WEECE, wear I am working, there is no bathroom...just a whole in the ground. It's in private though. Things move very slowly. If you want something to be done, you just have to do it. The pace is slow, and I wish there was more guidance sometimes, but that's just not how things are done in Tanzania.
I've been spending a lot of time with Eva, from the kitchen, we go for walks in our muddy neighborhood and teach other English and Swahili. Later today, two little kids came over from next door, Zahara and Em, I'd say they were like 4 and 6. But I don't know because they kept lying to me. We played around a lot, but then they ran into my room and were amazed by my fan. Had they never seen a fan before? This kind of depressed me, as I had a fan, was still complaining of the heat, and this is the cold season in TZ.
More about our house:
In our house there is very little lighting. A small bulb hangs in the living area and 1 in the “kitchen”, which is a tiny room with a small sink, table and gas tank thing that Eva cooks over. No oven. The fridge is in the living room.
Day 2:
Today I really wish that I was staying with more Mzungus. I feel alone and even a little scared in my house. Even though I'm getting a more real experience, it isn't safe to walk around at night, There's even a guard, I don't really have anyone to talk to, and I'm unhappy with my host. This morning, I was awoken by roosters and a Muslim call to prayer at 5am. This by the way isn't a reason I'm unhappy with my housing. I might move into a volunteer hostel with a lot more Mzungus sometime soon. Currently, I'm sitting in a coffee shop I found wandering around called Killi Java. Killi Java is owned and ran by Indians (from India) who have lived here since colonization. From Killi Java I have an amazing view of Kilimanjaro! There are only mzungus here. I hate that I'm here right now. I've only been here 3 days, and I'm already seeking mzungus (and wifi). Although, it has been nice finding other mzungus who are doing similar things to me. Beggers though, have only come up to me when I've been with white people. My skin color is an advantage here, as weird as that sounds. I don't know this city at all though and streets aren't really marked, so it is comforting to find English speakers for help when I'm lost. Oooo Today, I rode the Dalladalla to work. Dalladallas (sp?) are basically astro vans that are very old and are used as buses. They are terrifying! Everyone piles into dalldalla and tries to hold on and not fall out (there aren't really windows). Bongos (Tanzanians) are also crazy drivers, so that's fun. On one dalldalla today, I had to stand smushed between a few people, not wearing deoderent obviously, and a small baby (matoto) in green and yellow African fabric from head to toe who held onto my wrist and laughed at me. He was probably 4 or 5 months old, and he could tell what a mess I was in the dalla dalla.
I can't go online a lot, so hopefully this is a good update for now!

First of all, this is my first blog aside from one I needed for a McNamara class. I think they're silly, narcissistic and boring--besides Perez! Bear with me. So, tomorrow I'm finally leaving to go to Moshi, Tanzania for an internship and summer, I've been preparing for since late October. It didn't feel like I was actually going or doing anything but planning and talking about going until really yesterday. Even with all my shots, tummy bug pills and mosquito net-shopping, I didn't feel like I was leaving until a conversation I had with my good friend, Gabi last night. We were on the phone, she in Las Vegas 2 hours behind and me in Chicago, looking through Netflix and things that were available on instant watch. When we made it to the children and family section, I lit up when I saw that now on instant watch, you could watch Rugrats, Hey Arnold and Rocko's Modern Life.

"Gabi! I just want to stay home in my AC all summer and watch old Nickelodeon cartoons, see my family, and spend my nights at Sam's with my old friends. They don't even have Memorial Day weekend in Tanzania!" I was half joking, as basically all of Gabi and my relationship is sarcasm, but I thought about it, and I am having a great time here this week at home doing all of those things in-between preparing for TZ. However, I would not want to be giving up my Tanzanian summer for Rugrats, and I think that because I'm thinking of these things, I finally realize I'm leaving tomorrow. I've been excited the whole school year, but I now am looking at my summer not only with excitement but with reality, which is a bit more nerve wrecking.

I will arrive in Moshi sometime Sunday. I don't know the time difference, but I get there Moshi time Sunday at 8:30 pm. I leave tomorrow at 4:20pm from O'hare and have a layover in Amsterdam for about 4 hours. For anyone reading this blog, I'll try and write more once I settle in TZ and find internet. ooo and put up pictures once I take them. Kwaheri! (bye in swahili)