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.