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.