Transcending Dreams

Put the lime in the coconut.

2011-07-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

I came to Haiti knowing I had a mild heart condition known as SVT (supraventricular tachycardia) it is where your heart, for no apparent reason, starts to beat at a much accelerated rate, mine getting up to 200 bpm. When I left the states I had an episode that I had to be “converted” in the hospital this had never happened before and it was over in a second. I told the cardiologist that I subsequently saw that I was going to Haiti and I was concerned about this happening there. He assured me that my condition was pretty common and that every hospital has the chemical that would convert my heart. So, I left for Haiti with little trepidation.

While in Haiti my heart did have a couple moments of rapid heart rate, but I was able to convert it on my own by submerging my face in cold water. Everything was going great until the last two days of my stay. We were working feverishly at trying to get the houses done as much as possible before the big Expo when my heart decided to take off just as we were finishing lunch. Getting my face in cold water proved to be problematic. I resorted to filling a lunch bag full of our drinking water and submerging it while we tried to navigate the roads and the traffic in Haiti. This worked for a moment and then it kicked right back in. This caused me some concern because this had never happened before. My project manage drove to a restaurant and broke back some ice in order to make the water a bit colder. I got a great case of brain freeze, but no re-setting of my heart rate. I told the PM that it was time to go to the hospital. Well, this became quite the adventure.

The PM then became a man with a mission. He called to find out where the closest hospital was. He drove like a mad man through the congested streets yelling at people in Creole to get out of his way. We got to a trauma hospital and it was in full swing people yelling, running, sweating. They were manned by many doctors without borders and one of them came up to our car and did an intake. He checked my rate which was about 185 and said he would try to help. He left and came back to tell us that they were overwhelmed with gunshot wounds and advised us to go to another hospital. He told me to stay calm and ran off stethoscope swinging.

We were off again we got general instructions on where the next hospital was and we dashed back into traffic. My oxygen levels were going down in my blood and I was feeling quite light headed. When I told the PM that I may pass out he went into overdrive. He pulled into a place that had a police car and insisted that they give us an escort. By this time my blood had been coursing through my kidneys at such a high rate that I had to pee really bad. He told me to go in the street like the rest of the Haitians. I was not quite ready to do that. My work partner helped me into the store we stopped in front of and as the PM convinced to police to help us he convinced that folks inside to let me use their bathroom. I looked like shit by this time.

We took off with our police escort and wound our way through mid-day traffic to the sound of sirens, horns, and yells from by standers. When it became apparent that we were able to get through traffic quicker than anyone else we began to have a parade behind us. I now find that part quite humorous. We finally made it to the hospital and I was in rough shape. I was sweating and my breathing was labored my heart was beating like a bat out of hell and my vision was beginning to telescope. We had to go to three different gates in order to find the correct one. The PM was getting more livid. Finally we got to the correct gate and in we went. There was no reception and in fact it was difficult to tell which person to talk to first.

Thankfully the PM found a doctor and proceeded to tell him what my condition was and what I had instructed him what needed to be done. The nurses were trying to get a blood pressure on me and were not successful. They squeezed my arm so many times and so tightly that my whole arm went numb. I told them that they needed to try the other arm because the one they were using didn’t have any blood left in it. The doctor tried to get a BP and was checking my pulse with his thumb. I wasn’t impressed and asked if there was an American doctor on site (I meant one that spoke English) I pissed the first doctor off and he left. The second doctor spoke a little English and understood what my condition was and determined a course of action. I did not recognize the medication that he was considering and wanted to talk to my daughter before they injected me with anything.

A nurse hooked me up to oxygen, but didn’t turn it on. An orderly looking guy came in with another patient and glanced at the tank beside me and immediately came over and turned it on. A little later the nurse turned it off again. I don’t know what that was all about, but it happened three times. He would turn it on and say something to her and after a while she would come over and turn it off. I finally just took it off my head when I wasn't dizzy anymore.

I got a hold of my daughter and she gave me the spelling of the medication that they used in the states that converted me before. The doctor said they didn’t have that medicine, but he felt the alternative would help. She said what they wanted to use was a beta blocker and it would be ok, it would just take a while. I received my first injection. The nurse did a good job with this. When my color came back and the oxygen was helping my head not be so foggy my work mates headed out to close up our work site and would return.

The ER of this hospital is open air and has no curtains. All of the patients lay on rubber beds facing each other. After a while the sweat under my body became unbearable because of the rubber and I got off the bead and sat in a chair. They don’t use sheets. I watched people undress, bleed, spit, vomit and sleep and they watched me. There was one young man that woke up while I was there and would just watch me. So, I just watched him. I finally gave him a little wave and he gave me a peace sign. We were friends. He had malaria and vomited several times while I was there. He needed a mom. I gave him the best mom look I could, I think he appreciated it.

After two hours the doctor came back and my rate had come down a little, to 160. He then said that he would give me the medicine I requested when I got there, the medicine that he had told me that they didn’t have. He explained that they don’t have the proper monitoring equipment and he was not comfortable giving me the medicine, but he wanted my rate down. My friends were not back and the phone I had couldn’t get through to the states. I looked him in the eyes and said, “Let’s do it.” He nodded and went and got the nurse. The nurse was the only one around when she gave me the shot and then left, so much for even primitive monitoring. The young man across from me watched me though and that made me feel better.

I had to use the bathroom while there and they pointed in the direction of the toilette. They didn’t walk me there and there was not sink or toilette paper. I managed.

When my friends got back the doctor was confident that I would be fine. I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t want them to give me any more medication so I was ready to die either in traffic or up at the B & B. The doc said he would give me a beta blocker to take with me in case I had more trouble. My rate was still pretty high, but they had done all they could do. The doc couldn’t find any pills that were beta blockers so he gave my two syringes and a vial of beta blockers. He said to only inject 2.5 ml at time if my rate got up to 185 again. I thanked him for not killing me (I kept that to myself) and put my boots back on and began to leave. I looked at each of my roommates and gave them a nod. When I got to the young man with malaria I touched my heart and nodded to him. He touched his heart and then kissed his fingers and then pointed at me. I smiled and cried a little. We are all just human beings trying to make it through this existence best we can.

When we left the hospital we had to be decontaminated. We washed out hands in bleach water and they sprayed the bottom of our shoes.

By the time we got to Satigny my heart rate was better, but my chest really hurt. I think I bruised the inside of my rib cage. What a day.

Satigny B & B

2011-07-19T05:14:00.000-07:00

Satigny is the name of the B & B I am staying at here in Haiti. It is high on the southern mountain chain overlooking Port-au-Prince and the ocean. It is ran by two very charming people, Ralph and Raphael, a husband and wife duo. Raphael is a teacher and runs her own school for kindergarteners during the school year and has a summer camp during the summer for 5 – 14 year olds. She is amazing. Her mom ran a very popular school in PAP for decades. The wealthy 1% went there. It was completely destroyed in the earth quake. I don’t know if they are going to rebuild.
Ralph is a sports nut and is very fit. He is a perfect match of Raphael, who is go, go, go. He is I am coming, I am coming, I am coming sort of guy.
They have a staff that is wonderful. There are two main waiters that serve breakfast and dinner, I think they are brothers because they look alike. They must be in their late fifties or sixties. They take their jobs very seriously although they only serve one person at a time they get the job done. Since they don’t speak English and I don’t speak Creole we have a few words we exchange: Prestige si bleu plaite (beer please), Dulo si beau plaite (water please) Prestige (beer) dulo (water) that is all I need in life.
The food is good and they serve soup every evening before the meal. The bread is amazing and the pumpkin soup my favorite. They also have dessert every evening. I tend to skip that. I usually go right to bed after dinner.
The estate has some ponies that roam around and munch the grass. There is no mowing at Satigny. There also is an amazing playground for the school children. Ralph has two hunting dogs is lets run in the morning and evening. They are full of energy. One came charging into my work partner’s bedroom the other morning and jumped all over his bed. I heard Chris say, “Hey now”, One of his favorite expressions. The mud prints on his bed had to be explained to the non-English speaking housekeeper; that was fun to watch.
Satigny has many visitors that come from all over the world. I have met many different people: an Australian cell phone tower guy. He was funny and never wants to visit America, life goal; an executive of the textile industry who has factories in many developing countries, yes one of those guys, he was strangely conservative and thought that the population problem in Haiti could be settled by the rhythm method (apparently he hasn’t read the stats on that, but apparently it worked for him); steel workers from Canada rebuilding the Canadian embassy (they have tattoos of a man carrying a steal beam on their arms) a photojournalist from Britain (didn’t talk to her much); member of a group called Building Goodness Foundation (a non-profit out of America doing projects all over the place, seems like a cool group), a computer dude from California that free lances to the highest bidder (nice guy, but computer geek) I am the few females that are here and the only construction worker that I have met.
Although the drive up to Satigny is long and slow the respite when you get there is worth it. And besides the malaria carrying mosquito can’t fly this high. This was one of the main points that was made when I arrived.

The WTF's of Haiti

2011-07-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

Our instructions went like this: When you are in the car and parked leave the car running in case you have to make a quick getaway. If you are leaving the car everyone goes, no one stays in the car alone. Do not go to City Sole. Lock everything all the time. Don’t eat or drink anything from the street. They sell alcohol right on the street corners, we were told the bottles are tampered with.

There is a pole we pass everyday on the way to the worksite that has at least 25 meters on it. You know the kind that the Consumers man comes and reads at your house. The “man” must come and read these 25 meters and then he doesn’t have to walk down the cliff to the individual houses to get the readings. How he knows which one goes to what I have no idea.

Energy here is sporadic and most people don’t receive it. The people that are on the grid also have a converter (some kind of contraption that takes energy and charges batteries that they then can use when the energy stops flows, which is often) and a generator so they always have lights. Other people walk around in the dark using their cell phones to see steps and objects in their paths. It gets dark around 6:30 here in Haiti, because the sun is up at like 5 a.m. That means there are a lot of people walking around in the dark in Haiti. Those that want the energy, but can’t afford it steal it. They connect long strings of wire to each other and then they loop it over the power line. What they do with this I have no idea, but now that I know how they do it I see them everywhere. Good thing their houses are mostly made out of concrete because the fire hazard has got to be huge, not to mention the shock potential.

Physics lesson: I work on the flat (sea level) I live on the mountain (way up), the streets are narrow with little gutters running along the sides to help shed rain water. Problem: When it rains in Haiti it comes down like a fire hose. Gravity pulls the water down it collects stuff, like rocks. Not just dirt and gravel, but football sized rocks that come off the mountain. We are trying to drive up the mountain against the now growing river that is overflowing the gutters and is racing toward us with the rocks and stuff. The rental call which we are driving has a very small wheel base and is very light………as we ascended against the deluge up one of the more vertical climbs we encountered that spot where loss of friction and gravity was greater than our upward momentum. This is known as the “fuck me” point. We then had no choice but to back all the way down the hill. Luckily there was only one other car behind us that had to figure out where to go; otherwise it would have been a real problem. I watched the mountain erode before my eyes. Two hours later we made it back to Satigny our Bed and Breakfast.

The trucks that go up the mountain with water and bricks are scary to follow even when it is dry if they lose forward momentum there are few escape routes available to anyone. We have seen the outcome of some of these accidents. Thankfully our drive gives those vehicles some “oh shit” room.

There are a few local crazy people we see regularly. They must have a similar schedule to ours. You can tell they are crazy because of their amazing clothing choices (consisting of many layers and some articles worn on the wrong body part) and their ability to talk to air, or argue with air, or dancing to music only they can hear. Everyone just lets them do their own thing and it appears they eat. My personal favorite is the naked man that walks along the road slinging little pebbles at the cars.

One of the houses we are working is a mobile home. ( I don’t recommend transporting them via the ocean, they don’t travel well) It was brought to the sight and an block apron was made for it and then some unlucky schlep had to get under it and pull the axels. The steal supports created ribs that run under the frame that are only about 8 inches from the ground. In between them there is more space but not much, these spaces run across the width of the mobile home. I was partially under the home looking where the plumbing needed to be connected for the plumber when I got a weird feeling I was being watched. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and so when I focused down the length of the home I could plainly see a goat blinking at me; a big pregnant goat. They sat the trailer down on her without seeing her, trapping her. A plan was needed. She had already been under there for days and was only able to scoot along on its elbows, I had never seen a goat crawl until that day. Since I was the only one small enough to squeeze under the steal ribs I said I would get a rope and try to tie is around the goats horns and we could forcibly pull her out. I did not appreciate at that time how much goat shit had accumulated under that trailer. I got to her after a lot of crawling but all I could rope was her butt. I couldn’t get her to turn around. When I tried to push her around she crawled to the other side of the trailer. My partner Chris took a sledge hammer and broke the blocks out of the other side and stuck his head under. He was close to her head. My other co-workers slid in a long piece of wood and I could get her to stay put by prodding her. I told Chris to get the rope around her horns and I would try and pull her legs sideways because that is the only way she was coming out (on her side). When he reached in she baaaaaaa right in his face he almost wet himself. I yelled that she wasn’t going to bite him and to stop being a Sally. I was the one lying in the heat amongst the goat shit, with my chest being squished and the smell beginning to affect my disposition. He finally got the rope around her neck and the pulled her right into the beam. I thought they were going to break her neck. I got a hold of her hind legs and pulled for all I was worth. She flopped on her side screaming and they got her head down and pulled her out. The mobile home needs some repair now, but at least smelling like dead goat it won’t. We put boards over the holes, but when we came back today to work on the plumbing a dog had gotten under there and had a litter of pups. They are still there. Dogs have teeth.

Drinking water is hard to come by and people can by it on the street in little pint sized plastic bags. They bite a hole in the end and squeeze it into their mouths. We take our water to the site in a big camping thermos and drink it throughout the day. Our workers will also bring their water to work; in bleach bottles. I couldn’t believe it and when asked they tell me that they rinse it out before they drink out of it…… They also said that some people will use oil containers, but of course they wash it out first.

Haiti has a lottery similar to ours, there are numbers randomly selected and you win money if you match the numbers. What we don’t have is a side business where you bet on the parts of the winning numbers. This is not run by the lottery at all, but by private individuals. They are called “banks” you see them everywhere. They are little sheds brightly painted. You bet on the numbers of the lottery, like the last two, and if you pick them you win a little money from that “bank”. There is no regulation on most things.

When you leave town there are these opportunistic entrepreneurs that sell gasoline on the side of the road. They sell them in milk jugs and the gasoline all has different colors. I guess there are a lot of people that buy it because these little stations are everywhere. We were told the gasoline is stolen.

The bakery we go to in the morning for our lunches has an armed guard.

Hundred Acre Wood

2011-07-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

The crew which we work with is an amazing group of guys. I have equated them to the characters in Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre Wood. When I get home I will be uploading pictures of them. It takes too long here.

First is Christopher Robin; that is the architect/carpenter Chris. He is the foreman of our crew and assigns tasks-ish. He is like most carpenters I know in that he really hasn’t grown up yet. He is ex-military and loves to play with the two young boys that are part of our crew. So they are not only learning how to build a house, but they are also learning how to box/wrestle/wiggle ladders/do gross things with the putty we use on the roof. He reminds me of my brother Dave; so I can’t help but smile.

The oldest member of our crew is Lenair. He is like owl; he is wise and gentle and makes sure I don’t fall off the roof. He is 46 years old and lost everything in the earthquake. He had a small jewelry store in PAP and was on his way home when the quake hit. His store was destroyed and all of his inventory was lost/stolen/pulverized. He is one of the group of folks that the government has given a small plot of land north of PAP. The land may or may not have belonged to someone else, but now there is a small tent city there. Each person has marked off their land and planted trees in the perimeter. There is a tree here that grows at an exponential rate and provides much needed shade. Lenigh is a very humble man and works hard every day. When it became understood that he lives in a tent still the liaison for our project approached Chris and I if we would be interested in using the scrap (which there is a lot of) to build Lenair a permanent structure. So we now have two projects. The architect designed a modest home 12 x 24 and we have begun to lay it out. Lenair’s neighbors are now all helping him dig the holes and level his lot. They tell us that Jesus blesses us for what we do for Lenair. If it weren’t for the steep WALK up the mountain side to get to his plot I may believe them more. We will partially build the structure and carry it up the hill. Hahahahah I can hardly wait to see this happen at the end of a long hot day. The neighbors that are not immediately involved are all curious about what we are doing up the hill. Wait till they see us carrying walls up the hill. He and his wife are so appreciative and Lenair works hard before and after work getting his house ready to frame.

Patrick is the baby he is 17 and is a very sweet young man. He reminds me of Rue in Winnie the Pooh. He is always optimistic and pleasant. He is in school and hopes to study architecture. The odds are against him since his family doesn’t have much money and his father died some time ago. His mom has become my friend and she brings us our daily beverages and our beer after work. I think that is the only source of income for the family, besides what Patrick is making at the site. Every day after work I sit down next to Patrick’s mom in the shade and buy my beer. She opens it for me and dusts me off. If I fuss over a splinter she makes sure the guy with the long finger nail comes and helps to remove it. The rest of the crew was taking a very long time finishing up their stuff so I gave her a foot message. She loved it and the small crowd that always it there watching everything we do loved it too. It was a great moment. Patrick got away with me buying him a beer one day, but his mom put an end to that afterward. His conversation with his mom went something like he is doing a man’s job so he should be able to have a man’s beverage at the end. She wasn’t buying it. At least this is what I assume there conversation went like since I don’t speak Creole. He only gets pop now.

Deu’nel is rabbit, albeit way over sexed. He knows everyone on the site and its vicinity and he loves the ladies. A few of them like him too. I have seen another few run away from him as he approaches, I think those are the smarter ones. He is the mover and shaker; if you need something he will get it for you; if you have something extra he knows who needs it; if you are about to cut the wrong line he say, “no Kelly”. He is like the mayor. I imagine school was too controlled and boring for him, but if he could get an education he could do things. He learns quickly, but once he has learned it he doesn’t really want to do it anymore. He walks the line of trouble, but scolds the young boys if they linger around the site too long on their way to school. He talks all the time even though he knows neither I nor Chris speaks Creole. He doesn’t care he tells us long demonstrative stories using his hands and laughing (so we laugh) and seems satisfied when he is done. I am sure his stories are great.

Jesnair is the papa of the group. He reminds of Pooh. He is always calm and always happy. He speaks Englishish. He has lots of questions about verb use and noun choice. He is a learner. Whenever he learns a new word he walks away repeating it over and over. He is very philosophical and doesn’t like to see people upset. People in Haiti get upset frequently and they settle their disputes loudly. Jesnair doesn’t like this. We work together frequently because he wants to learn English and he can do fractions (sort of) so he can measure while I cut. When I hand him a board he always says, “Thank you my lady.” Or “Kelly are you my angel?” He makes me smile. We are working on getting him to understand the English tape measure. He will say, “Kelly are you ready?” (As I am staring at him from the bottom of the ladder) I say, “yes of course” he then says something like, “I need it 14 and 5/8ths minus 1/16th.” I just smile and say ok and figure out what that heck that means as I walk to the saw. I love working with him.

That is our crew. Only one speaks a little English, but all are learning carpentry. It is great to see. Our hundred acre wood is windy and dusty and hot. I don’t think it could be any other way.

Some are still a little timid with power tools. I must admit I am a little scared with them using them. The first time I tried to teach Patrick how to drill gently until snug he buried the screw. Ok, it was more than the first time, but power is awesome. They make these cute little benches with the scrap wood. They will be all the craze soon.

My creole to date (spelling doesn't count)
Moto = hammer
Clue = nair
ashel = ladder
u lae = on top
I get all kinds of answers for bottom so forget about it, they do. I have nails being pounded all over except the bottom.
glacier = cold
met = tape measure
vinne = get
ci beu plait = if you please
merci = thank you

I have a fewer lexicon than a one year old.

On the third day my skin began to turn red.......

2011-06-24T18:20:00.000-07:00

My day begins at 5:00 a.m., with the chickens, well mainly roosters. I think the chickens sleep in. The sun comes up early here and sets around 6 p.m. We eat breakfast (the fruit is amazing) and head down the mountain to our work site. The mountain is more of a sloping cliff. People build houses right in the side of the mountains surrounding Port au Prince I have never seen anything like it.
We buy our lunch at a little bakery on our way to the work site. I now can order a chicken sandwich in French. “Polle pate, si bue plaite” Ok, I still can’t spell it.
The drive down the mountain to our site is about 20 miles; it takes us an hour and a half to get through Port au Prince to the other side. The streets that we travel sometimes are very narrow. The reason is they used to be walking paths and they built shops and homes next to the walking paths. After the earth quake most of PAP was destroyed and rubble was everywhere. The government paved the side paths in order to get trucks in and out of the city. They paved roads are now accepted as roads and people drive down them, walk down them, sell their wares on them and breakdown on them.
We see folks in the same silly straw hat or matching t-shirts. They are paid by NGO’s to help remove the rubble and trash from the streets. This is like a pebble in the pond situation.
The people on the streets come in a variety of conditions. Some are dressed very nice and are heading to a job, others are dressed in the same clothes they had on the days prior and they are setting up their street vendor sites. Still others are in the clothes they had during the earthquake and lost everything.
We drive past mansions (up the mountain) and tent cities (everywhere there is an open space) and very deep ravines (where all the trash and runoff goes), there is a whole sub-culture in the ravines. The people in the ravine have their own markets and social structure. I hear that life is different outside of PAP, but I have not left this area as yet. There are too many people in PAP.
When we get to site our workers are there and we have to unload the container for our day of work. The heat inside will melt you. I begin every work day with sweat traveling the gravity route of least resistance to the ground.
You don’t have to worry about mosquitos because the wind blows about 30 mile and hour across the site. The dust sticks to your sweat and by noon we are all the same color, terra cotta human.
We eat lunch around 12 and the afternoon is brutal to get much done. You are tired and the heat causes your memory to get fuzzy. It requires a lot of concentration to make your cuts accurate and get much productivity done. This is when my partner starts to recite cartoon lines. The Haitians do not understand his idioms. Chris is getting them to understand, “smarter than the average bear.” I told him that there are no bears in Haiti. One of the workers wants to know if bears are smart in America.
During the day there are always men looking for work and teenagers begging for food. It is weird what you can get used to.
When we get to a stopping point we start to clean up the sight and put everything back on the container, hopefully in a logical order for the next day. Chris and I then limp down to the little café that has cropped up on the work site and buy a beer, $1.00 US.
During the day there are always men looking for work and teenagers begging for food. It is weird what you can get used to.
We then crawl into the truck and drive 1 ½ hours back up the hill.
When we get back to our bed and breakfast we sit down and work on our site report and plan what we want to get done tomorrow and designate duties. The shower is amazing, but I know I haven’t gotten all the dust out of my crevices.
I try to send emails and then crawl into bed and pass out. The roosters get it all started again.
I am having a great time.

Toto we aren't in Kansas anymore

2011-06-19T18:36:00.000-07:00

Ok, first off, I was in Africa and froze. Haiti is Africa hot. No joke, but they say it is a dry heat.
Arrived in Port au Prince in the middle of the afternoon and got my luggage with the other passengers (99% of them were white and on a mission trip and the bulk of them came from Michigan, Ohio, or Indiana). Weird. We walked out to where the taxis were and were instantly attacked by what I will call the ‘sharks’. These are locals that want to make a little money by ‘helping’ you with your bags. The mission people were big in the eyes and slow on the assertiveness. I left them to the feeding frenzy. My ride was a little late and by the time they arrived I was the only person of pale complexion left so it was easy to spot me.
We took a tour of Port au Prince and the devastation is far worse than the pictures display, mostly because it is everywhere. The rubble is stacked up in the streets along with the garbage. The streets are very narrow and driving is not for the faint of heart or unstable of neck. It can be very jarring. My partner’s head/elbow/shoulder/hip (ok I am joking about the hip) hit the side window several times because he was in the back and couldn’t see the rut coming.
From what I can tell the folks that used to live down town have moved out a bit where there is some open areas and have set up their tent cities; which are everywhere. It is a pretty sobering and humbling experience.
I worked the site today and we got some good stuff done. The house is coming together nicely, but you cannot leave tools around they will grow legs and walk away.
The supervisor of the job site makes sure that there are no neglected tools so you are constantly going back to the box to get a level/chalk box/blade whatever it is that you only need occasionally, but frequently. I constructed to partial roofs over a court yard and above the front door. That went well.
We are each assigned our own Haitian helper. My helper is named JeNelle (spelling) he is eager to learn carpentry and is learning not only carpentry, but my humor. He is my muscle, my getter, and my holder of the ladder. He also can swing a decent hammer. I am beginning my education in creole and my pronunciation is very bad……..the crew thinks it’s funny.
Today was a great day, even though it was really hot. We stay up the mountain so it is much cooler. The drive is insane!!!! The thunderstorms at this elevation rock!
The similarities to Africa are numerous although the abject poverty is worse here than what I saw in Tanzania.

Checking it Twice

2011-06-16T03:40:00.000-07:00

So, your life has been turned upside down and you are not sure how to get it back shiny side up: enter, friend of a friend that is need of a carptenter in Haiti.....I got skills. One week later I have had my shots, renewed my passport, paid my bills, fixed the cat, closed up school, negotiated a successful contract, informed my family (mostly positive reviews), scheduled my ablation for August, postponed trip with Jane (the minute I get back we are gone Jane!!)planted some perennials, canceled the garden project (next year it will be amazing), hugged my kids and got my itinerary.

Packing:
work clothes for a week (clothes dry very slowly in the tropics)
first aid kit
sunscreen
deet
hats
work gloves
bathroom supplies
One nice outfit, we may go out one time
bathing suit
underwear (lots)
computer
water container
extra protein foods

Things left to do:
get hair cut off (again)
get emergency evacuation insurance
learn French and Creole (ok, maybe not)
get head examined

Next stop Port-au-Prince or PAP as it will now be referred.

2008-10-22T18:04:00.001-07:00

The Road Less Traveled

2008-08-25T07:27:00.000-07:00

I have written this blog entry many times and cannot finish it without crying. I have less than 3 days left and I find myself anxious to get home and see my family and friends and sad that I have to say goodbye to people that I have fallen in love with. The saying goodbye takes on a new dimension because I know that most of these amazing human beings I will never see again in my life-time. How does one say goodbye then with that knowledge? The Tanzanians deal with it with a sense of calm and peace and they say, “God Willing Mama Kel we will see each other again.” Myself, I cry uncontrollably.

I think of:
Sarafina, who lost her father to AIDS and whose mother is sick with the virus. She wants to finish her education, but knows that it may be cut short because she may have to take care of her younger siblings if her mother gets too sick or succumbs to the disease.
Gloya, (who cooked for me regularly) who is raising his three children on his own and has to choose between leaving them for great lengths of time to finish his education or stay with them and not improve his standard to living.
Elesante, who also want to continue his education, but his family can’t afford it.
Marcelin, who watched his father killed by the Hutu at age 8 and later came to Tanzania to go to university not speaking any Swahili nor knowing where to study n order to improve his families (mother and two sisters) life back in Rwanda when he finishes his studies.
Josiah, (my co-teacher, whose sarcastic wit kept me laughing all day.) from Kenya and is working on becoming a minister. He wants to return to his wife and child and spread the word (along with his humor) to others.
These are common stories not exceptions.
I think of all of the children that I met many of them with former presidents names like; Nixon, Regan, Kennedy, Carter, Clinton, Johnson and Lincoln.
I think of all the Tanzanians that I have met some that are HIV positive, that live daily with the threat of typhoid, malaria, tuberculosis, and the Nairobi fly, and yet giggle at the simplest things and love to hug and be hugged.
I think of the laughing and singing everywhere on the mountain. I think of the Vistas, which are breathtaking and the walks through the jungle. I think of all the animals and how fragile life is for all of them.

I will miss the greetings and the hand holding. The appreciation and laughs at my attempts at Swahili (the little kids were the best teachers) and the gentle corrections.

I will miss the patience of the people.

I will miss the hospitality of strangers who have become family. I will hearing, “Hi Teacher.”, “Hello Kitchenee Mama.”, “Madame Kel, how did you sleep.”

I have given away all my leftover food, my raincoat and umbrella. I shared my toiletries with the girls (they are very curious about the deodorant and the crème rinse) My tennis shoes and flip-flops went to kids that had none and my first aid kit went to Rosemary (Queen LaTifa of Meru Peak Schools)

My socks were coveted and I had to give these away in secret for I did not have enough for everyone.

My days move quickly now that it is almost over and my feelings remain mixed. I want to get home badly, but there is so much work to be done here.

Every hug brings tears to my eyes. I say goodbye to my students and sing Skid-a-ma-Rink with them one last time.
Saying goodbye to Headmaster Joseph was especially hard. He is 68 (well above the 55 life-expectancy) and we both new the odds of ever meeting again were slim. He is a very formal man and to receive a hug from him was one of the best gifts of all.

UAACC through me a party, complete with drums, dancing and a cake. It was awesome. After the party Marcelin escorted me back up the mountain for one last tour. He wanted to stop at his church to say a prayer for me. His prayer was in the form of a song on the piano. (He plays by ear) It was beautiful. I cried the whole time. He also sang me a song in his native Rwandan. I have never been so touched.

We then walked back to UAACC where he and my co-teacher Josiah (along with a driver) took me to the airport. We all hugged and cried, including the driver, one last time and I walked inside.

Tanzania and the wonderful people of East Africa are now part of my soul and I am a better person for it. I have become part Tanzanian and am proud.

God willing I will meet my friends again.

The Mountain and its People Sing

2008-08-06T23:44:00.001-07:00

Life on the mountain is a challenge everyday. I swear I walk up hill everywhere I go. (Pole; sorry for your burden) (Asante sana; Thank-you for caring) I hear these two expressions everywhere because people are caring (usually women on their heads) everything they need to survive: water, firewood, crops, food, rocks, cement and even saw a stack of lumber carried like this. People say it to me too when I am carrying my bag with my school supplies.
My morning begins with children singing (usually hymns) at 6:00 a.m. I lay listening to them,smiling. i then hear the sounds of sweeping. The children clean the campus of the school by sweeping the dirt with branches. The collect the paper and sticks and throw them into one of the perpetual fires used for cooking or heating water for washing. Sometime I wash my clothes, a few articles at a time. This is done in a bucket and you rinse in a differnet bucket (you must choose wisely the order in which you wash) The straining the water out is the hardest part.
When I am up I open the door to my room so I can see. If it is too cold I will light the kersene lamp to eat my breakfast by. The children have porridge (watered down ugali) they don't get fruit, ever, because it is too expensive for the school. I have dinner with frineds some nights and one night I bought: 2 eggs (they are not refridgerated and you buy one at a time, not by the doze) a cucumber, 2 onions, 3 carrots and 2 oranges and it cost me 80 cents. This tells you how poor most people are here. The kids never complain about the food and in fact most seem to enjoy it. They have never known anything different so they are content with what they receive.
Some of the gilrs beathe in the morning, too cold for me! The water they use is different from what I receie. There's comes from a shallow well (large hole) where runoff water and waste water seep. Their water is not heated and they fetch it them selves. My water is brought to me everynight, and it is rain water and it is heated. They treat guests as if they were royalty. Many people here have housegirls, that take care of the chilrden, cook and clean. When I told them that very few people have "maids" in America they were suprised.
My first class is at 8:00 a.m. My classroom is so dark I don't know how the children see the front of the room. Some days it is worse because the children sweep the room (with the same branches they used on the campus) and the dust is so thick I have a harcd time seeing the chaulk board and I am writing on it.
My classes range from 40 to 80 minutes and I never have enough time because of all the copying requierd. The children work hard, but they sit so close that it is raelly hard not to use your partner's brain. I devised 2 forms of a quiz for them to take and instructed everyother person to either answer the questions on the left side of the board or the right side. It threw them for a loop. They performed very poorly. Tanzania is a communal country by nature, they do many things together. eventhough they see themseles as free individuals that is not the same as being independent from eachother.
Tanzanians are very dependent on eachother for food, transportatioin, medical help, help with children, laundry, cooking and encouragement. They work together to solve most of their daily needs.
After my morning class I walk up to UAACC and teach two English classes (one beginner, and one advanced) I work with an amazing group of volunteer teachers that live around the mountain and they help translate what I am trying to say to my students. This can be rather funny sometimes because of all the idioms and metaphors I tend to use in my everyday speech that I wasn't even aware that I do. We have great conversations just surrounding what I am trying to say that isn't technically part of the English lesson. Like, "Ok we are now going to shift gears" none of these people have even driven a car.
I eat lunch with the theachers everyday and we have develped quiet a friendship. During lunch (ugali and beans or mcandy which is corn and ugali) they watch music videos or African soap operas. It is hilarious to watch them get into these day dramas.
The teachers love to practice their English and they will ask me what certain words mean or how to prounounce them. Sometimes they will ask, "Are you sure it is pronounced that way?" This is when it is hard for them to say. Their sense of humor is really fun.
After classes-which end around 4:30 I am either playing basketball or reffing a football game.
Watching the young eople try and learn to play basketball is like watching someone learn to downhill ski for the first time.
Sometimes the ball dribbles them. There is not much in their daily life that lends itself to dribbling, passing, catching or shooting. They are also not used to running on a conrete slab(slightly covered in dirt, which make stopping in the flat bottomed flip-flops difficult) Sliding becomes part of the game. They listen to every direction I give and try to exedute the drills I provide with adandon. Some are becoming pretty good. I just have to convince them the Kobe Bryant is that all that and a box of rocks too. What these peole lack in basketball skills they make up for in mad soccer skills even in inadequate footwear; a field that hs rocks (large ones) on it to hold the cows ropes that graze there; the piles that the cows leave behind; not to mention the cows themselves. All this they have to navigate around coming down the field.
Two days a week I go to an orphanage further up the mountain and work with a young many who is having trouble learning to read. I am using my dyslexic training and hooked on phonics to help him. He loves the one on one. He is learning to blend the sounds and feels so good when he can say the words himself. His smile and hugs when he sees me coming are amazing. He yells, "Teacher, my teacher." I can get hime to focus for about an hour and a half every session.
I get back to my room around 6 p.m. and my "shower" is waiting for me. It is a bucket of hotish water. The school moms give me rain water to shower with (the softest water I have ever felt) I try to use as little as possible and share the left over with the girls. I am really glad that I cut all my hair off before I came. The girls rotate on who gets my leftover water. The girls use cold water from the "well"
Dinner is late around 8:00 p.m., this part I don't like, but I have adjusted. I have learned not to eath the meat (I will never complaong about school food again) so in the evening my diet is usually rice and regydrated spinach--yum. I use lots of hot sauce to give the food a lift. Before and after dinner I am with the students helping them with their studies. This is done in the classrooms, three of them, with lights from the generator. We have a lot of great discussions about the misconceptions regarding the US to kids back home and how they behave.
The generator makes a noise (surge) when it is about to run out of petrol and all the kids scatter to their dorms. The girls dorm is adjacent to my room and at night their whispering sounds like the buzzing of a great bees nest. It is that sound that carries me off to sleep.
On Fridays they sing. The children actually have organized a choir complete with a director. They are preparing for their church service on Saturday (which is all day)
On Saturdays I quietly make my wat to town. The biggest town nearby is Arusha. It is hard to gage the size of it because I only see part of it. I get up in the morning and have my usual breakfast of bananas, organes and passion fruit and walk down off the mountain, about 7 km. This takes a good hour and on my way I am greeted by everyone I see on the road. I get to USA (pronounced oooosu) and catch a smoosh mobile (a dali-dali) into Arusha. This takes another 30-50 minutes depending on how many stops we make, which is determined by how mnay people are standing by the side of the road and give the signal to get picked up.
In Arusha I get a cup of coffee at a little coffee house first and have a bite to eat. T then visit one of the upsacle hotels ( a trick I learned from Jessie) to use their bathroom and stroll their grounds.
I then shop or visit a museum or pick a new place to try for lunch. Sometimes this is a trek. I then eat lunch and begin my safarri back to Meru Peak. I take a Dali-Dali back to USA River and walk back up the mountain. I hear musci everywhere I go. They love Bob Marley, Celine Deon, and Dolly Parten (I know) they also play their African gospel and hip-hop, and soul music. I have danced with many people up and down the mountain, everyone loves to dance. The walk back up the mountain takes longer and is very steep in places. but is feels so good to walk it. I views are beautiful. I always look forward to Saturdays.
Sundays I would wash clothes, clean my room and play more soccer. The kids and I would sing songs and just enjoy eachothers company.
My days are full and I am fulfilled.

A Panther in Africa

2008-08-03T05:32:00.000-07:00

Being a math teacher I actually enjoy probabilities. So, when I sat down to try and calculate the odds of:
1. going to Africa
2. picking Tanzania at random
3. finding Meru Peak Schools on the internet out of the thousands listed
4. discovering within amile of the school is a community center ran by an ex-black panther and his wife from Kansas City living in political exhile.
Ok, I know those of you who know me are thinking of course you would pick this place because that is karma and a black panther and Kelly Kitchen go hand in hand.
Well as it turns out you are right. Whatever power brought me here the probabilities are astronomical and therefore i have to leave it to energy outside my understanding.

Mama C (Charlotte) and Pete O'Neil have lived in Tanzania for about 30 years because Pete fled the US when he was charged with a crime he did not committ and knew he would be convicted, because of his work in the black panther movement, and later was convicted in abstentia. They have built a community center on the mountain brick by brick where they have teachers that teach English classes to the locals for free. They also teach computers, art, guiding (on safaris), dance and music classes (they have their own studio and produce CD's) all for free to the locals. They are supported by groups of students coming from the states and Europe that arrange for African immersion experiences. There was a group of University of Michigan students here for a such an experience while I was here.

Pete (still an imposing figure at 68 with dread locks down his back)and Mama C's(an angel to everyone that meets her and a spirtual presence that rmeinds me of a shamen) compound is a haven equipped with internet (it is what I use to type my blog) classrooms, dorms for the visitors, a wounderful staff of volunteer teachers and a basketball court.
I teach two English classes a day and play basketball with the locals every chance I get. Some of the girls are developing a nice jump shot and the boys are beginning to understand what a proper lay-up is. It is amazing coaching a foreign sport to someone that doesn't speak the same langauge as yourself I have learned so much from these young people, mostly humility.
cC
The students I have at UAACC (United African Alliance Community Center) are mostly adults. Some are housewives, some farmers, some are preachers and some are young people looking for a way not to end up in the streets. They are all open-hearted very attentie students who love have an American teach them anything. They clap spontaneously in the middle of a lesson when they feel they really grasp what I am teaching. It is amazing. They also tell me after every class that they love me and are so happy that I share "The English" with them. Africa sees English as the language of the future.
They work so hard trying to expand their vocabularies and trying to figure out subject verb agreement as well as those pesky irregular verbs. I never appreciated English as my natie langage before, but I do now.
Their hard work and loving nature brings tears to my eyes frequently. I have been humbled by this country and the people in it.
The students are many at UAACC and they come everyday. Some are fed lunch and are expected to work hard at their studies. They are so thankful to Pete and Mama C for providing this opportunity for them. Their lives are enhanced daily just for participating in UAACC and the family that is there.
The teachers are all volunteers and many of them are students at the University of Arusha, up the mountain further, and live in the area. Many teach during their breaks from school. I am the only native English speaker here currently and all the teachers love to talk to me to practice English and work on their pronounciation.
UAACC also teaches art and music classesand they have a pretty cool music studio. The sales of their music goes to the students that create them.
The art gallery is equally as impressive their batiks, purses,jewelry, and clothing is beautiful.
Pete and Charlotte have made a have in the middle of abject poverty, and the share their love of people and community builidng with those around them.
One of Pete's friends, Geronimo Pratt is also here. He was convicted of a crime he did not commit and spent close to 30 years in prison for it. His conviction was overturned and the government had to write him a check. He brouhgt that money to Tazania and is now living his life with his lovely wife in the mountains of Tz. He was instrumental in helping Pete put in a deep well where people in the area can get clean drinking water without flouride (a huge problem here)
I hope I get to take a dance class and drum class before I leave.
Pete retains his Black Panther attitude and his angst is refreshing. It is that tenacity that got everything accomplished that he has here and his growl makes me smile because his heart is pure gold. They are opening an orphanage (living center) soon. I hope to continue to support their efforts in the future.

Hamna Shida (no worries)

2008-07-23T04:18:00.000-07:00

There comes a time when you are in a developing country that your American arrogance takes over and the frustration level gets so high you want to burst.
I think when you are trying to assimilate into a foreign country there is part of you that constantly fights the process. This is where the frustration comes from. The American, puritan ethic, in me kept fighting against the TZ culture. It hit a head at about 2 weeks in. This is when I met Jessie (my roommate for a week before she went back to Kansas, funny I know) and to be able to talk to another American (English speaker) that shared the same frustrations was cathartic and gave me an interesting mirror in order to look into.
The frustrations were many, but I'll only list a few:
The drivers here are horrible, not just don't use blinker lights horrible,but dangerous horrible. I thought I was going to die on my 18 hour (I thought was 7) bus trip to Mbea. We had to travel through the mountains to get there. Isaw more overturned semis on this 36 hour trip to and from Mbyea than I have my whole 48 years traveling through out the US. Anyone of those semis could have taken my bus out. Not that the bus driver was lacking any opportuniyt to take us out himself driving down the mountains.
Tanzanians have a different sense of time. When they say 'soon" they mean about 3 hours. When they say now they mean within the hour. The wait patiently for everything. The bane of American's existence.
The Tz also will say "God Willing" for everything intheir lives. Most are deeply rleigous and their hard lives make them accept (without question) the things that happen to them. One of our students died at the school I was at and no one knew why, not even the doctor. It was just his time for God to take them, a perfectly healthy 7 year-old.
I had a deep desire to fix everything I saw that was not working well, from broken doors to filling in a walk way with sand so the children didn't continually trip. Learning to let this go was very difficult for me.
I was pulling water up from the well and noticed there was a hole in the bottom of the bucket. When I got the bucket to the surface it was only half full. When I inquired about this I was told thatsome people are careless and if they replaced the bucket it would just happen again so they leave it. Ugh!!

I did fix the bathroom door because it had no handle and you had to grab the wood plank with your fingertips in order to lock it. Trying to shut it was an act in futility. I also fixed my door because the locking mechanism was falling off.
Jessie and I commiserated about our perception of the Tz inability to problem solve or goal set.

It was later that I refelected that I was imposing American values and standards onto a country that is still struggling with feeding their countrymen. Life and death are very precarious in Tanzania. Malaria, HIV and Typhoid are rampant as are unemployment, poverty and lack of education. There is no municipal trash pick up and sewer and lean water services are scarce. I suppose the fact that you have to grip the wood plank on a door to shut it is really not that big of a deal to them.

After you are here for a while longer you begin to assimilate and your frustration level drops, and you don't mind being stopped by everyone you see on the path you are on to see how you are even if you are suppose to be somewhere. After all you told your friend you would be there soon.

School: the life-raft with a hole in it

2008-07-21T23:55:00.000-07:00

Schools in Tanzania are broke into primary (standard 1 through 7) and secondary (Form 1 through Form 4). There is also Form 5 and Form 6 which you have to pass an exam in order to get in and IF you can afford it and IF you pass then you might be able to go to University. The NBA holds better odds.
School is a privilege and you have to pay to go. Schools cost around $800.00 a year = $800,000 shillings. This is impossible for some families, especially with multiple children. The average person (if they can find work) make about $6,000.00 shillings a day or six dollars. Many children do not go to school. Or they do not pass primary and do not continue. The children that get to go to school work ery hard and look forward to any extra help they can get. I have upwards to 15 kids in my room when the generator comes on to do homework, get help, read, draw, anything. There is such a need both educationally and psychologically with the children here it is almost overwhelming.
There are schools everywhere, public and private (so it seems) and the chidren that attend them walk miles or ride a bus long distances everyday to get to school. Many children are borders (especially the orphans that are lucky enough to get into a bording school) In one of the schools that I teach in the children sleep two or three to a single bed. Some have nets some do not. I brought 20 with my and it made a dent. From my understanding the children are in school 10 months out of the year with two breaks in between semesters.
most of the children in school are away from their families for long periods of time. The orphanes (a whole subject in and of itself) livein orphanages which are more prevelant than schools. Some visit extended familiy a few times a year.

The one school I teach at is both a primary and a secondary school. The school has no electricity and they get their water from in inadequate well (to shallow for clean water) and they use rain water to drink. They do not drink a lot of water here, especially compared to Americans. Dehydration has got to be a problem.
They run a generator at night for a few hours and there are a couple of rooms that have a bulb so the students cram into them to do their homework. This is quite a sight. It would make a teacher fill with awe. It did me.
Classes start at 8:00 a.m. and run until 3:30 with a couple of breaks and lunch (ugali and beans) Most of the younger kids fallout before 3:30 gets here. The kids stay in the same classroom and the teachers rotate.
My classroom is in the middle of the compound (fenced in) and gets very little ambiant light. My class starts at 8:00 am everyday and it is usually overcast, making seeing the chalkboard from the back of the room very difficult. The class i teach is form II math (algebra and geometry) my students ranged in age from 15 to 22. I had 36 of them in one room.
The room is dark and damp, there is a large(old) chalkboard in the front of the class. I have 2 sticks of chalk and a form II book (an excercise book with a few examples and practice problems, fewer answers in the back) There is no teacher's edition. I have three of the thirty-six that also have a book. That is it. No other materials.
The children copy everything down into their exercise books (blank bound paper) The write their own text book. This process takes a looooong time and we only have 40 minute classes. This was frustrating for me because we had very little time to dialogue about math. The books they use in math are all skill books, little application.
In spite of the challenging environment and the schools some times closing for days, weeks months because of lack of teachers or foods, the childdren learn and many of them crave more.
When young Jessie was here we shared a dorm room and that is where the students would come for extra help. I observed this one young man about 12 years ole have an indepth conversationwith Jessie (19 from Kansas) about irregular verbs. This young man was trying so hard to wrap his head around them. Other kids were copying English-Kswahili dictionerys to learn new words. To watch this scene was very powerful, to participate in it was life changing. The conversations that take place and the thirst for knowledge these young people have would make any jaded teacher cry.

I am called "Mzungu"

2008-07-20T01:54:00.000-07:00

The people in Tanzania do not see many white people. In the tourists area they see many more and for the most part try to get those folks to buy their art, or visit their sister's shop. When you travel away from the tourists streets of Arusha and go into the neighborhoods, or if you travel into the mountains (where the schools that I am teaching are at) then the presence of white people gets fewer and fewer.The people in these areas view seeing and meeting a white person as good luck and love to stop and talk with you. The Tanzanians are very demonstrative people. Boys and men will hold hands and touch each other frequently. Little girls will walk together in a small ball. The children will yell "Mzungu, Mzungu." They love to hold my hand and walk with me. The parents enjoy watching their children with me and are not fearful or threatened by you interacting with their children. In fact they will let you walk away with their children in tow and know that their children are safe and will be home sooner or later. The Tanzanians are very open hearted, loving, passive people. The children are a giggling mass of love. I did meet some children who had never seen a white person before and they were actually afraid of me. They would stare and drop whatever they had in their hands and not move. I think if I had made a run at them they would have died of a heart-attack. I took my responsibility as an ambassador seriously though and only smiled and said, "Jambo toto." Meaning "Hello children".
If the people of the world could have a little of the Tanzanian loving spirit within them the world would be a better place.

Hard Living On Clay Street

2008-07-16T06:24:00.000-07:00

-Arrivig in Kiliminjaro Airport is a glimpse of what is to come. There are no directions on what to do or where to go. I got in the mob that was headed for the Visa booth. There were no roped lines to keep us in order, no structure, no system in place.... Welcome to Tanzania.
after getting my Visa it was very late at night and the officials weren't really paying attention so I walked past customs with my bags and out the front door.
I met William who is the "tour guide" for the next several days.
The first thing that is different when we got on the road, other that the fact at how nice these people are and extremely polite, is that there are people walking every where, at all hours of the night. The other thing that was notable was the speed bumps.
We arrived in Arusha late and when I got to William's house I couldn't see much of the environment. The "road" to Willy's house was very narrow and had a surface like large bubble wrap. This is I think due to the poor (none) drainage and the rainy season.
We entered the compound (we don't have these in the US) through an iron gate, I had to stoop to get through. Willy's apartment is one of 8 and you enter into a square cement pad. The apartments all face this pad, two on each side. This is like their courtyard. This is where all the cooking (on a kerosene burner), washing of clothese (out of a bucket) and playing of the children occurs. We went to Willy's door where upon hearing us arrive his 4 year old daughter,Miriam (aka princess) came pealing out, eventhough it was very late. When she saw me she screamed for joy and ran into my arms and gave me the biggest hug I have ever had. Wow welcome to Tanzania.
I slept under a net for the first time, slightly clausterphobic but you get used to it. The TZ people are very generous people. The do not have a lot, but they share everything they have. They wait for the guest to serve themselves first, everytime and they tell you to take as much as you want. TZ folks eat a lot of food (starch). The fruits and veggies are amazing. I became a vegetarian while here (the meat is not too good and one can only eat so much rice and ugali (corn powder mixed with water to make a thick paste)
The next morning we explored Arusha. I wasn't quite ready for what I saw especially the contradictions.
First do not where pants that drag on the ground even a little,trust me on this.
Second if you plan on staying a while and washing your own clothes (in a bucket with a bar of orange soap, the white bar is for your "showers") do not bring: jeans (they take forever to dry and are a bear to wring out and they do not shrink back into shape), sweatshirts (see previous), anything white, or t-shirts. Bring: flip-flops (do not go bear foot), old tennis shoes, boots, mudboots (if the rainy season), cotton clothes that are easy to wash and dry quickly, layers of clothes (it is cold in the winter), matches (TZ matches will frustrate the hell out of you, fingernail clippers, lotion, tape,scissors or knife, flashlight, and a leavermen (they have few tools and you will find you need them) Learn some basic Swahili or go with a local when shopping so you don't get ripped off. Shop owners will respect you more and will give you a better deal even if you know a little. They will all help you with the pronounciation.
The TZ love to greet you, and most of them (especially the children) love white people. Whitepeople are called, 'Mzungu.'
When I left Willy's we walked through his neighborhood and it is exactly as you see a developing country portrayed. Women working over buckets or pans, either cooking or washing clothes. Many of these women have children on their backs while they work. There are stray dogs and errant chickens everywhere. Waste water from dishes, clothes and cooking is running down the streets (paths), the children play on mounds of dirt (and there are children everywhere).
Most of the roads are unpaved and very rocky. People have to walk to a local water pipe to get their water, this is done several times a day. The 5 gallon buckets are placed on the heads of women and children as they carry that water home. I am sure there are homes that have water in them (maybe not), but I never saw one,nor did any of the people I talked to know of one. The only place you will find running water inside is in the big hotels (where I used the bathroom several times while in Arusha just to have a Western style toilette) or the restaurants that cater to tourists. The everyday TZ does not have that luxury.
The mom of the family I stayed with busy making lunch when we came home. She was sitting on the cement pad with a bread board in front of here kneading bread that would then be fried to make a flat bread. They have no ovens so most of their food is fried or cooked as a stew. She then made ugali which is corn powder stirred into boiling water. This takes great strength to stir in the final stages, it gets very thick. They use aluminum pans because of how they conduct heat and they are light weight, they don't know about the Alzheimer connection and I didn't tell them.
Most TZ eat very late at night, just before bed. I had a hard time with this and it is one reason that the women get progressively larger as the years go by, that and the fact that their diet consists of primarily starch. They eat a lot of starch, either in the form of rice, fried potatoes, or ugali. The men don't gain weight like the women because their work involves more cardio and they travel further from home.
Going to the market can take all day. You have to walk from you neighborhood to where the Dali-Dali road is, then you either wait or walk toward your destination. A Dali-Dali will be along and they will pick you up if you extend your hand. The vans they use for this are all old Japanese vehicles, many in disrepair. There were several times that people jumped out of the Dali-Dali (you must have at least 11 on board for them to leave) and helped push it so the driver could pop the clutch. Many more have horrible exhausts and spew CO into the air. You ride the Dali-Dali until you get close to the market and you pay your 50 cents (no matter how far you ride) and get off by climbing over everyone in front of you. You then walk the rest of the way to the market (a very big place) and buy what you need for that day and maybe the next since there is little refrigeration. People can't afford the electricity and if they can afford the electricity they cannot afford the refrigerator. They then take their purchases (hopefully) not forgetting anything and do the whole route backwards. Remember this is with a child on their back and possibly more in tow. There is no daycare here, although neighbors help out a lot. I watched my house mom keep track of the whole square of children.
Most TZ do not wear their shoes in the house and you will see a stack of shoes and flipflops outside of every door. The reason for this is the mud and the bathrooms. The bathrooms are a separate (closet) away from the house, sometimes connected sometimes not. It consists of a hole in the floor that drains to a holding tank somewhere (I think) there is no toilet paper and no sink for washing (yeah, I know) You use a bucket of water that is kept handy, sometimes, to wash down what you don't make down the hole. This takes some practice and skill. Enough said about that, only my leg and butt muscles are now much stronger.
I took my showers in the morning in Arusha and learned the hard way when they say, "Your shower is ready", you should not delay, because your shower is a bucket of water and it cools down fast. The shower is taken in either a different concrete closet or in the toilette closet. You learn to conserve water and be quick about the scrubbing because it is cold in the mountains.
The people of Tanzania have life hard according to our standards, but yet they love life and each other. There is a special place in their culture for children. They consider them a blessing and they are.

One Tin Soldier Rides Away

2008-06-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

I am set to leave Monday, June 30th and am filled with anxious excitement. I am sure the long air flights will help to alleviate some of the adrenalin spikes. I fly from Detroit to Amsterdam where I will have a 5 hour lay-over. To all my former high school friends this does not mean what it seems to mean. I then leave for my second leg of my journey to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania.
I have purchased my emergency evacuation insurance; I bought this on-line since my insurance agent doesn’t sell it. I also, upon my agent’s suggestion suspended my insurance on my vehicles for the month that I will be gone. (I didn’t even know you could do that) This will save me a little money while I am away.
I have my deet, wet wipes, tooth brush, self generating flashlight, camera, and sunscreen. I think that is all I need. I also am taking quite a bit of hikers’ food (apparently they eat a lot of porridge type meals)
My friend John is working on a solar panel for generating electricity for the XO laptop which I may take with me to see how it works. This is very exciting technology with crazy potential.
I have made copies of all my documents for my family with the addresses and phone numbers of the contact people at the school.
Next stop……Africa.

Pit Stop: Dominican Republic

2008-06-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

Dominican Republic:
A fledgling democracy next to a totalitarian regime, Haiti; A paradise with a garbage problem; A place where people speak four languages with ease, but have little access to education unless you are wealthy; A place where people work hard period. In other words, the Dominican Republic is a living oxymoron.
I went there with 9 other people intent on learning to dance meringue from the people who invented it. The experience left me with a lot more than the wonderful memories of dancing Cuban Son with the old timers in Santa Domingo.

Impressions:

People are people no matter where you are in the world.
Racism exists even in predominantly “black” countries (why is that?)
People can carry more things on a moped than I ever imagined. (from goats to washing machines)
Gravity can be defied if you know how to pack a truck including the people on top.
A country with poor drinking water (more about that later) and a large tourist trades needs a recycling plant.
Love occurs everywhere in the world.
Middle Aged women with “perceived” means are treated as queens, not to mention sex objects (great ego boost)
Tourists are treated differently than locals (travel with locals always)
Dive masters are cool people to hang out with.
Even though the coffee pots are next to the sink in the resorts, that does not mean you should make coffee out of the tap water. DON’T. I had to take Cipro to get rid of the parasites in my digestive tract when I got home. 150 mph diarrhea has no conscience, nor respect for humility.
Teachers are valued.
Chidren yearn to laugh and learn.

Going back to the D.R. would be a wonderful experience, especially if it was to teach English to the children “for free” in the summer while encouraging businesses to adopt a recycling stance. This would be a great summer excursion for anyone. It has been added to my list of possible retirement options.

2nd Times a Charm

2008-05-25T15:49:00.000-07:00

It was time to go back to the travel clinic for my one remaining vaccinations: yellow fever and pick up my prescriptions for malaria and an antibiotic.
I did not take careful enough notes the first time because apparently I was suppose to bring my vaccination card with me…..I don’t remember ever getting one. This time the nurse was pressed for time and everything was a blur. I remember getting the shot for yellow fever and tasting it in the back of my throat for a while. I had to sit in the hall to make sure that I didn’t have an adverse affect to it, I don’t know what “adverse” meant since I left all my literature at home and the nurse was real busy. So, as I waited I tried to pay attention to everything that was going on inside of my self and at the injection site incase I noticed anything “adverse”. Apparently I was fine because the nurse came back out and looked at me and said my time was up and I could leave. I guess adverse means that she would be able to tell by looking at me from 20 feet away (adverse must be bad!)
I then left feeling slightly invincible since now I am immune to yellow fever, typhoid fever, malaria (sort of) Hep B and Hep C. I still had to watch out for Dengue fever and the rogue lion, but that I think is manageable.
In conversation with my dad he was inquiring what my out of pocket costs were going to be, he still is a little perplexed by all of this, but he has always supported me even during the crazy times. I told him my plane ticket was costliest and it getting costlier as gas prices continue to soar. The school also asks that I help offset food costs by kicking in $10.00 per week for food. When I told my dad this there was a pause on the other end of the line and then he said, “Kelly that’s a lot of ants.” I really don’t think I will be eating ants, but it did get me thinking about what I would be eating……..

Nothing but Net.

2008-03-29T05:31:00.000-07:00

During March Madness as I was watching my team (Michigan State University) get drilled, I also was responding to an email from the Olyset Company regarding their mosquito nets. They were very helpful in directing me to the proper vendor for purchasing these nets. I initially tried to buy a mosquito net here in the US and the only ones I could find were the polyester ones that you had to spray the insecticide on yourself. The ranged from $20.00 to $45.00. Apparently the nets that have insecticide put into them during the manufacturing process are hard to get a hold of in the US. I read one site that said the FDA has not approved them for sale here, but I could not verify that. The Olyset company asked where I would be traveling and the route I would be taking and I gave them a brief itinerary and they sent me back an email address of a retailer in Arusha, Tanzania. They also forwarded my email to them. I heard from Divyesh Ramanandi in Arusha within a couple of days asking how he could help me. I told him when I would be in Tanzania, kinda/sorta dates and I was looking for a mosquito net. He sent me their sizes and price list and when I did the Tanzania shilling conversion to American dollars these state of the art nets would cost me about $8.00. It pays to shop around. This will work out better buying the nets in Tanzania because they do take up some space in the luggage and when I leave I can just leave it with the school. The best part is that I am also helping the local economy by buying the net there. That is a win-win.
Here are the websites for Olyset Company:

http://www.sumivector.com/content/view/18/37/

A new Olyset joint venture in Arusha opens in 2008
http://www.olysetphotos.com/Documents/Arusha_Pressrelease.pdf

Here is another way to help, ironically by the same name of what inspired this page in my blog.
http://www.nothingbutnets.net/

It is very exciting to use new technology that is being made in Tanzania by Tanzanians for the betterment of their country. Now I have to decide, how many nets do I buy? MSU could have used a few extra nets tonight.
Peace.

Travel Clinic, prepare for information overload

2008-03-08T06:59:00.000-08:00

Going to the MSU Travel Clinic was a mixed bag of great information and an overwhelming appreciation for how amazing our life is here in the United States since we found sanitation. I received three shots while at the clinic the day I went and left with quite a bit of reading material. I am beginning to develop quite the folder of information.
The nurse that I say that day new her stuff and she was able to answer most of my questions I had about traveling to a third world country. The clientele she gets there goes to many other places of Africa, especially Ghuana, I told her I purposely chose not to go to Ghuana because of all the attention and assistance that they are getting currently. I think that has more to do with my personality as wanting to operate under the radar rather than follow the mainstream than anything.
There are lots of things to be wary of in Tanzania and she had colored maps of what diseases were prevalent there, most of these maps were darkened. I won’t be in the TB belt though; it looks much like our snow belt in Michigan on a map although it describes the incidence of TB rather than lots of snow. Her phrase to me over and over was if you can’t peel it (there is a special to do this too), cook it (for a very long time) or open it (from a sealed container, like beer/wine/water) don’t eat or drink it. She also had the sage advice to ask the locals that I became acquainted with (if I couldn’t find an English speaking person that had been in country for a while) where in town I should not eat. She said if it made the locals sick to eat then it would for sure make me really sick. She also said that don’t let the looks of the place deceive me. Just because it is a fancy hotel doesn’t mean the folks that work there practice impeccable hygiene and that is what is required in a third world country in order not to get TD (tourist diarrhea). The last advice she offered, as far as avoiding getting sick (I felt like I was Luke Skywalker talking Obi-Juan Kenobi) was to keep a lid on my bottled water at all times and to place my tooth brush in a container so flies didn’t land on it. It is their feet and where they have been walking through is what you need to be concerned about.
The conversation then turned to safety and the advice is pretty much like it is in Detroit. Don’t go anywhere at night unless you are with a large group, don’t go into the “bad” neighborhoods and don’t take anything to eat or drink from a stranger because it could be drugged. Apparently you can make eye contact with folks though. Good to know.
We talked about bug spray (Deet, you don’t need 100%, in fact she advised against it because it is pretty toxic) and spray for our clothes (Permethrin, you can spray this on and it will last through several washings, I think that means it could last through my entire 7 week stay since I don’t know how often I will be washing my clothes)
She also said the things I kind of knew: where a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses; sunscreen (put the Deet over the top of it not the other way around); carry copies of your documents at all times and keep the originals some place safe and make copies for my family before I leave and the last advice was to procure “emergency evacuation insurance”. I will check to see if Farmers Insurance can get me a rider for this, but she also provided me with some names of places that provide this, sort of the Triple A of international travel, instead of providing you with a wrecker to take your car to a shop they provide you with a plane to get you to a “real” hospital.
With my head buzzing from the crazy amount of information she gave and my shoulders were hurting from the: Polio booster, Hepatitis A shot, and a flu shot, I left with my two prescriptions (one for my typhoid vaccine and the other for antibiotics to take in case of TD). I paid for the visit and made my next appointment for my Yellow Fever shot and to pick up my malaria medication. There were three choices for this and the prices vary by hundreds of dollars.
With another hurdle jumped I now have to make it "real" by buying my ticket.

Time to Dream and a Time to Work

2008-03-08T06:52:00.000-08:00

After the dream how do you decide where to go? When I began having “my dream” I knew the population I wanted to work with; children and women affected by AIDS. I also knew that I wanted to work within a setting where I could have some autonomy in what I taught and how I taught. The last criterion I operated from was I did not want to go with a “tourist/volunteer organization. After looking into several of them it appeared to be less about the people you were there to help and more about making money from the Americans/Europeans that they could get to sign onto the tour. I wanted to become part of the place that I was working without it costing me more money than I could truly afford. Safety was an overarching theme as well so I didn’t even explore opportunities in some countries; I’ll save that for the young ones.
I found this amazing site called www.idealist.com and began my search. This site has a wealth of information on all types of places and organizations that are making a difference in this world in which we live. From this website I found Meru Peak School.
I contacted Scott Morgan and within days he had sent me back an excited email and telling me about the school and the people that run it.
I contacted many other schools and orphanages, but it became clear that Meru Peak was going to be the best fit for me.
I have included several websites that help explain and describe Meru Peak School.

http://www.changemakers.net/en-us/node/4078

http://www.volunteermatch.org/orgs/org80590.html

http://www.huntingdogsafaris.com/

http://mopfa.org/MPS%20Final%20Draft.pdf

Now I needed to figure out when I was going and how was I going to get there…..

Yes We Can!!

2008-02-07T12:21:00.000-08:00

On The First Day There Was Fright, and it was good.

2008-01-30T12:23:00.000-08:00

The next step in getting to the dream is to get a Passport and Visa.
The passport I had, the Visa I didn’t. I have to check and see if I need a letter from the school in order to get the Visa, Tanzania is getting more selective in who teaches in their country now.

I am fortunate that I live near a major university, my Alma Mater, Michigan State University. Within MSU they have a travel clinic which assists travels in being current on their vaccines while traveling to different parts of the world.

Their website was very helpful. http://www.travelclinic.msu.edu/beforeappt/index.html
It also has links to the Center for Disease Control, CDC, website which has all of the agonizing details and hazards of traveling to a third world country.

Wow is there a lot of material. Did you know the Traveler’s Diarrhea as an acronym? TD, who knew?

In summary what I have learned so far about visiting a third world country is: Don’t eat anything that hasn’t been cooked to sun surface hot and served to you at that temperature. Don’t eat any fresh fruits or vegetables unless you, yourself, wash them in clean water and then peel them yourself. The knife at that point has been contaminated and you must then disinfect that somehow, I am thinking more boiling water for at least 1 full minute.
Never eat anything from a street vendor, just smile and keep on going. Don’t drink any water ever. Only drink bottled water or water that you put through a nine-point disinfection regiment. Apparently the filter systems on the market are ok, but you have to analyze the “pore size”. Microns matter. Mosquito netting is a good thing especially if it has some insecticide infused in it, but all of the websites want you to contact them directly for pricing. What is up with that? I’ll let you know if I have to buy in bulk and if they price according to income level or country in which you reside. The good news through all of these days of cramping, bloating, and loose stools is that beer and wine appear to be safe to drink. As long as you don’t pour them into another container and never add ice. Drink them straight from the bottle or can, whipping off the can or bottle with alcohol preps first.

OK, I must admit that the CDC website was a little scary and not too shy on the, Oh My God, are you kidding me, scale. Thank goodness I decided to call the MSU travel clinic and set up my first appointment right away. The steady and non-hysterical voice on the other end of the phone was very reassuring and when I told my destination was Tanzania there was no intake of air or “are you sure” response so I felt mollified. My first appoint is in two weeks and they said they could draw blood to see what I was immune to and therefore could stream-line my vaccines, amazing.

In the beginning their were children singing, always.

2008-01-26T12:48:00.000-08:00

Have you ever dreamed of a place where you have never been? Or of a people whom you have never met? I have; over and over and over. It began in my twenties I would sleep and hear children singing and giggling in between the words, which were not English words. I would always smile back and feel as if I were home. As time went on I could see their faces: bright, yearning, hopeful, and beckoning. As I attended college and later raised my own children I came to realize who these children were…..my future students. You see I am a teacher by profession and a searcher of soul fulfillment by destiny. With my children mostly raised, I still have a 16 year old at home, my dream is about to become actualized. I am excited and curious to see if the dream and the reality are the same.