TravelStream™ news feed for member gingerschilling on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/gingerschilling en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 01 Aug 2009 02:42:06 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1249107976/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1249107976/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1249107976/tpod.html Sat, 01 Aug 2009 02:42:06 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Coronado, California, United States

Although I cannot say that there was no crying when I said my good-byes, I did not weep like last year when I cried so hard that I sounded like a pig (according to Stellah). As soon as the plane landed in San Diego, my eyes surprisingly filled and a true avalanche of tears threatened to emerge. I am ashamed to admit that it was not sorrow that caused the reaction but an intense feeling of relief, immediately followed by extreme guilt. "I can't do this now, “ I said to myself and pushed the sobs inside. Unfortunately I think this is where most of these feelings and unshed tears still reside.

I will admit this summer’s blog was not as forthcoming as last year’s writings. There was a lot of tension between the volunteers and Joel. And as Joel does spend a considerable amount of time at the internet café, I did not want to risk him reading my extremely negative thoughts about him. Since his erratic behavior only increased after I left, I know this was the right decision. And I still feel the need to protect Leah by not posting the true extent of the drama online. Without sharing all the details, I apparently did get my feelings of stress, frustration and concern across. This is evident when those that followed this blog tend to be pretty gentle when they ask me about the trip. And the truth is that I have not quite figured out how I feel about all that has happened.

Currently, there are no volunteers at Hands of Mercy and Kids Worldwide is deciding if they will continue to sponsor a volunteer program there. As much as I hated to do it, I had to respond to Kids Worldwide’s survey honestly. I had to tell them that the situation with Joel has deteriorated to such an extent that it is unfair, if perhaps unsafe, for unprepared volunteers. As soon as I hit the send button on the email, some tears escaped as the guilt consumed me. I absolutely do not want to take the volunteers away from the children, but as I answered question after question I knew that it was the only conclusion I could make. But how does that make me feel? Guilty, devastated, so furious with Joel that I wish I could banish him from the planet. I guess I mostly feel powerless. We worked so hard to find solutions to a lot of the challenges at the orphanage. However, one way or another Joel thwarted all of them. This is when the anger resurfaces as I question for the thousandth time why he prevents us from helping. I feel like thrashing my arms around and screaming while throwing and kicking things--well mainly kicking Joel. I hate being angry. It is such a draining emotion, but I am mad, really mad, in fact, livid is probably a better word. But just when those feelings becomes too much I feel powerless and guilty and sad all over again. And if any tears find their way out, a disconcerting numbness quickly takes over until I am angry that not only has Joel managed to undo years of work, but I cannot even cry about it. I think I desperately need to cry. I am not talking about the quiet gently flowing cry, but the throw yourself on the floor and sob until your whole body aches kind of cry. I will carry those children with me for the rest of my life, but I cannot carry all these other heavy emotions around. Acceptance is a hard thing to achieve when there are so many unknowns. I have no idea what will happen to the children or the orphanage for that matter. And our plan to slowly relocate the children has been denied by Joel. So, I wait to see what happens.

My husband comes home tomorrow. I have not seen him in seven months, and I am so excited to see him. I feel as if I have been waiting forever to see him. I had so hoped that I would have this sorted out. I want to be free from this baggage once he returns. In fact, this late night blog writing is a desperate attempt to release the demons. I thought that if I just tried to put these thoughts on paper then maybe the waterworks would follow. A slightly damp tissue sits next to me, but it seems the drought will continue. So I wait to cry.

Despite the many challenges, I stand by my earlier statement that I am truly grateful I made this second journey. I would have always regretted not seeing the children again if the orphanage is closed, something I am beginning to accept as a likely conclusion. As I know I have communicated the challenges I experienced this year, I also truly hope that I expressed the beauty, the strength, and the spirit that is the children at Hands of Mercy. I hope I made it clear that I am undoubtedly a better person for knowing them. Although the negative emotions have recently dominated, I think of the children a lot and smile and laugh. And actually as I write this now, the feelings of happiness and love make their way to the forefront. I know this will be the enduring emotion that I tie my life-long memories of Tanzania to. But for now, I will wait to see how long it lasts.

I realized today perhaps my emotional difficulties lie in the fact that I am lacking my emotional support. Maybe I just need my husband and a really, really big hug and safe, strong arms where I can surrender all my feelings. Although I do need to cry, I now fear that the sight of Mike might unleash two months worth of pent-up emotions. I certainly did not want that on tomorrow’s agenda. On the other hand, maybe I will take one look at my wonderful man and know it will all be OK. I spent six weeks unconditionally loving those amazing children. And it just occurred to me that maybe I haven’t been waiting to cry. Maybe, just maybe I have simply been waiting to love again.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248751203/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248751203/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248751203/tpod.html Mon, 27 Jul 2009 23:28:58 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Nairobi, Nairobi Area, Kenya

The flight from Mwanza to Nairobi arrived at eleven am on Sunday morning. Physically exhausted, emotionally drained and fairly dirty, I thought the afternoon would be best spent in the hotel relaxing after a a good meal. In addition, I was very much looking forward to a proper shower. Jackie agreed to this plan as she needed to watch her spending. Patrick, my now regular Kenyan taxi driver, picked Jackie and I up at the airport, greeting us with bug hugs. He enthusiastically asked about the children as we drove away from the airport. He then wanted to know our plans while in Nairobi. I told him where we were staying and that we did not fly out until late the next day. I explained that we were tired and were going to rest today, but definitely wanted to tour around on Monday. We still weren’t sure what we wanted to do, and I asked Patrick for suggestions. On our way through Nairobi in May, Patrick had told me about the many coffee plantations in the area. As I teach a bit about coffee in class, I asked about the possibility of visiting one of these.

“There is one by my village,” Patrick enthusiastically shared. “I grew up picking coffee. I can show you.” He explained that it was only fourteen kilometers away and asked if we wanted to go now. Although I was looking forward to the hotel, I also knew that it may be too early to checki into our room. “So, we’ll go see coffee and then to the hotel,” Patrick declared. On the way, We stopped at an extremely western convenience store where he wanted to buy us a hot dog and a soda. Although I had been meticulously watching what I was eating, I did not want to be rude and I did not know when we would be eating lunch. I had managed my goal of no soda in Tanzania, but had to admit the caffeine in the Coke was much appreciated.

After fifteen minutes, Patrick pulled up next to the small , simple church where his wife was attending service. A dozen children played in the yard and they ran up excitedly to the car when they saw us inside. We heard the familiar cry of “Mzungu.“ Patrick parked the car and exited. I then realized that we were going into the service. Jackie and I glanced nervously at each other knowing that our entrance was not going to go unnoticed. Many parishioners stopped and stared as we quickly slipped into a pew. After a minute, I realized the service was being translated from Swahili to English and was surprised that I did not notice this at first. However, later Patrick explained they switched from a Swahili and Kikuyu service (the Kikuyu are Kenya’s largest ethnic group) to Swahili and English after our arrival. I thought how many churches in the US would switch languages just because two unannounced foreigners arrived. I looked at the program and saw the church service was almost four hours long, but luckily we were sitting in the last sermon which would be followed by announcements.

During the announcements, Patrick passed on a request for us to introduce ourselves to the congregation and explain why we were in Kenya. I was a little skeptical, but knew there really was no getting out of this. Jackie and I made our way to the front and a microphone was thrust into my face. “Hello, My name is Ginger and I live in California in the US. I am a teacher and I have been teaching orphans in Tanzania for the last six weeks. We are visiting Nairobi before flying home tomorrow.” As a man translated, I turned to Jackie, assuming it was now her turn. However, the microphone was again placed in front of me. “Tell us how you know Jesus.” “Oh, Jesus,” went through my head,” if you exist you have to be laughing at me right now” If I had to pick a label to describe myself, I guess if would be agnostic. I do not think I would say that I do not believe a God exists, but I do not believe in any particular faith as I can not support one faith being “right” and others as “wrong”. However, I did not feel that standing before a Christian congregation in Kenya was the appropriate time to discuss my thoughts on religion. Since I am not sure there is a God to damn me for lying in a church, I responded, “ From my parents and our church growing up.” and hoped that was an acceptable answer. Jackie gave a similar spiel and just as I was relaxing, the microphone reappeared. “Do you know any songs? Can you sing for us?” My own mother has told me that I have a horrible singing voice, and singing publicly is something I simply refuse to do. My eyes widened in horror and the congregation roared with laughter. However, the terror on my face was enough for us to be excused.

After the service, many of the parishioners warmly greeted Jackie and I shaking our hands. Patrick introduced us to his wife and then drove us to his home for lunch. His adult children John and Pauline also came over accompanied by Pauline’s adorable baby and her childhood friend Although Patrick’s children’s English was a bit more limited than his, we managed some small talk while enjoying some rice and beans and sprite. After lunch we watched some Christian music television before Patrick asked if we were ready to go see the coffee.

We walked about fifteen minutes through his village, which was much more densely packed than Buswelu until we reached the extensive coffee grounds. The plantation was quite beautiful set on a hillside draining into a large lake. Worker housing and production buildings sat on the opposite hill. We walked into the lines of coffee tress while Patrick told us how much he hated picking coffee when he was younger. He explained how it was very difficult work for very little money. Bugs would often bite him as he would carefully try to only pluck the dark red coffee beans leaving the green ones to ripen. He would have to lug the increasingly heavy bag of beans around. I explained the concept of fair trade coffee to him. I do not know if it was the language barrier or his experience in Kenya but he did not seem to believe me that coffee pickers could get paid decent wages. He informed me that workers he knew were lucky if they made a few dollars a day, but most probably averaged less than two dollars a day.

We then walked to Patrick’s friend’s house to see their zero-graze cows. The couple were very excited to see us explaining that they saw us at church earlier. They were watching a Kikuyu comedy and the husband translated as the wife brought us soda and cake. Refusing was out of the question despite being already completely full of food and soda. Luckily, they agreed to let Jackie and I share a Tangawizi (Ginger soda) and a piece of cake. The video finished, but our host restarted it so we could watch from the beginning. After the show and refreshments were finished we walked outside to check out the livestock. Zero-graze is a way for people to utilize animals, especially milking cows, in areas where land is scarce. All feed is brought to the cows who remain in their stalls. Although this method would be frowned upon in the animal rights community, it does allow the urban dwellers an additional income and provides the area with milk that otherwise may not be accessible.

Patrick’s friend (whose name escapes me now) then told us, he wanted to introduce us to his brother, who was the pastor for a different church. I was beginning to feel like an item of show and tell, but agreed. We walked up to the house and noticed a lot of children playing outside. Patrick’s friend, introduced us to his beautiful daughter, Veronica, who happened to be standing at the door. She welcomed us and ushered us inside. We entered the living room and realized some sort of church service was in progress. About thirty people sat in chairs and couches facing the front of the living room. A well-dressed couple stood in front of a man, I presumed to be the pastor. Our arrival literally left he speechless and he stuttered and stammered as Veronica led us to two seats in the front row. I could feel my face turning bright red and I hoped we were not interrupting a wedding. The man attempted to regain his thoughts but was obviously still flabbergasted as the congregation began to laugh at him. He turned to a young man and asked him to translate as his English was “not good”. He then explained his surprise to see us and asked us to introduce ourselves. Here we go again. I gave the same introduction and was very relieved when there was no questions about my relationship with Jesus. After Jackie introduced herself, the ceremony continued. I realized the man speaking was a parishioner who was blessing the pastor and his wife, so the pastor in turn could bless his flock. After the pastor received the blessing, he faced everyone. He welcomed Jackie and I and told us how there are no accidents. He believed Jackie and I were brought into the church for a reason and then he warmly included us as he blessed everyone. Although not my religion, I reasoned that I probably needed a blessing after everything that had happened at the orphanage and the future challenges of moving on when I arrived home. I settled in comfortably to receive all that was offered.

After the blessing was completed, the pastor dismissed everyone, but asked Patrick, Jackie and I to stay for tea. His wife prepared the drinks while his nephew went and bought some grilled corn for us to snack on. Since I had been eating all day, this was unnecessary but I politely accepted. The pastor asked how we knew Patrick and I explained that he was the driver for one of my best friend’s good friend and his family. We talked for a while before Patrick announced that we had to get home for dinner. We walked back to his home, and I was thankful for the full moon illuminating our path. It was also beautiful and of course I thought of Stellah.

Back at Patrick’s home, the women were beginning to prepare the meal. Jackie and I offered to help. They seemed amused by this and were impressed at our ability to chop vegetables and stir. Pauline asked us how many servants we had at home. We laughed, and they were quite surprised to learn that we had none. “You cook and clean and wash clothes?” she asked. I said yes, but explained that we had machines to help. Patrick’s wife speaks very little English and only some Swahili, so she was the hardest to communicate with. I had also felt that she was a little uncomfortable about our visit, but this all melted away as we cooked together.

When the onion, tomato, cabbage and beef dish was finished we carried plates into the sitting room where Patrick and his son were waiting. I was happily surprised to see Veronica and another young man also there. Veronica explained that we were the first Americans they had ever met and Pauline nodded in agreement. I better understood all the fuss, and I hoped I had represented well. I was not at all hungry , but the dinner proved delicious, despite the Mzungu cooks. While we were eating, Patrick invited us to wash after dinner. I thanked him, but told him we could wait until the hotel. “But you are sleeping here,” he told me, “you and Jackie are our guests.” As I completely trust Patrick , I did not feel any apprehension, just surprise at the vast extent of the Kenyan hospitality.

As Jackie and I laid in the guest bed that night, I remembered last year when Patrick drove me to the airport. I was mesmerized by the full moon that night too and did not really register one of Patrick’s statements. “When you come again to Kenya, you will stay with me and my family.” Patrick is definitely a man of his word. On that last night in Africa, I went to sleep feeling exhausted but blessed.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248230945/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248230945/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1248230945/tpod.html Tue, 21 Jul 2009 23:30:12 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania


I woke on my last morning to the children singing their morning worship. I tried not to think this would be the last time I would wake to this sound, but could not help myself from the obvious thought. Lina crawled out of bed, and I followed quickly changing back into my skirt and T-shirt. I had spent the night earlier in the week and slept with Stellah, who drug me to their morning church service in my pajamas. I felt quite embarrassed even though I reasoned that my fish pajama bottoms could represent a Christian symbol. As I entered the service this Saturday morning, I realized Wednesday self-consciousness might have been unnecessary since Angelo was worshipping naked from the waist down. Although church at six am is admittedly not my favorite thing, on my last day I was happy to be a part of their daily ritual. After church concluded, the children scrambled off to collect wood and begin on other preparations for the day's party.

Last weekend while in the Serengeti office I had discovered how inexpensive it is for Tanzanians to enter the National Parks. It would cost less than fifty cents for most of the children’s entrance fees. Outside of school and church, the children rarely leave the orphanage and I wanted to give them an exciting experience. Although other resources were scarce, I could justify spending a couple hundred dollars on a stimulating adventure. Gloria and I had spent some time during the week trying to arrange transport to park but unfortunately could not find a bus company that would give us an affordable rate. I was pretty disappointed, as I wanted to do something special for the children. I asked Gloria if we could throw a party at the orphanage instead. I knew the children had not had such a feast in a while as Gloria had to go investigate food prices for the "specialty" items. I had given Gloria money on Friday and could see things were in full preparation as I left the orphanage Saturday morning. I felt a little guilty to see the children's extra chores, but also knew that Gloria and Joel had forbidden parties at our house despite the additional work a party at their house required.

I spent the morning at our house with Jackie and Leah as the other volunteers had gone grocery shopping in town. We exercised and were quite tickled as Ema, dressed in this horrible mesh shirt, joined in. I then packed my bag in preparation for Sunday’s early morning flight. Jackie and I headed back to the orphanage early in the afternoon, and I lugged a separate bag full of clothes for the older girls. Jackie and I walked silently for a while as we both dreaded the good-byes that would follow the party. Trying to lighten the mood, I suggested we name the things we would not miss on our return home.

“Being stared at all the time and called Mzungu,” Jackie quickly stated.

“Joel,” I added followed by “Perpetual dirty feet.”

The distraction worked as the list grew. Roosters crowing all the time, biweekly bucket baths with dirty water, dirty fingernails, lack of running water, the toilet at the orphanage, walking around cow manure, washing our clothes by hand and mosquitoes were just some of the things that made the list. However, we both knew the unspoken list of what we would miss was much longer and more important.

The party set-up was still continuing as we entered the orphanage. The walls had been draped with cloth and stuffed animals and a few fake flowers peppered the room as additional decorations. Good-bye messages to Jackie and I were propped on the dolls and flowers that served as centerpieces on the table. I dropped off the clothes in the closet and went searching fro Stellah. I easily found Stellah in her bunk playing with the few Barbie dolls the girls possessed. I told her I had put my clothes in the closet and she immediately jumped up to see what I’d brought. In no time, she was grabbing the items she wanted for herself in spite of my urgings to share. She grabbed my purse, my beanie, and the raincoat and then began trying on other things. She then rolled some of the clothes into a ball and still wearing the beanie, raincoat, and one of my skirts bolted back to the bedroom. Jackie took one look at her as she ran through the sitting room and called hello to “Ginger.” The other girls noticed what was going on and dashed after Stellah. A couple minutes later, I walked into the bedroom which now looked like a fitting room. I warned them that I would take back everything if there were any fighting; however, it seemed that Big Pendo had everything under control. Jackie seized the opportunity to change into a traditional African outfit she’s had made. The girls loved her bright black and yellow top and matching skirt and praised her enthusiastically. When we walked back into the main area, the other children also oozed and awed over Jackie’s new attire, and it seemed her festive outfit helped set a festive mood. Caz and Andrew pulled out a bowling set to play with the children, and once Gloria set a bag of balloons in the room, the party was in full swing. The fact that balloons managed to entertain the children for the next hour and a half just reinforced my love for them.

By mid-afternoon, the food was ready. The children sat wide-eyed as huge piles of pilau, beef, potatoes and cabbage were dished onto their plates. Even the smallest children were given enormous portions, and I was amazed as they eagerly ate every bite. When all the children had been served, we too were given food. Despite my protests, I received an extremely generous portion of food. In fact, my plate was so heavy that I struggled to balance it on my lap, and Juan laughed every time he looked at me. Although the beef was a little tough, the pilau and cabbage were absolutely delicious. However, it would be impossible for me to finish all of it. I had only eaten half of the food when I declared defeat. “Karibu chakula yangu” (welcome to my food) I called to the children. Although they had already consumed equally large portions, several of the children including little Baraka rushed over. Hands reached out rapidly removing the food. In less than a minute, in a manner worthy of professional eating contests, my plate was clean.

Seizing the rare opportunity that all the children were in one place, we ushered them outside for a group photo. Juan and Andrew served as the photographers and Caz attempted to put the children in order. I initially stood in the back between Stellah and Pendo then Juan directed me center stage. As one can imagine getting fifty-one children to stand still and smile for a photo was quite difficult. And I just had to laugh as the little one excitedly waved balloons while the older ones got annoyed when the balloons whacked them in the face.

While the pictures were being taken, Gloria set out eight loaf cakes and once again the children gathered for another special treat. As I had been asked several times when I was coming back, I felt the need to make a statement to all the children and asked Gloria to translate. “Thank you for welcoming me back. It has been so wonderful to see all of you again. I wish I could have stayed longer. I came as soon as I finished teaching. But my husband, who has been gone since January, is coming home next week. I miss him too and want to see him. I love you all so very much,” I choked back the sob forcing its way up the back of my throat and continued, “and I will miss you. I hope to come again to Tanzania, but my husband and I want to have a baby soon too.” I broadly swooped my hand across my stomach indicating pregnancy and the children laughed. “ I will miss you all very much and love you forever.” I blew kisses at the children and as I made my way to my seat, several of the children reached their hands out to mine and told me they loved me too. Gloria asked me to cut the cake and I signaled to Jackie for help. I could not imagine the children consuming another bite, but of course I was proved wrong. While the children ate, Gloria turned on the radio. I was excited for the dancing to begin, but noticed Stellah sneaking away obviously upset.

I followed her into the bedroom where she stood crying. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly. Tears began to stream down my face. Stellah and I truly have a different relationship than the ones I share with the other children. In all honesty, she is my friend, a very good friend. Earlier in the trip, I had discussed helping her come to America when she was older. I told her I truly believed that I would see her again. “But we will be old,” she sobbed, “you will probably have white hair.” I laughed although I still cried. I asked to see all my contact information that I had given her last year. She still had it, and I told her I would update it each time we moved. I instructed her to contact my parents if we did happen to lose touch. I told her that she was my BFF and explained what they meant. She seemed to like that BFF was a special code that none of the other children would understand, and she smiled. However, a minute later, she was crying again. We sat on the bed and I held her close as she cried. I promised her I would never forget her though I understood the source of her self-doubt. Her sobbing increased, and I wracked my brain for something to make her feel better. “Stellah, you know the moon right?” I checked as I did not know the Swahili word. She nodded and looked at me curiously. “Every time you see the moon think of me, and every time I see it I will think of you.” Miraculously this seemed to work, and she began to calm down. I could hear the music in the other room. “Stellah, there is a party going on. Let’s go have some fun and be sad later.” She shook her head. I gave her a hug and a kiss and a kiss. “Please come join us in a few minutes.” I told her.

Unfortunately as Gloria was playing some mellow church music, the dance scene was pretty lame and after a couple of songs I headed outside where most of the children were gathered. I had not really utilized the video option on my camera and began taking videos of the children encouraging them to say hello to my husband. Like children anywhere, they were delighted to watch themselves and multiple videos of them were taken as they asked my husband to come to Tanzania and told him they loved him. I then asked them to sing and dance for me, which of course they were willing to do. “Zuka” is a particularly rhythmic song accompanied by clapping and hip shaking dancing. The children love this song, but I always wondered if it was a slightly inappropriate. My thoughts were confirmed when John directed everyone to an isolated area of the yard to perform that dance. More children excitedly gathered round and participated in the fun. And of course I had to join in and the children jeered as I too wiggled my hips.

The sun was getting lower in the sky. Juan, Caz and Andrew waved good-bye, and I told Jackie we should probably start making our round of good-byes. I began inside where I found Salome sitting on the sofa with her head in her lap crying. I hugged her and rested my head on hers. Last year, the older children handled my departure easier than a lot of those in the six-to-ten-year-old range. However, I suspected the older ones were more aware of the fragile situation the orphanage was currently in and knew that I had been helping to make things better. I tried to comfort Salome, and then Catherine as she too sat by me upset. I knew there was little I could do, but hug them and tell them I love them. I hoped time and new volunteers would bring them comfort in the future. I worked my way around the grounds saying good-bye to other children. Last year I had told them that I did not think I would return as this is what I honestly believed and as not to give them false hope. However, my return this year made them very optimistic that they would see me in the near future. Even though I tried to tell them I did not think I could come back, they told me they would see me, my husband, and our baby in the future.

As I bid my farewells to Pendo and Joy, I whispered, “Labda (maybe) me na mume (husband) to go to Australia to see you na Leah na Happy.” Pendo nodded her head grinning widely while Joy responded, “Me to go America.” I smiled and gave her a big hug and kiss. Then I walked away as we blew kisses to each other.

After all the goodbyes I had been said, Jackie and I exited the ground. “Ginger!” I turned and saw Stellah standing outside the gate. I ran back picked her up and swung her around in my arms. The desired effect worked, as she could not help but laugh. I kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her one more time. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz as she tells the scarecrow good-bye, “Stellah,“ I thought, “I will miss you most of all” As I walked away, she called my name again. I turned to see her pointing at the moon already visible in the early evening sky. I pointed too, smiling and telling myself that I would see her again. She ran back into the compound and I said to Jackie, “That was actually easier than I thought it would be,” I then looked up at the moon and sucked in a deep breath, “ but maybe this is what denial feels like."
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247192016/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247192016/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247192016/tpod.html Fri, 17 Jul 2009 20:49:35 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Ngorongoro Conservation Area, Tanzania



In the last couple of years, I have realized how many amazing things you can do by creating an opportunity to do something or simply asking someone. Last year, Leah had traveled with Ema to visit his home in Ngorongoro Crater. During their trip to Zanzibar earlier this month they had planned on stopping in Ema‘s village, but found themselves running low on time and money. Last year, my safari guide stopped at a Maasai village (Twenty Cows blog) and I was a bit perplexed as to how to judge the authenticity of that experience. Along the safari route, there are several villages that are part of Tanzania’s cultural tourist program. Apparently families decide to open their village to outsiders to educate them about the Maasai, although I have since learned that some of the villages are only open during the day then the Maasai retire to their real homes.

I was very curious about the true Maasai village and as Leah told Jackie and I about her original journey to the crater, our jealousy forced us to inquire if we could go. To our surprise, Leah responded that we may be able to do this. She informed us that as foreigners it would cost each of us $50 USD to get into the Serengeti plus an extra $30USD if we wanted to go into Ngorongoro Crater National Park. She spoke with Ema and he agreed to take Carly, Kiran, Monica, and I to his home. Perhaps Ema granted our wish because Ema knew Carly and I from our previous visits or perhaps it is because he has the most gracious heart. Ema arranged for a driver to take us and for the four day journey for $90 each. Leah explained that a gift to the village of two goats was an appropriate hostess gift and luckily Ema arranged for his brother to handle this on our behalf.

On Friday, June 26, we awoke a little after 5 am and none of us were on our best behavior as we packed the Land Cruiser and loaded up the car. There was some petty bickering along the way but two hours later we arrived at the western gate of the Serengeti. We had to pass through Serengeti National Park to get to Ngorongoro Conservation area, and discovered at the Welcome Center that we needed to pay an extra $50 to return through the park on Monday. Since we only brought so many US dollars and my other travel companions operated on a very tight travel budget this news caused a little anxiety. Fortunately, the park admission could be paid by credit card and once I offered to front the money, the decision to precede was quickly reached. We entered the park gates, and the stress and tension present earlier lifted as we encountered giraffe, elephants and thousands of wildebeest and zebras. We periodically paused along the dirt road to snap photos and admire the wildlife and five hours later we reached the eastern gate.

I remembered from last year the existence of a small grocery, and we headed off in search of different snacks and treats than we have found in Mwanza. Leah told us we would be given goat to eat, but further advised us to bring along plenty of food and water. The day before we had purchased peanut butter, bread, crackers, and lots of fruit for the journey. But that didn’t stop us from picking up a few more things to nibble on. As we ate our snacks, Ema pulled on my arm, “You na me to go to pay permit.” I was a bit confused. I knew we were about to enter the Ngorongoro Conservation Area and that we were still quite a distance from Ngorongoro Crater National Park. Although I went down into the crater on my safari last year, I had happily agreed to see it again one morning and had brought the $30 required. However, I did not think we needed to purchase that permit until we were arrived at the park. I followed Ema into the Serengeti Office where he had been talking with one of the staff. I was shown the information that a permit to get into the Conservation Area was $50 per day. We had planned to spend three nights in Ema’s village and this would be an additional $150 each. I knew I was able and willing to pay for this once in a lifetime experience, but suspected my housemates were not. I hesitantly approached the group. A tourist at the park had shared the news of Michael Jackson’s death and they were discussing the unexpected news from the outside world. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” I began as I explained the situation to them. I knew this would not be well received, but I was still surprised at the amount of stress this created. After spending quite a while listening to the other girls anxiously debate what to do, I finally stepped away as the decision had to be made by those more financially taxed then myself. As Leah had made this journey before, Ema himself was puzzled as to the confusion and kept apologizing to me. Carly, who is grieving the recent loss of her mother and sometimes has difficult days, was especially thin skinned and I felt awful when I realized she began to cry. After multiple discussions with the park attendant and multiple decision changes among the girls, we decided to continue to the crater but cut our visit short by a day.

Two hours after arriving at the eastern gate we passed into the Conservation Area and were welcomed by waving Maasai young males. Last year, the drive through this area was one of the highlights of my trip. I love seeing the mud huts and the landscape dotted with the red and purple blankets wrapped around the walking Maasai. While the Serengeti is remotely flat and perhaps what one pictures when they think of Africa in general, the Conservation Area consists of rolling hills and mountains. The air grew cooler as we climbed higher in elevation and I smiled each time I saw young Maasai boys herding goats and sheep along the rugged terrain.

As we drove through the conservation area, Ema asked “Ginger, when you to come again Tanzania?” As I have been repeatedly asked this question since the first day of my return, I quickly answered that I would like to come back, but I did not know when. I supplied my usual response that my husband and I wanted to have a baby soon. Since by Tanzanian standards, I am old to be married without a child, this explanation never seems to offend the asker. A big smile appeared across his beautiful face, “Oh Ginger. You na husband na mtoto (baby) to come again to Tanzania. And me…” He wrapped his arms around himself in a bug cuddle, “for mtoto.” I realized Ema was one of my favorite people in the worls, and I thought how I would love for my family to meet him.

As we were talking, Joseph was becoming increasingly excited in the back of the SUV. He began making typical Maasai noises, “Eh Eh Eh Eh,” as he pumped his shoulders up and down. “Joseph happy to shaky shaky Maria usiku (night), Ema whispered. I glanced back at Joseph who was close to bouncing himself off the seat. “Joseph to shakey shakey chisi sana (very crazy).” I cracked up and looked again at Joseph., who was too far back to hear what we were saying. When he saw me looking at him. He grunted loudly and a wide grin crossed his face. He then gave me his signature thumbs up and in his limited English yelled, “Very Good!”. Ema and I roared with laughter and nodded in agreement that Joseph certainly was excited to see Maria.

After another couple of hours, we pulled into a small “town” containing several of the ubiquitous dukas (shops) one finds throughout the country. The only difference was this town was filled with Maasai. Although it is common sight to see young adult males working as Askaris in the city, it was a new experience to see a nothing but Maasai men and women shopping and visiting in the street. Joseph and Ema jumped out of the car to purchase gifts for their mothers. The already surreal experience was intensified when the driver turned on the radio and blared Thriller.

Shortly thereafter we pulled up to a cluster of three mud huts surrounding a thorny brush cattle corral. A large group of Maasai men, women and children were waiting to greet us,. As soon as we exited the vehicle, the women formed a circle and began to sing and dance welcoming us to their home. At home, Ema and Joseph frequently sing the throaty chants that comprise Maasai singing, but I had never heard or seen the women’s version. The women sang in a circle as two entered the middle jumping and spinning. Children gathered to watch and even though flies often rested on their faces, they smiled shyly but happily.

Soon the men started dancing too. They formed a large U-shape and two or three would stand in the middle and leap high enter the area again and again. The welcoming performances were absolutely stunning and as we stood in between the dancing men and the dancing women, it was utterly overwhelming just trying to decide who to watch., Then the children began to sing and dance too, and I felt like I was turning in circles trying to take it all in. And of course, I had to eventually join in, thrusting my shoulders forward as I bounced with the men. Fortunately for everyone, I refrained from joining in the singing.

The sun began to set and a golden hue was cast over everything, The temperature was dropping and I was thankful for the winter hat and coat I had purchased at Mwanza’s used clothing market. I pulled on the warmer clothes and shoved my flashlight and some toilet paper into my pocket. As the ceremony commenced as soon as we arrived and it had been several hours since the Serengeti, I was now desperate to relieve my bladder. Ema had been continually whisked from relative to friend, but I finally found him and he pointed down a path into the brush that serves as the toilet.

As darkness settled in and the Maasai blankets and winter clothes no longer blocked the chill, we settled into Ema’s mud hit. The doorway was short and Ema had to stoop low to step inside, although inside the roof was quite high. The circular hut was divided into several compartments. The door opened into a small area directly opposite from a wall, I assume to block the chill when people entered. A long narrow coral stood to the right and housed Ema’s baby calf at night. We entered the main room, and Ema lit a paraffin lamp and the room glowed. A very small table and a fire pit stood in the center. In the left corner, a raised platform served as a small bed. And next to that an arched entryway opened into a slightly larger sleeping area. Ema laid our blankets from the house over the animal skins and placed our bags in the corner of the “bedrooms.” Ema offered us chai and as the wind howled outside, I was amazed at how cozy it was inside the hut.

Ema’s mother, Mama Susanna came in to welcome us again and thank us for coming. She took each of our hands into hers and held them into the air thanking Jesus for our visit. Ema exited the hut and came back handing as a small transistor radio and disappearing again. The Swahili speaking newscaster reported the death of Michael Jackson. One of my lectures at school is about the spread of American popular culture around the world. I had to laugh at this prime example as Billie Jean blared from a radio inside a mud hut in a remote Maasai village.

We listened to the radio as we waited for Ema to bring us our dinner. The men had killed one of the goats earlier and then in Maasai tradition drank some of the blood mixed with milk. The men they cooked the goat and ate their share before giving food to the women who eat separately. It was close to nine o’clock when Ema returned with a large plate of goat. I have had goat before and have never been impressed. However, I must say these Maasai men can cook. Ema placed the grilled goat onto the table and eating with out hands we helped ourselves to the delicious pieces.

After dinner, I made one last visit to the bush then called into the little cave where Monica, Jackie and I were to sleep. The area was not very wide nor long and we discovered that the three of us spooning was the best position for sleep. I was exhausted and managed to sleep better than expected although I did wake up several times with aching pains from the hard bed and little bites from the bed bugs. At about seven am, the calf, hungry for her mother’s milk, began to moo loudly and the noise echoed throughout the hut. Then the small kitten began to meow loudly as I woke and remembered where I was.

Ema came into the hut waving some paperwork. I realized he had found Leah’s permit from a year and a half earlier and wanted us to check it to see if it was “same same’ as ours. The paperwork confirmed that Leah’s group had been charged the same. I was not angry with Leah for forgetting the details, but was very touched by Ema’s offer to go the police if we had been cheated.

Ema brought us some Chai for breakfast, and I made half a peanut butter sandwich. The air was still chilly and he explained he wanted to wait a few hours until it warmed up before taking us on a “big walk.”

At about eleven we set off for on a walking safari. Ema stands tall at over six feet ,and I had to walk very quickly to keep up with him. He carried a large spear in his hand and as he saw me glance at it he raised and in the air, “In case of simba.” I knew that wild animals were a possibility and I certainly hoped to see some but wondered if I was putting too much faith in my askari friend.

We walked to several other huts along the way and were warmly welcomed and greeted. We then headed away from the scattered family clusters and walked along the edge of a very green ravine. Ema told us that elephants may be down in the ravine, but it was a long walk until we could find place to make it down. We continued to walk all the while taking in the truly African scenery. As we climbed more and more uphill, Ema began to worry about us getting tired. He steered us off towards a wooded area and found some miraa. He peeled off the casing of the plant stem, popped some in his mouth and then passed it around. It was slightly bitter with the familiar essence of green pepper. Not knowing how this herbal speed would effect me. I only chewed a couple of pieces and agreed with Ema that it had a similar effect to a cup of coffee. With a second wind, we climbed higher up the mountain and were soon rewarded with the discovery of a herd of zebra along the ridge. We walked quietly as zebra are quite skittish and managed to get a good look before they dashed off.

Joseph caught up with us at some point and loudly laughed when I asked him about Maria. He proudly showed me two new ankle bands that she had given him. I had mistaken Joseph’s feeling for Maria as simply “Shaky shaky love” but was realizing this was far more serious. After a couple of hours walking we reached a high peak overlooking Lake Eyasi and the area surrounding Ema’s home. We rested at the summit taking in the majestic views.

We arrived back at Ema’s home mid afternoon. He went to gather food for lunch, and we attempted to sit outside taking in the views and enjoying the now warm afternoon sun. However, the cow compound and its associated waste attracts large numbers of flies, so when Ema brought our food we decided it was wiser to sit inside. The simple construction keeps the hut cool by day and warm at night though dark as there is only one small slit for light. We ate our goat and boiled potatoes and commented on how worn out we were after the long walk. Ema sensing our exhaustion decided we should drive to the nearest town for a small look around. We piled into the Land Cruiser with several of Ema’s relatives. Access to the car allowed for them to make a quick trip to town for necessary supplies. The appearance of five white women accompanied by several Maasai attracted a lot of looks along with the familiar cry of ,”Mzungu.” Ema took us on a bit of a random walk showing us the source of the water supply, and then told us he would show us where people bathed. Although we were quite dirty at this point, we glanced at each other apprehensively hoping that Ema was not suggesting we bath in the river with the locals. Fortunately, he just wanted to take us on a rather awkward tour. We headed home shortly thereafter as we were all extremely fatigued. Ema’s mother was making jewelry for us and proudly hung a necklace around each of our necks.

The sun began to set and we headed into the hut. I breathed in the aroma of earth, smoke, tea and paraffin as we settled in to wait for supper. I was so tired that I could have done without supper, but when the evening’s goat was placed in front of me I found myself consuming piece after piece. We retired early, and luckily I found that my body had already begun to adjust to the hard bed.

We awoke early in the morning and gratefully accepted the morning chai. We left early so we would have time to drive to the overlook of Ngorongoro Crater National Park. Although bundled in my winter coat and hat with my kanga wrapped around my legs to provide an additional layer, I still needed to wrap myself in my Maasai blanket as we exited the car. I cuddled with Ema and overlooked the crate although it was mostly draped with clouds. I suspected the temperatures hovered just above freezing and was grateful when it was time to move on to the lower elevations of the Serengeti.

When we arrived back at the park, I quickly went into the office and charged the final entry fee to my credit card. I joined the group and as a sat down a herd of elephant began to walk through the brush about fifty feet from the campground. We stared at the magnificent creatures while Ema grabbed our lunch from the vehicle. Other tourists were spread out in the area enjoying their boxed lunches, and I had to laugh when Ema pulled out a large goat leg and began to cut off pieces with his large Maasai knife. And as we sat in the Serengeti enjoying a picnic lunch of leftover goat, Ema said, “I love you, Ginger” and popped a piece of meat into my mouth. I rested my head on his shoulder and replied in all honesty, “I love you too Ema.”


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247876358/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247876358/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1247876358/tpod.html Fri, 17 Jul 2009 20:47:58 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

“It’s the last week,” began running through my head as soon as we returned from Ema’s village. On one hand, the stress of this trip had made some days extremely long, but on the other hand I felt like I just arrived. Wanting to spend as much time with the children, but also needing to tie up loose ends made for an extremely busy week.

I was able to raise about four thousand dollars for the orphanage and wanted to spend as much as possible before leaving the country. Leah and I had bought a lot of rice, beans, flour and cooking oil earlier in the month. The market is a bit overwhelming with its row of shops under a low ceiling. It is hot with lots of flies and a place that a foreigner like me needs to keep a tight grip on my money. In addition, haggling over prices frustrates me as well as the stress involved with entrusting shopkeepers to hold onto the 100 kilo bags of food we brought while we searched for other items. The supplies Leah and I bought would last a couple of weeks, and I wanted to really stock them up before I left.

I decided this time to bring Gloria. She could do all the dirty work and I could just fork over the cash. So late Wednesday morning, I met her for a giant shopping trip. She expertly navigated the market, searching for the best quality food for the price. When she found the desired good, we would pay for it and ask if we could keep it there until we finished our shopping. Then she brilliantly pulled out a marker and labeled the bag Hands of Mercy so it would not be swapped for a lesser quality item. Even with Gloria, the shopping trip took several hours as we acquired more food stock plus salt, sugar, soap, detergent, toothpaste, school supplies etc. I do not know how long it had been since the children had used toothpaste. We also purchased a scale to monitor food as an employee recently got caught stealing food. Carrying the heavy scale we found a truck to rent and then revisited the stores with a porter to collect our goods. As the back of the tuck became piled with goods, I too sat and watched over the items as Gloria continued to fetch the rest. When the porter finished he and Gloria climbed up on the pile to protect the goods from thieves until we pulled away from the crowded market area. Gloria also offered the porter ~$4 to come with us and help unload the truck. This was another smart move as some of the bags weighed over two hundred pounds. The children were so excited and grateful when they saw the truck of goods arrive, and I am so appreciative to all my friends and family who allowed me to put those smiles on their faces.

Another mission on Friday morning took me away from the normal routine. Last year when I toured the HIV/ AIDS Community Center and Clinic (See Born Angels Blog), I had met fourteen year old, Lucia, on the streets outside. My friend, Lawreen who worked at the center, had introduced me to the beautiful girl and told me her story. Lucia, or Lucy, had lost her parents at the age of nine and was taught by other girls that selling her body was the only way to survive. Unfortunately she became pregnant and contracted HIV. When I left Tanzania last year, Lucy’s son Adamu was living at the Forever Angels Baby Orphanage, and Lawreen was desperately trying to find Lucy a home and get her off the streets. I was delighted when I arrived this summer to find Lucy living at Hands of Mercy.

Lucy is still a beautiful girl and is taking her anti-retroviral drugs and staying healthy. She is going to school although she is several grades behind since she was not enrolled in school for several years. Leah would love to get Lucy enrolled in private school, but her HIV status has made that difficult. Monica had been teaching Lucy and on the Wednesday when I was at the market with Gloria she took Lucy to see Adamu. There Monica discovered that Adamu’s birthday was the following Monday. As Monica left Friday morning, she asked me to pick up a small toy for Lucy to give her son. A market is held in the village next to Buswelu every Friday morning, so Lucy and I walked over to find a present. I gave her 4000 schilling (about $3) so she could chose how to spend it herself. Lucy looked over two different displays of stuffed animals before selecting an adorable panda bear in which she proudly purchased. I suggested we keep the stuffed animal at our house so they other children would not damage it. Lucy agreed but I could see she was very anxious to see Adamu and give him his present. I suspect she had never been able to give him a gift before. I walked the panda back to our house and packed a bag for the night.

That evening, Jackie and I were spending the night at the orphanage. Leah had offered to send Ema to walk the new volunteers, Caz, Andrew, and Juan , home so they too could stay later and play with the children. The children were all very excited although word had spread that Jackie’s and I were leaving that weekend. When I had first arrived, Stellah and Salome had asked how long I was staying and they remembered to the day. Stellah brought me an etch a sketch in which Salome had written, “Don’t leave us alone we need you Tangawizi Mzizi. We love you Ginger & Jack Love forever” I fought back the tears as I was not ready to begin the process of saying good-bye. Several of the other children brought me messages on the board until I finally had to tell them no more and that I just wanted to play. Tomorrow would be for good-byes.

The children were thrilled to have us there late, and we continued to play outside, running, dancing, singing, and yelling. We were having a wonderful time though the three new volunteers were getting hungry and wondering why Ema was taking so long to arrive. I looked at my phone and realized I had a new message from Leah. Apparently there had been some miscommunication, about forty minutes earlier I thought I was telling Leah to send Ema, and she thought I was just confirming that Ema would be able to walk them home. Being two, tall males, Juan and Andrew felt comfortable walking home and the they set off with Caz. Jackie and I continued playing outside with the children, but suddenly Joel’s younger brother Humphrey ran around the corner waving a flashlight yelling., “Ginger, Ginger, get the children inside. There are thieves outside the gate.” Stunned, I shouted for all the children and quickly ushered them inside. We nervously stood in the family room, but after a minute Gloria instructed us to head into the bedrooms. She padlocked us inside. I took a deep breath thankful the children were safe, but then it hit me…what about Caz, Andrew and Juan? I called Leah and quickly told her what happened asking her to send Ema right away. As I hung up the phone, I checked the credit on my phone and realized I was almost out. The taller girls stood by the window peeking outside. I could hear whistles blowing outside as the Maasai signaled to other Askaris for help. “Ginger, do you fear?” Stellah asked me. I told her a little as I was this was different from home, but I also worried about the other volunteers. I asked Jackie to try to call Leah, but she did not have any credit. Gloria came into the room and I shared my concerns with her. I tried my phone and had enough credit to send a message asking Leah to let me know when our friends arrived safely. Jackie and I tried to joke around with the children, but apparently our uneasiness was obvious. I tried to be nonchalant but I kept looking at my phone to see if Leah had sent a message. Maybe twenty minutes after my initial call to Leah, Gloria yelled that Ema was there. He had looked for the other volunteers on his way over, but had not found them. He was out of credit and asked me to call Leah. I told him I may have enough for a text and managed to send one off. As I looked up, I noticed that a lot of the children had gathered around also anxious to know where the other volunteers were. Ema’s phone rang as Leah told him the others were safely at home. The children started clapping and cheering, and I realized they were just as worried as I.

I changed into my pajamas realizing most of the children were getting ready for bed. I was disappointed that our fun evening had ended in such a stressful situation. Jus then my phone rang, and I happily answered the call from my parents. I passed the phone around the bedroom and let my mom talk with the girls. Judy thanked her for school and Salome invited her to the party I had planned for the following day. I handed the phone to Happy. She and Joy screamed hello and to it and passed the phone back and forth yelling “Hello! Jambo!” while they laughed. Several of the other girls said hello and I suspected my mother was crying when I said good-bye to her. I laid in bed with Lina and wished Mike could have said hello to the children. I also wondered how difficult tomorrow’s good-bye would be. I was glad my mom told me she would be sending me strength as I realized I would probably need it.

To see Amadu go to http://www.foreverangels.org/index.php?source=children/children.html&transform=stylesheet.xsl&pageName=children&noCache=true&childNickname=adamu


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1246359115/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1246359115/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1246359115/tpod.html Tue, 30 Jun 2009 06:54:08 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

Last year when I arrived, the well at our house was empty. We paid two young men to bring cartfuls of water from another well and then paid the Maasai to fill the tank on our roof. This year, I arrived to a house with leaking pipes. As it was too wasteful to fill the tank, my new housemates were bringing in buckets of water from the well and filling bins and basins inside the house. During my first week, a plumber came and reportedly fixed the problem; however once we began to fill the tank we realized one of the sinks still leaked. Almost a month later , now with ninety percent of our water gone, we are still bringing in buckets of water to meet all our needs.

Today Leah, Carly and I were doing one of our daily water relays. Leah was pulling up the water and pouring it into other bins for Carly and I to bring into the house. At one point, Carly chucked the bucket into the well and almost lost the rope. Using a joking tone, Leah scolded her for her carelessness. On the next round, we were laughing and talking and when Leah threw the bucket down the well she forgot to stomp on the rope. We all gasped and bent over the well to watch the rope and the bucket fall about thirty feet down the well. Although I have been concerned with the diminishing water supply, this proved to our advantage as the bucket caught on the edge of the rim that has begun to emerge on the bottom,

Usually whenever we have a crisis, we call Ema for help; however, we had sent Ema to buy a chicken for our dinner. We looked around and saw several sticks laying around the well. Carly grabbed the longest one she could find and I ran inside to fetch another rope. Unfortunately none of the sticks were deep enough to reach the bottom of the well, but we decided to tie the rope to the longest stick and try to hook the rope on the stick. After a couple of failed attempts to retrieve the sticks, I noticed another stick with a short branch jutted off forming a hook. Leah had rejected this stick as she believes it was once used to unclog a sewage pipe. Jackie had ventured out to see what we were doing and we sent her back inside to get rubber gloves. Carly pulled on the rubber gloves, in case the stick was covered in invisible waste, and attempted to tie the original stick to the new one. I remembered I had duct tape in the house which I grabbed to securely fasten the sticks together.

I quickly bound the duct tape around the sticks and declared it ready. I do not know why, but Carly looked at me in surprise. "Oh my God, are we going to do this right now. Leah and I glanced at each other puzzled and then at Carly "Ah, yeah," Leah replied as I asked "Were you hoping for a little foreplay?" Carly started laughing and we pitched the rope down the well.
"Oh, just put in in," we joked.
"Deeper."
"A little to the left."
"Yes, right there," as the stick managed to catch on the rope.
"Oh that's good."
"Almost there," and the bucket came closer to the top of the well.
"Oh My God." We clapped and cheered as Leah pulled the bucket out.
"We could so be Maasai," Leah pronounced and I declared, "Tonight we will feast." As our rescue mission was now cutting into afternoon class time, we rushed off to the orphanage.

Carly's friend, Kiran, arrived from England today bringing several bras for the older girls. After greeting the children, I ventured into the girls' room where Carly was handing out the bras. The girls were so excited, and I demanded a fashion show. They stated at me strangely so I put a bra on over my shirt and pranced around runway style. Some of the younger girls eagerly grabbed the bras and tried them on, while the intended recipients giggled shyly. Ten year old Neema chose a particular large bra and I was very amused to see she stuffed half of it with the bag which Carly had brought the bras in. Stellah was particularly fond of a black polka dot bra even though she would have to wait a bit longer to grow into it. Borrowing one of Monica's pectoral exercises, I instructed Stellah to repeat it one hundred times a day and chant, "I must, I must I must increase my bust." She and several of the other girls began to chant and exercise with me. Although I believe Stellah knew I was joking, I later saw Neema walking around the yard doing the exercise and silently mouthing the mantra.

I left the orphanage slightly early to help Leah get our special supper ready. Leah and Ema were just firing up our makeshift barbecue when I walked through the gate. Although the power was out, thanks to our kerosene camping stove, I was able to boil water for some instant mashed potatoes and then sauté onion, garlic, tomatoes and spinach in some olive oil. On Saturday night, when Leah and Carly were slightly intoxicated, they had called Ema and asked him to pick up a bottle of white wine for them. They were pretty disappointed when they returned from Tilapia to discover he had bought Vermouth instead. As Ema carried in our grilled chicken, I finished the spinach dish, Leah stirred the potatoes and Carly mixed an experimental cocktail. As I hesitantly sampled the vermouth concoction, I was very pleased to find the mango juice and fruit slices the perfect compliment to the alcohol. Leah tried the drink and deciding it was worthy of a special Tanzanian name, called it the "Mzungu." We sat down to a candlelit dinner, raised our glasses and Leah toasted to, "The Girls."



]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245580483/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245580483/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245580483/tpod.html Tue, 30 Jun 2009 06:34:45 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

"Good morning my family," Ema came into the house after he awoke and greeted us with big hugs this morning. A few months ago, I had emailed Leah to see if Ema (one of our Maasai Askari)/ guard) from last year would still be around. I was disappointed when she informed me that he would be back in Ngorongoro Crater. Much to my delight, Ema was still working at the house when I returned. Although twenty-seven and trained as a warrior, he has the most gentle heart. Although I know he has killed lions with only a spear, it's difficult for me to imagine him hurting a fly. Still I honestly trust him with my life. On the unlikely chance any harm were to come to one of us, I know Ema would give his life for ours.

Apparently when Carly came to Hands of Mercy her first time, Ema barely knew any English. Last year, he knew a little and we developed a genuine friendship though one I would describe as the type of friendship one has in the third grade. We rode bicycles, played with bows and arrows and giggled over the silliest things. This summer my knowledge of Swahili has greatly increased and just like the orphans, Ema has learned a lot of English over the last year. He and Leah have developed their own method of communicating, which I have coined Lemish, mixing English, Swahili, and other phrases unique to them. As there is a lot of repetition in Swahili, this too exists in their language. Common words Ema uses, and which I now find myself using, include same same, big big, small small. After a couple of weeks, I too have picked up a lot of Lemish easing my ability to speak with Ema. So if Ema asks, "Sun big big nyumbani yako?", I know to explain, "California same same sasa." and he understands that it is now hot and sunny back at my home.

As Ema's knowledge of English has advanced, so has our topics of conversation. I would now say that our friendship has progressed to the level of seventh grade. One of our favorite topics of discussion is asking Ema about a neighbor that likes him. "Ema, you na Anna to shaky shaky?" we ask him. Premarital sex is highly frowned upon in the Maasai culture and Ema doesn't seem to really like Anna at all, so he tends to get a little upset as we laugh and tease him about this. However, if we tease Joseph, our second askari, about his girlfriend back in Ngorongoro Crater, Ema happily participates. It has been wonderful to reestablish a friendship with him which he confirms by frequently hugging me and telling me, "Ginger you na me rafiki sana."

Inside, my housemates and I have come together and bonded over the fate of the children. We have also recognized the need to de-stress. As I returned home with major muscle loss last summer, I came armed with an exercise plan and some lightweight equipment this summer. As I work out with my resistance bands, Monica leads the other girls in a combination of Pilates and calisthenics. We have also made a purpose of trying to create a life separate from the orphanage. Last week on Monica's birthday, we went to Hotel Tilapia to their Japanese Teppanyaki Bar. I did not even notice this existed last summer, but in a small hut hovered over the edge of Lake Victoria, a chef, cooks a delicious six course meal of appetizers, shrimp, calamari, fish, chicken and beef before your eyes. Costing less than $15 USD, it is easily the best meal I have eaten in Africa and greatly added to my goal to eat more protein this time around.

Yesterday morning worn out from our sleepover at the orphanage and no longer able to host our football (soccer party), we headed back to Tilapia for some much needed relaxation. As we have not had running water since my arrival in Mwanza, I gladly paid the small fee of $4 to use the hotel's shower and pool. I washed days worth of dirt off of me, shaved my legs, and threw on my suit. Once a pool lounge was available, I settled contently in the warm sun and read for a couple of hours.

Tilapia also has a few computers and for just a bit more money than the Internet cafes in town, I can enjoy much faster service. After a few hours at the pool, Jackie and I jumped online, and I managed to accomplish all my Internet goals for the first time on this trip. While I was writing emails, Leah and Carly has begun to have some wine at the hotel bar and when Jackie and I finished on the computers, we eagerly joined them. Most of our conversations lately have focused on the current situation at the orphanage, but on Saturday night we shared stories and as the night grew so did the giggles. As the self-proclaimed light weight, I stopped drinking after three glasses of wine. Monica followed suit shortly thereafter, while Carly, Leah, and Jackie continued to find new reasons to treat themselves to more glasses.

By the time we decided to leave, three of my housemates were quite drunk. However, I think we had accomplished our goal of relaxing and grew closer as friends. As we walked to the taxi on that night, Leah put her arm around me and told me, "You and me are moms to the same girls." I hugged her back. And replied, "You na me same same."
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245497340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245497340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245497340/tpod.html Mon, 22 Jun 2009 07:33:58 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

Geography of Bliss is a fun travel memoir written by Eric Weiner, who searches for the world's happiest places as well as a society's sources of happiness. According to multiple studies, Tanzania, riddled with poverty, ranks as one of the world's unhappiest places. When reading the book, I could not help but contrast this with my perceptions of Tanzania. However, I also recognized that my observations may be based more on the behavior of innocent children rather then on the adults in the surrounding community. In fact, as I have struggled to accomplish simple tasks like shopping at the market or picking up a package, I see the stress, arguments, and unnecessary expenses that sometimes accompany daily activities. Although much of this is exacerbated by my foreign status and skin color, I do question that some of these challenges, such as bribing a post office official to obtain a package, must also be suffered by the local population. Several times, I have found myself questioning how happy I could be permanently dealing with these situations. In addition, I think I have been a bit disappointed as I had anticipated feeling an overwhelming sense of bliss immediately upon my return. The ongoing trials at Hands of Mercy have obviously diminished my chance to relish in true joy. Luckily during the first two weeks, the children reinforced my first impression of happy-go-lucky individuals and allowed me to maintain some sense of sanity and an overall feeling of satisfaction.

Unfortunately over the last couple of weeks, the children have become more and more disgruntled. Carly was one of the first volunteers at Hands of Mercy and she remembers how Joel and Gloria used to insist the orphans experience their childhood. As older girls have now been assigned to "mother" specific younger children including bathing and washing their clothes, somewhere this philosophy has been pushed to the wayside. We have tried to make a conscience effort to reintroduce this concept if only in our interaction with the children. Before Joel returned, Gloria and Leah had discussed having a sleepover for the girls at our house. Not only would this give them a break from their disproportionate share of chores and have some fun, we could also separate the older girls and have an important discussion about sex, health and their right to control their own body. Leah broached this idea with Jackie and I who enthusiastically said yes. Once Carly returned and was also thrilled with the idea, we began planning for the event. In addition, we decided to hold a football match for the boys the following day so they would get something special too. We knew this was less likely to happen now that Joel was back in the picture. However, at the conclusion of Tuesday's meeting we asked his permission to hold the parties over the upcoming weekend and were surprised when he responded with several "No problems!" We excitedly rushed out to tell the children assuming this would prevent Joel from changing his mind.

The next day, the children were extremely sullen. Leah, Monica, and I had planned on sleeping at Hands of Mercy that night and had begun to question this decision as repeatedly the children gave us the cold shoulder. Fortunately their attitudes relaxed and as the sky darkened things were closer to normal. Once we retired to the girls room and began to get ready for bed, some of the teenagers revealed that Joel had told them the sleepover was impossible. No satisfactory reason was given, although they seemed surprised that he had previously given his permission. I wondered if he told them that we had not asked him therefore making it our fault for disappointing them. Although we were quite frustrated with this turn of events, we managed to play and giggle with the girls and the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I curled up next to Lina and despite Joel blaring his radio all night in the next room managed to get some sleep.

On Thursday, a text message from Joel confirmed the parties were cancelled as "we (Gloria and Joel) have never done that before and we wont allow it at any time". Despite his offer for the party to be held at the orphanage, we were all quite angry with his contradictory statements. We waited until the following afternoon to buy juice and cookies as none of us would be surprised if the entire evening was cancelled. Apprehensively I approached the orphanage hoping the evening would go well. As we walked into the compound late Friday afternoon, I was surprised to encounter a yard full of children laughing and playing in a more relaxed way than I had seen in weeks. Relief and joy washed over me as I thought , "Finally. This is what it is supposed to be like here." I ran to hug and play with the children and found their happiness and carefree attitude to be quite contagious. The sun set and we moved the festivities inside. The children's excitement and craziness only grew, and I wondered if Joel and Gloria regretted not sending the hyper children to our house.

After the children's dinner of rice and beans, it was time for the nightly church service. A large circle was formed in the common room and the children began to sing songs about things like hope, joy, mercy and peace. Most of the songs were extremely upbeat and we clapped and danced along with the children. As Stellah began to sing a familiar song, I struggled to place the rhythm as the only word I recognized was "Amen." I soon realized she was singing "If you are happy and you know it, say Amen." alternated with a refrain of "Clap your hands. I looked around at the smiling faces and with genuine delight clapped my hands with the others and shouted, "Amen!:

After the church service, we passed out juice and cookies and settled the children down for a movie. Last week, Jackie shared that Home Alone was one of her favorite movies. DVDs in Tanzania usually contain about 12 - 18 movies each, and Jackie was delighted to discover that one of the DVDs was complete with the Home Alone collection. As I questioned whether or not the children could relate to that movie, John pointed to the Home Alone photo and eagerly shouted, "KEVIN!". Several of the other children looked up and joined in, "Kevin! Kevin! We love Kevin!" Pendo (Magreth) gave two thumbs up and enthusiastically pumped her arms, while other children slapped their cheeks mimicking Kevin's surprise. Unfortunately once I inserted the DVD I realized the remote was lost, and we could not scroll through the other films to watch Home Alone. I repeatedly tried to fast forward the DVD but finally had to admit defeat. Since the TV and DVD player require a generator filled with gasoline to run rendering it a special treat, the children's disappointment was short-lived as they settled in to watch Happy Feet. As it was already quite late when the film started, little by little the children slipped away to the bedrooms. Ceci had already fallen asleep on me several times during the evening, but each time I tried to tuck her in she always insisted on rejoining the party. I snuggled her on my lap until she finally settled into a deep sleep and then I carried her to bed. When I noticed Happy and Joy, who were sharing their bed with me, were getting ready to sleep, I said my goodnights and joined them.

The last few weeks have been extremely challenging, but I was definitely rewarded during this sleepover. At one point during the church songs, we all placed out arms around each other and swayed side to side during the refrain. As the tempo increased during the chorus the children jumped into each others arms for big group hugs. Lina and Ceci each leapt into one of my arms and onto my hips, and I spun around with all of us laughing. I think we all have our own personal "geography of bliss". Our own happy places to visit when the need arises or those unique locations influenced by our memories of a specific time of utter contentment. At that moment surrounded by these wonderful children in one of the unhappiest places in the world, I smiled through tear-filled filled eyes, and realized that I felt nothing but bliss. AMEN!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245507143/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245507143/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1245507143/tpod.html Sat, 20 Jun 2009 10:13:42 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

I have been struggling to write a new blog for over a week as I question how much to share publicly. Although I do tend to err on the side of complete disclosure in these blogs, I am going to hold back the full details about the current situation in order not to compromise the ongoing negotiation process about the future of the orphanage. However, I will still try to give you a bit of an idea now about what is happening.

Last Tuesday when we arrived after lunch, we discovered Joel had returned. Unfortunately this has not resulted in improved conditions for the children and caused a lot more drama for us. We are attempting to convince him to set up a Board of Directors to help monitor the money. Although he agrees that this may encourage more donations and eliminate accusations of financial mismanagement, he resists getting a board together. Thanks to my wonderful family and friends enough money has been raised to take care of children for at least another month. I and all the volunteers are truly grateful for this and until a Board is in place I will personally manage these donations. Although this lessons the current dilemma, it does not resolve the issue of a long-term plan for Hands of Mercy and its orphans, Joel’s response to any discussion of the future is “that only God knows.” Although difficult to argue with, I can not accept this as an excuse for inaction.

During one of multiple stressful and tense meetings between Joel and the volunteers, Monica ( a new volunteer) said we need to work together so there “is no darkness here” referring to the orphanage. I realized that for the last few days I feel as if a cloud of darkness is hanging over Hands of Mercy. I fear that my frustrations with Joel are impacting my ability to truly enjoy the orphanage. In addition, the children have begun acting peculiar. It stands to reason that they must be picking up on the conflict between Joel and us. However, I sense that it goes deeper and this increase my worries for them. I keep trying to remind myself that I need to fully experience the children while I am here. But as I sit in a meeting fighting for a way to secure the children’s future, I feel nothing but frustration.

I do not regret returning. If anything, I know that I am here to comfort the children and provide an additional voice of reason for Leah. In what has become a daily affirmation, I say to myself, “I am here for the children. I am here to love these children. Focus on loving and enjoying them.” However, it seems impossible to love them and simultaneously not worry about them. Part of me longs to be at home laying carefree on the beach with my husband and my dog, while another part hears the clock ticking away my remaining days. I fear that I will have to leave without any resolution. While here, I can at least try to do something to better their future, and I know I can at least put a smile on their faces today. But, how much help can I be on the other side of the world? I fear that the only way I will be able to continue on at home will be to shut them out of my heart, something I absolutely do not want to do. For now, I can only hope that some progress will be achieved in the next few weeks. And try desperately to remember to smile and laugh and love all with an open heart.








]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1244259600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1244259600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gingerschilling/2/1244259600/tpod.html Thu, 11 Jun 2009 07:43:50 -0400 Karibu Tena: Tangawizi is back in Tanzania

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Mwanza, Tanzania

Although I am very happy that most of the children are in primary school, it has led to the orphanage feeling very empty in the mornings. The public primary schools operate on a half day schedule so some of the grades attend in the morning and others in the afternoon. Private schools have smaller classes and classes run full day. Out teaching schedule as has changed since last year too. We now teach the six remaining nursery children in the morning (last year they has their own teacher and none were in private school) and then return late in the afternoon to meet the other children after school. On James's last day, we decided not to hold a traditional nursery class and spend the morning just playing with the little ones. Unfortunately their attention spans were small and admittedly I think ours were too. An organized game seemed out of the questions and the children seemed content to just play among themselves.

Angelo is not only Gloria and Joel's youngest child, but the youngest at Hands of Mercy. This almost three-year- old is also the most disgusting. Snot continuously flows from his nostrils. Diapers are non-existent and no one has attempted to toilet-train him resulting in multiple accidents each day. From a distance he appears to be cute, but looks can be deceiving. Honestly, the other cleans are far from clean, but Angelo is the only one I avoid touching. One of the children's new favorite hiding places is in a large wooden crate that sits in the yard. Just as we were searching for a form of entertainment, Angelo asked for help to get out of the box. We all looked at each other signaling, "Not me." I joked that I had rubber gloves in my bag if anyone wanted to use them. James volunteered, given protection, to take one for the team. Even through the gloves, he swore Angelo felt moist and held the toddler as far away from himself as possible. This started me off in a fit of giggles and on the hunt for other amusement.

We had joked the night before about teaching the children seldom used words and phrases such as "Lollygag" and "Bah Humbug". So I just began to say the word "Shenanigans" over and over until after a few minutes Ceci and then Baracka (age four) began to repeat me. While I was involved in my self-serving English lesson, James noticed a giant piece of bamboo in the yard and began his own shenanigans. He dragged the bamboo into a clearing and managed to slowly prop the twenty foot plus stalk up and lean it on his shoulders.. He then proceeded to chuck the bamboo Scottish style into the air accomplishing one full rotation. He encouraged me to try, but the bamboo was so heavy and tall that I could not hold the bottom and manage to keep the bamboo upright. Although my participation the Scottish games was a disappointment, the children were just as pleased to turn the bamboo into a balance beam. When they were ready to move on to something else, we organized races in hopes of getting Baracka's funny "running face" on film. Unfortunately, we were unable to recreate the same determination Baracka exhibited on his face days earlier, but our desire for amusement was met when the little guy's pants kept falling down as he tried to beat his classmates. We were even further tickled when Baracka ran by us yelling "Shenanigans!"

Shortly after arriving home for lunch we met Joseph, one of our Maasai guards, with our special delivery. We had given him money to go buy a chicken and asked him to prepare it for our dinner. We knew Joseph would get a better price plus we did not know how to get a live chicken back to the house. Joseph pulled up on the back of a motorcycle clutching the live chicken by the legs, and I had to question how he was able to hold on over the very bumpy dirt roads while holding onto the squawking bird. Our next challenge was where to put the chicken until the evening. We did not have a box or a cage, and we figured someone may steal it if left outside. The birds legs were tied together with duct tape, so Joseph simply placed it in a corner of the living room. My housemates and I reluctantly looked at each other, but saw no other alternative. Every so often I would be startled by desperate clucking and flapping wings and would remember
that yes, there is a live chicken in the house! I eventually had to move the couch and block the chicken in a corner as it was able to hop around on its own. Then, I crossed my fingers there would be minimal chicken waste when we returned.

This afternoon's lessons were also thwarted as many of the children headed off to church in preparation for the following day's Prayer for the World's Children Celebration. Fortunately, they were around long enough for James to say his goodbyes. We stayed through the afternoon chatting with the older girls who stayed to cook dinner and playing with the remaining little ones. I do not know if James was trying to avoid an emotional departure or just being his crazy self, but before he left he grabbed a handful of feathers from a chicken and placed them in his head like a crown. He declared himself "Chicken King" and flapped his "wings", extending his neck and clucked his farewell. Of course everyone reeled with laughter. As we get stared out walking normally around in our neighborhood, I dared him to wear the feathers home. Everyday small children come to greet us for a knuckle bump as we walk by their houses. In fact, they often come running as not to miss us. This time one small boy, oddly enough he had two nails clamped in the corners of his mouth, barreled around the corner holding out his fist.. He literally skidded in the dirt, his eyes bulging out of head as he stopped to stare in awe at this Mzungu with feathers in his hair. Laughing hysterically we made our way home as perplexed children stopped and stared at the Chicken King.

Arriving at the house, we discovered the power was out and the chicken had indeed made quite a mess in the living room. I lucked out when we drew slips of paper to determine who had the honor of cleaning up that mess. Joseph came to work at eight pm and seemed in no hurry to begin the execution. I finally asked him when he would start ,and he signaled when the lights come back on. I laughed and told him there was no power in Ngorongoro (where the Maasai are from and practice their traditional culture). He laughed too, "OK OK" and instructed me to begin boiling water on the kerosene stove. He took the chicken out to the back yard and promptly cut off its head with his big Maasai knife. It is true that chickens continue to move around after they are dead. Joseph held the chicken down, so it did run around the yard, but its wings flapped for at least a full minute. We snapped photos throughout this process, and I am sure Joseph thought it a bit strange when we posed with the headless bird.

It took a very long time for the large pot of water to boil, but once it was ready Joseph placed the chicken inside and quickly pulled the feathers off. He then butchered it in a matter of minutes. After heating another pot with some oil and onion, he added the chicken including most of the internal organs. He sprinkled salt on top and covered the pot. Again we waited and although my rumbling stomach reasoned a skillet would cook the chicken faster. There was little chatter once dinner was served as we devoured the food, The legs were quite tough as this chicken was truly free range, but the wings and breasts were very tasty. I graciously allowed James and Joseph to finish off the internal organs, and Joseph, our butcher and chef, was rewarded with the chicken's heart.

It was almost midnight before we finished eating. I was full and exhausted but happy and more relaxed than I had yet to be on this trip. I remembered Ceci this afternoon, poking me in the stomach and singing, "Shenanigans!". I laughed, reflecting on the day's nonsense. Shenanigans indeed.
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