Ipilimo

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  Ipilimo, Tanzania
Sunday, January 15, 2006

A huge achievement in the world of travel is the ability to purchase tickets and reserve spaces in advance. Leaving Dar was simple. Two days before departure we bought tickets. Thirty minutes before the bus left at 10AM we arrived at the station and waited in line. The front tow seats were waiting for us. An hour into the trip the conductor handed out cool pops and started a movie; a Kenyan drama called Still in Love. The volume wasn't very loud so we watched the infidelities and plotting of large Kenyan actors in new cars unfolded in silence. To have a movie was novel and entertaining in itself even though the range was limited to Kenyan drama, music videos shot with camcorders or B- grade karate movies. We could open the windows at our will. We were traveling in Tanzanian first class.

The bus climbed from Dar into the highlands of Tanzania, following the Rift Valley

ideo camera

. The climate became cooler and the land more fertile. Working our way deeper into Erin's old stomping grounds we arrived in Iringa and booked the last room at a hotel by the bus stand. The guest shower drained its cold water into a 4in by 4inch hole in the ground, which was also the toilet. It was shared by ten other rooms and a full lounge. The scent filled the hallway but we reconciled each other with the infamous line, "its only one night".

That evening we met a couple of Peace Corps volunteers who confirmed that there was a volunteer in Ipilimo and that Barry would most likely love our company. Until then we didn't know quite where we would stay or for how long. After a night filled with loud R&B and uncomfortable dreams about having to use the bathroom, we left for Mafinga where we would spend the night, store everything that was not essential for a week or so, and stock up on a few amenities. The next day we would start our walk into the bush.

Andreas' words at the goulash bar rang in my ears as were let out at a dusty crossroads. "You will not find many normal American tourists here." We skipped the $700 trek up Kilimanjaro, sped through a game park on a determined bus, forewent the $25 hotel with balconies and showers, shed all but a pair of pants, two shirts and pair of scrubs, packed with peanut butter, jelly, canned cheese and pasta then asked to be let off at a crossroads where seven adolescents stood around a sign that pointed down a narrow dirt trail and read Ipilimo 16K

kids at work

. No, we probably wouldn't see many tourists back there. It was noon and the guys at the crossroads said we wouldn't make it before dark.

We passed through a small village where the adults smiled and greeted us. The women did a one footed curtsy. Some children gave us the respectful "shikamoo"; others stared at us with blank expressions. Others ran and hid behind the mud walls and thatched roves. Down a hill, across a bridge and halfway there it started to rain. The trail turned into a flowing creek as we continued up the ridge towards the village. A woman passed us and seeing her reminded us that though we were wet and 4 miles from a roof at least we weren't barefoot and carrying a 5 gallon bucket of tomatoes on our heads.

Time slowed to match the pace at which we walked. We were entering an agricultural society of subsistence farmers. After a while we began to see families tending to their crops of corn and beans. Smoke escaped the thatched roves where a pit of burning embers warmed ugali, the same corn meal paste that had and will nourish thousands of people in the area for years. No electric lines crowded the views of rolling hills planted with new crops. The rainy season had just begun.

magic

Polygamy is still in practice here because it is a means of security and survival. Having a large family insures that one can work a large area and it ought to ensure that as you grow old there will be somebody to take care of you. Even though growing old certainly didn't mean that you didn't have to work. We stopped and spoke to a man who was hoeing weeds from between his new rows of beans. Erin knew him from her time there and he recognized her. Halting his jembe and squinting at us as we approached, he beamed and greeted Erin in Swahili. "Oh, you've returned. Thank you so much for remembering us."
"Yes, we have come to see Tanzania and Ipilimo".
"Ah, things are the same here".
They spoke for a while recounting some the things that have been happening. A group of children ages 5 to maybe 13 gathered behind him, each with their own tool.
"How many children do you have now?" Erin asked.
"I don't know", he replied.
"You don't know?"
"Nah, I havn't done the math and totaled it up yet, there are some of them," he replied waving his arm behind him, but not looking back.
"And, how old are you now?"
"I believe that I am in my eighties by now, it is a long life".
"Ndiyo, nzuri sana," yes, very good, Erin replied.

The family is an interesting unit

village life

. The people that in the west we call our uncles and aunts, our parents' siblings, in Tanzania they call them their fathers and mothers. My father's older brother would be my "big father". His younger brother would be my "little father". My mother's younger brother would also be my "little father". Any female sibling of my parents would be my big or little mothers. Accordingly, all of their children are my brothers and sisters not my cousins. The language of the relations implies their interdependence and responsibilities.

As we neared Ipilimo proper Erin began to see more and more people that she new. Everyone that we saw was very excited and thankful that she remembered them. And that she had brought her "husband" to see them. A group of guys standing outside of the ulanzi hut said, "Great, now you can move to Ipilimo. We can build you a house up on the hill and you can return to live with us." Ulanzi is fermented bamboo juice, which is harvested locally when in season.

The mamas (a term of respect) at the store smiled, shrieked and laughed when they saw us walking through. They curtsied to me, extending their arms to shake. They slapped hands with Erin, gliding palms together and finishing it with a snap. Then laughed saying, "Oh, you've come back

waterfall

! You remembered us!"

We made our way through the village center, stopping to greet people along the main strip. In six years it had grown from one duka (store) with salt, sugar, dried minnows and cooking oil, to two dukas which sometimes have batteries, sugar, flour, raw peanuts, rice and warm Pepsi. In fact after walking around the "town," Ipilimo had grown to have six dukas and four diesel run mills. Baba Happy (the father of Happy, his first born), owned the first car in the village and made a living transporting people and delivering goods through the hilly region. I thought about how my grandmother told me that her father had owned the first car in Solomon, Kansas. So the village had prospered since Erin arrived in 1999.

The village is spread out over a large area that ranges from fertile soil to quartz laden hills of red clay. Two thousand three hundred people, men, women and children living in an area with a 5 mile radius. In the center there are two dukas, a butcher whose window I didn't see occupied, and an ulanzi bar whose door I did see occupied. There is an elementary school that teaches 730 students from 1st grade to 7th. The students breakdown in class size in 2005 was: 195 students in 1st grade, 150 in 2nd, 143 in 3rd, 120 in 4th, 90 in 5th, 68 in 6th, and 29 in 7th. Eleven teachers are the faculty and staff.

One day the head teacher took us in and showed us the numbers. Schooling is free up to the 7th grade. In 2001 an annual budget total was $425, 2002 = $550, 2003 = $1300, 2004 = $2130 and in 2005 a loan from the World Bank boosted it to $4100, which need to be repaid in 14 years. These numbers includes teacher's salaries, two new buildings, a porridge lunch, and then supplies such as books, chalk and writing paper. Less than a dollar per year per student. The school also owns large fields that the students work in for a couple of hours every day to contribute to the budget. Twenty-eight out of forty-eight 7th graders in 2004 graduated and moved to another village to attend secondary school. Also coincidentally, 28 out of the 2,300 villagers died (admittedly) from HIV/AIDS related illnesses. Tragically, the illness often takes couples/parents, so the necessity for large family groups is emphasized.

We passed the school and followed a line of tall eucalyptus trees to the Peace Corp Volunteer's house and Erin's prior residence. Two rectangular mud brick buildings about 30 ft long enclosed the courtyard that we entered. To the left four doors faced us: the "choo", a covered excrement pit with two bricks places at shoulder width around a 6 by 6 inch hole. The shower was a bucket of warmed water, a clear tube and a battery operated pump (an improvement to Erin's solo bucket). A covered storage area for fire wood and a bicycle, and a kitchen with a cage of coal, two stools, a 20 gallon plastic water reservoir with a spigot on it and a few shelves with spices on them. The volunteers that we met in Iringa told us that Barry was a good cook.

On the other side of the courtyard to the right there were two windows and a door with a stout looking Norseman standing in it. "Karibu sana! Welcome. I got a text from Patrick that you were coming. Karibu sana (you're very welcome)".
With long red hair, full beard to match and lumberjack arms, the Minnesotan Barry invited us in. He said that he had had maybe 4 visits in the 18 months that he had been there. Three of them were from his girlfriend who had just finished her PC time and was traveling back to the States. The other was by another volunteer who had gotten a lift there but could only stay for 15 minutes before the truck took off again. We figured we were the first non family, non Peace Corps, tourists to Ipilimo, and he invited us to stay as long as we liked.

The next several days were great. It was wonderful to be away from the road and out of hotels. A couple of days we spent moseying around the village saying hello to people and noticing the changes. Our meals were delicious. Spaghetti, spicy peanut sauce, bean burgers, carrot cake, homemade beer bread and mango crisps. It is remarkable what one can do with a coal basin, a few pots, spices and five hours of free time to cook.

When our supply of fruits and vegetables grew thin we borrowed two bikes and the three of us rode to Makenbako, the closest market. I could see that the bikes we borrowed, though heavy, single geared 1950s vintage, dramatically improved the living conditions of the villagers. Makenbako is 30km away, yet with bicycles it was possible to ride there, shop and return carrying goods all in the same day. We picked up things that we couldn't buy in the village: beans, mangos, peas, ginger, a pineapple, sunflower seeds and rice. The pedaling wasn't easy and the brakes when fully closed allowed the bike to coast downhill at a speed that I was barely comfortable with.

Erin told us that she was the first volunteer in Ipilimo and that her group was the first in the area. When she had ridden through the two smaller villages we passed, on the way to Makenbako, people had said in surprise, "we didn't know that wazungus (white people) could ride bicycles." Everyone smiled and waved when we passed.

Barry told us a story that he had heard from one of the villagers. Five years ago, when Erin's parents had come to visit the village they went for a walk to a waterfall. In the crack in a large rock under the fall they found a genie. A malevolent purple genie. Using their magic the Lafferty's trapped the genie and took his treasure. We decided to add to the local folklore and take a day hike to the waterfall. Barry led the way through the long rolling hills of young corn and bean plants. Along the narrow river we found a micro rainforest climate. There were several tall palms, large fern clusters and wild aloe vera growing on its banks. Bathing in the massaging tumbles of the cool falls was refreshing. A couple of freshwater crabs ate a large grasshopper. On our way back a farmer escorted us to a shortcut through his fields. With a woolen cap, a dusty t-shirt covered with a dusty sports jacket, tattered pants, bare feet and drunk on ulanzi the man tromped in front of us. He asked about the many days since Erin left and asked how Europe was. We told him that we were from America, which was good.
"You mean that America and Europe are different places? I thought they were the same" was his reply.
"No, we just all look the same".
"Ahhh, ndiyo. Pole sana. Yes, indeed, I am sorry".
After he left us we heard him returning up the hill shouting to his neighbors. "I just helped the wazungus through my field; they were at the waterfall looking for minerals". The long distance game of telephone had started.

One morning five girls came to Barry's to see Erin. We stood in the garden talking for a while, and then Erin asked me to show them the disappearing coin trick. With a well practiced slight of hand the coin vanished and they were shocked. When I stepped towards one of the girls to pull it from her ear they all screamed and bolted out of the garden, through the gate and stopped across the field. Two of them kept running. Erin told them that it was alright and that I was a bad wizard. There were many school kids working in the fields around the house and they were all looking in our direction. Cautiously, they crept towards us. Before we knew it, the fields were deserted and 50 kids were standing around us whispering. Several were keeping a safe distance, but others were still running in from the outer fields. By the time that they had all gathered there were around 80 waist high kids around me.

I asked for a brave volunteer. The crowd took a collective two steps backwards. I pointed to an adventurous looking little boy and asked him to come forward. I spun him around to face the crowd and made a show of inspecting the top of his head. I had him touch the coin and tell everyone that it was real. Eyes were fixed on us as I feigned grabbing the coin in my right hand. The volunteer stood there smiling with his eyes closed. I had a look of intense concentration and focus as my right hand flew threw the air and landed with a fingers spread on the top of his head. Everyone jumped. I rubbed my palm on his hair as I the coin into his skull. When I removed my hand there was a group gasp, followed by excited recounting of what had just happened. I shook the boys head a little and then peered into his right ear. I moved to the left one and peered into it. Quickly I grabbed his ear, extracted the palmed coin and held it in the air.

The crowd erupted with gasps, screams and laughter. "He pushed the coin in his head and made it come out of his ear!'. They loved it. I repeated the trick slamming the coin into my head and spitting it out of my mouth. Another time I threw the invisible coin in the air and followed its path into someone's pocket in the crowd.

After five variations Erin told them that the magic had made me tired, so I couldn't do anymore. I would need to rest for the remainder of the day. The kids slowly walked away keeping their eyes on us, mimicking the trick and whispering "mchawi," wizard.

The idea of wizardry and witchcraft is still alive here. One of the teachers told us a story about how his grandfather had terrified his younger years. All through his childhood his family had moved and consulted witch doctors in fear of their wizard grandfather finding them and eating one of the children. He told stories of people being possessed, predicted deaths and of unexplained, disembodied wailings. His father and his big mother had both died unexpectedly after bring hexed by his grandfather.

The teacher, an educated man in his late 20s, fully believed in the powers of wizards and witch doctors. It makes me think of something that I wrote earlier. We are all slave to our own paradigm. I truly believe that we create the reality around us. I've experienced the power of manifesting reality. Unlikely events have passed, caused by focusing energy towards them. I don't believe in magic or witch craft because I have never experienced them. Or is it that I have never experienced them because I don't believe in them? Perhaps that is the more accurate statement. Perhaps that is why that simple trick that my grandfather and uncle had shown me as a child worked so well. Because believing in magic creates magic.

We drew more crowds of kids to the house after taking out the digital camera and video camera. Many of the people there haven't seen a television and few have photos of them. With our cameras we could show them how they look on TV and produce an instant portrait. A couple of times a day, normally at the beginning and end of the farming shift at school, children would come calling, "Hodi, hodi", are you available? "We request magic" or "we request to take a picture", or "we request video". We told them to practice and we would make a video. Each day, led by four girls, a group of 25-50 kids came over sang songs and danced. At the end of each one, I would replay it on the flip out LCD screen for them. I looked like the pied piper. A horde of wide eyed laughing children followed the camera screen all around Barry's yard. We interviewed several adults as well telling them they could say whatever it is that they would like to record. Everyone told us who they were and a couple of things about their life in Ipilimo. The village executive officer prepared a quick speech which we filmed in his office. "The people of Ipilimo, in the ward of Mtombula, in the district of Mufindi, in the region of Iringa, and in the country of Tanzania thank the Peace Cop volunteer Erin Laffert and we welcome her husband Jaswa Willim to our village. We hope that....." The older people told us what they provided for their families, the mamas talked about their friendships, the children sang and danced.

Most portraits of the elders looked like they came from the Wild West where sternly posed people looked focused on the next day and maybe slightly afraid that the gunpowder flash may explode in their face. Some women changed into brighter kangas and displayed a prized thermos or plate. Children stood with their friends then ran home to change clothes laughing.

Erin and I borrowed a couple of bikes to visit her friend Fanuel. She rode Barry's front suspension 21 speed Trek. I rode the head teachers thirty year old, one speed, steel Phoenix, with bad breaks, a moving seat and a loose chain that continually feel off. We rode and pushed our way 34km through the hills to Mbalamaziwa where Fanuel lived. He and Erin had become friends in Ipilimo where he helped her settle in and carry out her projects. His father owned a large amount of farm land and told Fanuel that he could either have half of the farm, or he could go to school. Fanuel chose school. In the years since Erin left he had continued his education and been appointed as a bwana shamba or agriculture extension officer in Mbalamaziwa. Speaking to him before we departed, Fanuel told Erin that he had many projects happening and that we should stay the night so that he could show us all of them.

Hot and thirsty, with cramping legs and an aching back I arrived in Mbalamaziwa. Erin was winded. Gears, shocks and breaks do, evidently work quite well. The town straddles the paved road and is known for the brick that are made there. It is infamous for the high occurrence of AIDS. The bricks are haphazardly stacked in large piles on the same side of the road as the two pubs, the two dukas, the mill, the post, the administration office and the video house. The stretch of road from Iringa to Makenbako is along the AIDS corridor in Tanzania. There are 300 households in the town area. Last year 38 people died of AIDS related illnesses. The number of orphans casts dim hope on progress.

Opposite the piles of bricks is a small hamlet of simple homes. A woman led us through the back trails to a small cluster of houses. Entering a communal courtyard that shared a water spigot between three families we were met by Mama Katherine, Fanuel's wife. When she saw Erin she made the familiar high pitched sigh/squeal that signifies surprise. "You've returned! Karibu sana". We sat in their unlit living room drinking tea, eating chipati and catching up as we waited for Fanuel to return.

Mama Katherine told us that life was good. There was running water, they were eating rice and the small complex had a generator that they sometimes used for electricity. They also had two more children; three in total. She hadn't been to Ipilimo in more that a year because they had been busy. She had put on some weight and like living in the "city".

Fanuel arrived not long after we arrived. He was delighted to see us and sat down with a huge smile. We talked for a few hours and ate ugali with dried fish stew before he gave us a tour of the town and the projects that he was prodigiously working on. He had formed a women's group, tomato farmers group, and educational performance group, and an orphans group. There was a tree nursery, chicken coups, covered live stock pens, and fish farms. He was also the secretary who drafted the proposal for the new secondary school and trade school that were both one year active.

Completing a large loop, we returned to the piles of bricks in the town center where he began introducing us to many people. Erin told them that I could do magic and a small crowd formed. I obliged with the vanishing coin that I threw at Fanuel's forehead and made reappear in his ear. Everyone gasped, laughed and asked if I'd do it again. The variations drew excited surprise from everyone. An older mama was a volunteer to have it passed through her head. Erin told them, "In the village he scared many of the children."
"Oh yea, out in the bush, the villagers don't understand such things," one man replied, and then he looked at the mama and asked, "Did it hurt?"
The reactions were always precious.

Fanuel treated us to a couple of sodas in the local pub, and then took us to the movie house. A thin teenager peeked out from the cracked door and let us in. Several boys sat on long benches watching music videos on a TV and VCR that was connected to a car battery. Admission was either 50 shillings (5 cents), or you could buy a soda. I thought about how my grandfather used to ride his bike into town and see a movie for a nickel. He could get a soda and peanuts for 15 more cents. We left when they started the Kung Fu feature. We visited for another hour before retiring to the mattress they had set up in the large store room.
Not more than two minutes after the lantern went out did we start to hear small claws scratching and high pitched squeaking above us. I shined my headlamp into the rafters and we saw several midsized mice scurrying around. I turned the light out happy that at least they were up in the rafters. The squeaking started again. It sounded like territorial disputes were going on.
"Oh man, I hope that they aren't playing king of the rafters up there."
We curled up under the wool blanket and a few moments I was dreaming of surfing in the ocean. There I was paddling out in the warm green waves. I waited by a pier as they rolled in. Subconsciously, I felt something cool on my head and thought, "oh how cute, Barry's cat is patting me with her cool paw." And then I realized that we were not at Barry's. I jumped and felt something leap from my dome and scurry off the head of the bed.
"What is it?" Erin asked.
I still felt the cool sensation of the mouse paws. It felt wet.
"Look at my head. One of the little bastards just climbed on it!"
"I don't see anything."
We huddled together even closer, a little too sensitive to sleep. A little while later Erin jumped.
"Oh my gosh, I just felt one climb on me. It ran up my leg then my arm!"
We thoroughly tucked the blanket under our bodies, despite the heat, so that nothing could get in. Louder scratching came from above and something fell. We heard the thump on the table beside us. Instinctively, in reflexive unison we pulled the blanket over our heads and then laughed. Where were those big cats that we saw earlier? Fanuel had said that they ate meat everyday. I was then sure it was mouse meat. We passed the remainder of the night in an uneasy rest, sweating under the blanket. I don't mind mice, I just don't like wild ones running on my head.

The next morning we woke with the family, had tea, mangoes and bananas, and then pushed our bikes out to the road escorted by Fanuel. Stopping to talk to one of that men that we met the night before, Fanuel told him that we were on our way back to Ipilimo. He looked at our bikes and pointing to Erin's he said, "Ipilimo, on that one is good."
On that one," pointing at mine, "tabu sana", great misery.
We said thank you, farewell and with that we shoved off. A ways down the road Erin insisted on riding the Phoenix. Being a feminist I gave it to her, secretly happy. By the time we made it home, she had felt its wrath.

The nights in Ipilimo passed in superlative ease. Barry prepared exquisite meals as we did any menial task that would help. We'd fill the basin, fan the coals, chop onions, but mainly we stared at the stars. The closest light was 30km away in Makenbako, so light pollution was virtually nonexistent. We saw the magellenic clouds for the first time. The closest galaxies to us looked like bits of the Milky Was that had broken off and drifted away. The large one is comprised of 100 billion stars and is 150 thousand light years away. It is very hard to fathom. If one counts seconds through the day and night it would take roughly 30 years to reach one billion. Our minds drifted into infinity as we hunted shooting stars and ate Erin's succulent mango crisps. It was truly wonderful to be away from the road. We couldn't thank Barry enough and I pined to hear as many stories as the two Peace Corps volunteers could remember.

Barry left us the run of the place two days before we were going to leave. He headed to another volunteers village where preparations for a party were commencing. They had to dig a pit and light a bonfire in it. Afterwards they would place a splayed pig over the coals, cover it with banana leaves and dirt and let it slow roast for 24 hours or so.

We couldn't pass on the invitation, so after a record shattering 10 day visit we left for the party ourselves. The day before leaving we walked to the school so that we could give them a soccer ball that we had purchased in Mafinga. The head teacher had a young boy clang on an old tire rim with a steel pipe. All of the students came in from the fields and gathered in attention in front of the school. The lines of kids stood facing us with their right arms extended out to the left shoulder of their neighbor. The head teacher made a small speech and held up the ball. Everyone clapped. We told them that education was very important for them and for their families and for their country. Everyone clapped. Another teacher said something to the crowd and 730 students coughed, clearing their throats, and began singing their school song. We stood at the head of the crowd never having felt so popular.

Afterwards we joined the head teacher at his house for tea. Jokingly, Erin said that I was her English speaking assistant. The head teacher looked a little perplexed. We told him that in America and in many parts of the world, women are equal to men. He laughed, "Yes, but Erin, that goes against the Bible! I was stupefied to hear the head teacher say that, and dismayed once again in the hopes for progress for it is impossible to truly progress unless the sexes are equal.

On our final day we slowly packed, locked up the house and made our way through the village. The kindergarten class came out to sing us a song and wave goodbye. Along the path, everyone came out to bid their farewells, telling us to return someday to live there.

We stopped in and sat with an old mama at the edge of town. She gave us some peanuts then offered us two eggs saying, "They aren't cooked, but you can cook them when you get home." I realized that many of the people in Ipilimo saw the States just as distant and incomprehensible as we saw the Magellanic Clouds.

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