Home again, home again, Jiggety Jig

So I'm back now in Arusha, battling a stock-standard dose of post-holiday blues. Mum thought it was funny that I should be having post holiday blues WHILST on holiday - but as she said, it's all relative!!

The rainy season has just commenced. Yesterday in my desperation to leave the compound during my lunch break I stubbornly ignored the brewing storm clouds and traipsed over to 'the lodge' for a cappuccino. 5 minutes later I was stuck under the tropical umbrella by the pool in the middle of a storm. Once the rain subsided I had to slip'n'slide through huge fields of mud on the way home. Oops!!

With the rain, it seems the children have all had a growth spurt!! I arrived home from Zanzibar to find that Lawassa now has two teeth, where previously there were none; Dello can roll onto his belly and is trying very hard to crawl; the triplets Anja, Nina and Tessa can now crawl; and Rosie is HUGE with an extra tooth, and is strutting around using every available surface to support herself in her quest to walk alone. And I was only away for 5 days!!

Pictured: Me and my munchkins (Rueben, Musa and Lawassa). Work ain't so bad when you come home to this!! :-)

Yesu, Asante! ('Thank you Jesus!')

I almost died in Zanzibar. Perhaps that's a bit dramatic, but I'm telling you, I would skydive naked a thousand times before reliving this particular experience.

The dala dalas on the island are a little different to the minivans in Arusha. Similar to those in Koh Samui, or Bali (so I have heard) they are converted pickup trucks, with bench seats running along either side of the tray, with a tin canopy.

Dala dalas are inherently dangerous, overcrowded and fast. Every journey is a risk ('volenti non fit injuria' for all you law nerds out there!!).

A short distance outside of Stone Town, about a sixth of the way into our journey back to our beach bungalow, the dala dala stopped by the side of the road to collect an additional passenger. I queried how on earth the driver possibly expected to cram another body onto the already overcrowded pickup, when I spied the passenger's cargo.

As the main source of transport, the passengers generally load all their worldly possessions onto the truck. Our new passenger wanted to take some bricks. Large concrete bessabricks. After loading about 5 bricks onto the truck, I looked over to see Julie looking skeptically at the thin tin ceiling. 20 minutes later, while the dala dala was rocking dangerously in the direction of the ditch on which it was perched, and with the tin ceiling dipping increasingly lower under the weight of the bricks, I wasn't sure whether the 'thump, thump, thump' was my heart, or the bricks that were STILL being loaded. Mama Ju was white-knuckled. I told her I wanted to get off. I said that as soon as the dala dala took off it would roll into the ditch and we would die.

Julie and I were squished in as far back from the entrance of the dala dala as it was possible to get - so in the event that the truck rolled, there was no way out. One of the boys from Mustapha's place (Julie's loverboy Dula actually!), who happened to be on the same dala dala as us, told us to just wait. 'Subiri, subiri'. I said 'NO SUBIRI. I don't want to die, it's gonna ROLLLLLLL!' and then frantically scrambled over bodies and possessions to get off the blasted truck (in the process, staying as far to one side as possible so as not to be the straw that broke the camel's back and roll the dala dala into oblivion myself). A few seconds later, Julie also emerged from the truck. Followed by Dula, who clearly thought that the stupid mzungus needed supervision!!

The dala dala situation was even worse than I thought. The bricks were piled about 1.5metres high, and covered the entire roof of the dala dala. The dala dala was visibly rocking. I swear the bricks would have weighed more than the truck itself. I could see NO POSSIBLE WAY that it could take off without rolling and killing everyone. I prayed that the people left on the dala dala would see sense and get off, or that the dala dala driver would see sense and remove the bricks.

We walked a short distance in the direction of the next bus stop, until Dula flagged down a mate who was passing by, who said he could drop us at the bus stop. I turned back towards the dala and was grateful to see half the busload of people getting out. Not only was I pleased for them, but it also validated my little panicked scramble out of the vehicle!!!!

I have seen refrigerators piled onto the top. I can live with refrigerators. I have shared a dala dala with chickens. Chickens? Piece of cake. Even large bundles of firewood I can handle. Concrete bessabricks on the other hand, I am NOT okay with.

We waited at the next bus stop for over an hour, and never saw the dala dala pass by. I could only pray that it was because the police stopped it before harm came to anyone, and not because it had already met a horrible fate. At that time of afternoon, all the dala dalas from town were full and had no room for us. Mustapha's place had no available drivers to collect us, so after our near death ordeal, our trip home took us a further 3 hours, with a combination of walking and hitching (with Dula's help). We arrived back just after dark, bought Dula a beer for taking us under his wing, and toasted ourselves a long life, free of bessabricks!

The following day we were walking along the beach and were greeted by two men, who said that they were on the same dala dala the day before. They told us that most of the passengers disembarked in terror (probably not helped by the strange muzungu making wild gestures of the dala dala rolling and killing everyone!!), and the dala dala eventually took off, WITH the bricks, and without rolling.

Yesu, ASANTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Zanzibar: Poa kuchizi cama ndizi! ('Cool like a banana!')

I cannot describe how wonderful our trip to Zanzibar was. It was just the escape Mama Ju and I needed to manage the last 4 weeks of the volunteer and Arusha experience.

I have never felt so at home in another country as I did in Zanzibar. The locals were SO friendly, and were interested only in having a friendly chat (compared with Arusha, where the constant hustle and bustle from tourist touts can be overwhelming!!!). The beach where we stayed, Bwejuu, was straight off a postcard. Loong stretches of white sandy beach, with coconut palms dotting the coast. Even on overcast days the ocean was an iridescent turquoise colour. Urgh - I sound so cliche...but seriously, the place was PARADISE!!!

Our first accommodation was Mustapha's Nest - which was just like walking on to the set of gilligan's island!! Despite the laid back rasta atmosphere and friendly staff at Mustapha's, on day three we moved into the bungalows next door, which offered hot water in the showers, and sunbeds on the beach.

We spent a day in stone town, a beautiful ancient city with winding arabian alleyways and a bright blue bay filled with fishing dhows. The ride home to the beach where we were staying was more terrifying than my waterfall adventure, but that deserves its own post!!! The rest of our trip we spent taking long walks along the beach, lying prostrate like basted turkeys in the sunshine, too many kilimanjaro beers at the local rasta bars, African dishes cooked for us by our new friends from Mustaphas (despite losing our business, they invited us back to hang out with them every day!!), and enjoying the most glorious sunset I could ever have the privilege of watching.

And of course, no holiday is complete without a summer romance. Mama Ju bewitched a local chef, a rastafarian muslim (I know, that's a bit of an oxymoron, isn't it!) by the name of Dula. He declared his love for her and asked her to meet his family. I have been having a chuckle at Mama Ju's expense ever since.

We're both going back again for a week at the end of November. Our friend Omi from Mustapha's has offered to take us swimming with the dolphins, and another woman, Perninna has invited me to a rasta party on a Friday night. I cannot wait!!




Pictured: The beautiful beaches; our friends enjoying the sunset; African bushwoman helping her new mates cook dinner; kev the kangaroo, hangin' with the boys; Mama Ju and I with Dula and Omi, emerging from a pub.

The curious case of Mama Ju's malaria

A few days before we departed for Zanzibar, Mama Ju had a panic attack. She had a fever, and other symptoms of malaria, and was convinced that she was having a relapse. She was stressed because she didn't understand why her body was getting such a ravaging, and she didn't want to ride out the rest of her African experience stuck in bed. I told her that it was the panic attack that was making her sick, and her fever was just from the hot weather.

Just to be safe, she set off to the local clinic to get tested. A hysterical Mama Ju told me she had again (for the third time!) tested positive for malaria. She was angry that her treatment had not knocked it over, and we decided to go to Arusha to the Selian clinic - western style hospital recommended by other ex pats living here. We thought that Selian may be able to provide stronger medication to get it out of her system once and for all.

Curiously, the Selian's laboratory sent back a result confirming that there was NO malaria. When we asked the doctor how they could have two different results in the same day, he said that it is not uncommon for the local clinics (with dispensaries attached) to send back false positive results in order to sell more of their medication. He said that after the drugs that Mama Ju took following the first two bouts of malaria, it was almost clinically impossible for the parasite to have manifested itself again in such a short period of time. He told her that the symptoms she was experiencing were more likely due to the malarial toxins being released from her liver- but that malaria was most definitely not in her blood.

How bizarre. In good news, Mama Ju was again in perfect health just in the nick of time for our beach escape!!!

Arrivals and departures

Twin boys arrived in the newborn nursery about 2 weeks ago. They have been named Peter and Eric. On arrival they were 10 days old, and weighed 5 pounds. They were SO tiny, and they still had that layer of protective womb coating that babies have, that looks like sunburn peeling (I apologise- I do not know the scientific name of it...in fact, I never knew of such a womb coating before asking Mama Ju why their whole bodies were peeling)!

Eric and Peter's story breaks my heart and makes my blood boil. Their mother suffers severe intellectual and physical disabilities. She can walk, with difficulty, but cannot talk and her non- verbal communication is extremely limited. The point being, she clearly does not have capacity to consent to sexual intercourse, and has obviously been molested. The family said they do not know who the father is - though I suspect it would be someone known to them, because she did not appear to have the strength to venture far from their house.

The plan is that the boys will stay at the baby home until they're 2 years old and on solid foods and then their aunt will care for them.

The arrival of Eric and Peter made for a very busy newborn nursery - 6 babies under 3 months old. Eric, Peter and another little girl named Hidaya, who is 4 weeks old require feeding every hour or two - so the volunteers commenced overnight shifts in the nursery. I did a triple nursery shift before Zanzibar, to make up for having a week off (ie worked from 5pm til 8am on Thursday night and Friday night, and 8am til 12pm on Saturday). Sleep deprivation and what felt like thousands of hungry mouths to feed. I have the TINIEST glimpse now of what the early days of motherhood must feel like!

In the same week that Eric and Peter arrived, our star pupil Martin went home with his new mum. He is 2 years old, and the smartest little boy I have EVER met. His mother, Caroline is a wonderful woman too, and Martini (that is what he calls himself!) is going to have such a fantastic life. She's a human rights lawyer, working as an advocate for the United Nations. Martini will be travelling with her to the Congo, France, Holland, and New York. It was sad to see him go (Mama Ju was heartbroken, because Martini was her favourite baby!) but I'm SO SO SO happy to see him with such a wonderful person. Martini and Caroline are both so lucky to have each other.


Pictured: Peter and Eric in the newborn nursery (it's a sterile environment, and we wear hospital scrubs and slippers); Martini in a jumper that Davo's mum knitted :-)

Don't go chasin' waterfalls...

The week before Mama Ju and I escaped to Zanzibar, Annemart and I took a day trip to Moshi. We set off on a local bus, crammed in with too many people for a two hour trip to what proved to be possibly the most boring town on Earth.

The point of the expedition was to visit a hospital with a view to finding Annemart another volunteer job. The hospital was a series of huts, with hundreds of people waiting in the sun to be seen to. we left shortly after our arrival, as the matron informed us that we were not welcome without a letter of introduction.

After the hospital we considered visiting a shanty town - but were told that it was ONCE a shanty town, but it has now been yuppified. We spent an hour on the internet (there was seriously NOTHING TO DO!!!), ate lunch in a local restaurant and had a soda outside a grocery store. Just as I was proposing that we leave before I died of boredom, we were greeted by a man Annemart had once spoken to in Arusha. Apparently he was also at the go-carting, but I didn't recognise him. Joe offered to take us to see a beautiful waterfall about 20 minutes drive out of town. All he asked of us was that we pay for the petrol.

All my alarms went off. Last time I visited an African waterfall my mother and I were mugged by 2 men wielding a shotgun and a machete. Not to mention that Annemart didn't even remember this guy's NAME, and we had never heard of the bloody waterfall that he spoke of. I told Annemart I wasn't too keen to go with him and his mate, Phil, but she goaded me on and said that I may as well stay in bed all day if I'm going to be such a terminal bore, and that besides, we didn't spend 2 hours on a bus just to sit around drinking soda.

Chastened, I reluctantly agreed to go along. Driving off into the countryside, I cursed myself for: a.) not bringing my Combivir (emergency anti-HIV medication in the unlikely event of a sexual assault) b.) not having the guts to stand up to a 20 year old Dutch monkey, and c.) being such a bore in the first place.

2 hours later, and approaching sunset (not 20 minutes as promised!) we were driving along a dusty mountain path that was barely wide enough to accommodate the Suzuki we were in - with a cliff wall on one side and a steep drop down a mountain ravine on the other. All this with loud hardcore rap music blaring in the background, to which my Dutch monkey was bopping along without a care in the world.

Epic story cut slightly shorter, we made it safely to the waterfall. And yes, it was stunning, complete with rainbows. We also survived free of rape, robbery and death by ravine. I didn't take any photos of the stupid thing, because I told our guides I didn't have a camera (lest they steal it from me - YES... I AM A BIG WUSS!!!!!) and insisted that we leave after 10 minutes, because I knew that we had a treacherous return journey back to Moshi, and I didn't want to tackle the cliff face after dark.

Joe and Phil turned out to be lovely, and yes, I'd hang out with them again. But that day I learned several valuable lessons:

- Say no to peer pressure, it's not worth 4 hours of nail biting panic, and sometimes even the most beautiful destinations are not worth the journey!!
- I AM a boring sod, and happy to remain that way, if it means listening to my instincts (no, we didn't come to harm...but I took an unnecessary risk against my better judgement, and I am very mad with myself about that!).

Warning: do not read while operating heavy machinery!

I haven't had internet access for awhile, so I need to upload a few posts at once. A word of warning...they may be verbose!

A naughty treat

Mama Ju and I are going to Zanzibar next week. NEXT WEEK!!!!! Cannot believe it is upon us already.

As if that's not enough of something to look forward to, we also decided it was high time to escape 'the compound' for a bit, and booked ourselves in to a hotel in town to wind down and live on our own schedule for 24 short, sweet hours.

Annemart, Julie and I spent the evening watching the soccer world cup qualifier between Russia and Germany in the Greek Club (I know, I can hear you thinking 'wow, that's SO african!!). I had two cocktails and a cider and was well and truly merry. After a diet of unprocessed food and no alcohol my tolerance for alcohol ain't what it used to be!!! Luckily, the hotel was right across the road and Annemart dropped us there in her taxi on her way home.

This morning we had a delicious breakfast and a leisurely stroll from the hotel into town...it was just the treat I needed (well, WANTED!!).

What am I here for?

The most difficult part of living at the baby home (for such a short period of time) is that I know now that for me, it is a completely selfish experience. When I'm feeling lonely, or stir crazy, or done with the trials and tribulations of living with 6 other women, I seek solace from the children and feel happy, buoyant and at home.

But then I feel remorseful for taking so much from them and being able to give very little in return. Sure, they get short term love and attention - but after I leave (in particular - after they reach 2 or 3 years old and can no longer stay at the baby home), who knows what will become of them? These little kids live in such a happy and loving environment at the moment, but their future is uncertain.

One of the toddlers was taken home by his uncle the other day and I keep wondering what his new house is like, whether anyone plays with him, what he is eating, how often he will be bathed, whether they can even give him nappies or if he just has to wear dirty pants. His father works in Kenya so Ibrahim will be staying with the uncle. Does the uncle love him?? Two other toddler twins - Hope and Lazaro leave this month too. They are returning to their Masai tribe. I'm comforted by the fact that they have each other, and will be attended to by an entire village, but the initial culture shock for them will be enormous.

I don't even begin to imagine what will happen to Rosie, Lawassa and Dello. That hurts far too much. I feel sick to my core that those babies have given me SO MUCH and I will remember the impact they made on me for the rest of my life. They have made my life better, but their own future is uncertain, and there is very little I can do to change that in any meaningful way.

So I'm torn - I'm afraid to leave them, but I also wonder whether I have made any difference to begin with.

A dark and stormy night (literally and figuratively!)

Last night was the most chaotic time I have every experienced in the playroom. Julie and I were the only volunteers working because everyone else had the day off, and the power cut out during dinner (for some reason, the generators didn't kick in).

I don't know if it was the lack of power or the fact that it was POURING with rain outside - but the children were ALL screaming. All 30 of them.

The usual routine is that the volunteers take the babies from their high chairs to the playroom after dinner and entertain them while the nannies feed the tiny ones, and then bath the children (each nanny is responsible for 5 kids). When Julie and I had the last child in the playroom we just looked around dumbstruck and then shouted over the pouring rain and screaming babies 'THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO HERE!!!'.

I plonked down on the ground, defeated. Rosie, Lawassa, and a little boy called Rueben spotted me, momentarily stopped screaming and literally RACED towards me across the room on their hands and knees, and came skidding to a halt on my legs. I had them under control, provided I had them all on my lap, and separated from each other. The second any of them touched each other, or any part of their body made contact with the ground, the screaming re-commenced. Mama Ju had a similar situation on the other side of the room.

When we finally prised ourselves away from the children at 6pm (that was TRAUMATIC!) and made our way outside, we were greeted by Lazaro, Rahma and Clinton, three little toddlers who had somehow escaped the darkness of the baby home and decided to go for a swim. Covered in mud, shivering, but blissfully happy- they were splashing around in a drain that was waist deep full of water. Though I was mortified about what may have been if no-one spotted them, I was trying to suppress my laughter at their resourcefulness. They were the only happy babies in the entire orphanage!!!

Go-carting photos

See my post re go-carting below, for photos which I have now been able to upload :-)

The thing about monkeys...

The problem with falling in love with little monkeys is that it's impossible to get a nice family portrait!!!

These shots are of Lawassa, Rosie, Dello and I. Mayhem.

Baby's first tooth

I couldn't be more proud. Rosie just got her first tooth!!! Far out, she is TOO TOO cute. Please excuse her dirty face, she'd just finished breakfast and was waiting for her bath.

No indemnity clauses here!

Wow, the go-carting adventure was just the injection I needed!!

Annemart and I took off on a dala dala to our destination - all we knew was that we had to go "2km past Kisongo" (Kisongo is a village outside of Arusha). We were dropped on the side of the road in the middle of the bush. All we could see was dust, a small tent, 3 go-karts/dune buggies and a bunch of very relaxed Africans. We were greeted by Eric, a half Finnish, half Tanzanian man who closely resembled Lenny Kravitz. Annemart privately nicknamed him 'Stoney Maloney', because if he was any more laid back he might be dead. Haha! He was accompanied by an American woman who also looked like she'd been chilling under the tent for a loooong loooong time.

There were a few other Tanzanian men, who Stoney told us were employed to look after the go carts. They were all merrily drinking Konyagi - Tanzanian gin. They offered some to us too, but we thought that it probably wasn't a good idea. There was also a group of filthy, dusty children playing in the dirt under the tent. When we asked where they came from, Stoney Maloney responded 'dunno, they never speak to us, but they come here every day!'.

Stoney told us that the RULES say we must wear a helmet and seatbelt...but 'don't worry...i don't mind if you take them off'. HA. A risk management specialist, not even the helmet and seatbelt eased my nerves!! These go-carts looked like they'd been around the traps.

Anyway we spent 20 minutes bouncing around the desert - a terrifying ordeal but lots and lots of fun. The landscape was seriously just like the moon! I was so frightened that in the really loose dust our carts would roll and we'd wind up dead. But watching the footage later, we were going SOOOOO slowly!!!!

Afterwards Stoney and his cronies had moved on to beer...he offered us a ride to the dala dala stand. It vaguely occurred to me that if you drink and drive you're a bloody idiot...but then I also remembered that noone wears seatbelts, we cram into the dala dala with up to 28 people at a time, and sometimes we see trucks piled high with produce and human beings alike. A few gins and beer weren't much worse!!

Stoney dropped us at the dala dala stop and enthusiastically invited us to join him for a drink one night in town. I don't think they get many visitors ;-)

Mama Ju missed out on the expedition, as she's STILL recovering from Malaria. When I showed her the pictures and told her all about the colourful characters we met she insisted that we all go back there one day, spend a few hours under the tent and then join our new friends in town later for a nightcap.

Sounds good to me!!

PS description of the pictures: Gocarting x 2; Stoney Maloney in front of the 'office' - you can see his mates and the children in the background; Annemart and I afterwards - if you look at the enlarged photo you can see that my face is COVERED in dust (i lost the race) and in the background you can see two masais sitting in the dust watching the proceedings.

McMania v3.0

The last few days have left me with an overwhelming feeling of boredom and frustration. I don't know if it's because I have just booked flights and accommodation for a safari, Zanzibar, trip to Dubai and to Phuket and therefore the wait for my next adventure seems excruciating, or if it's because I have a very bad dose of cabin fever. I'm thinking it's the latter.

Yesterday I was so irritable and grumpy...I literally COULD NOT remember ever liking it at the orphanage. I knew I was being irrational, because I could remember previously remarking to people about what a good time I was having. But I was SO over it that I wanted to wear earplugs and take off to a silent meditation retreat so that I could just be alone with my thoughts and not see or hear another living being.

The idea of working in the newborn nursery in the afternoon made me want to cry, because the looooong looong hours with nothing to do but change nappies and feed the screaming babies felt akin to torture (when just last week I was thinking what a wonderful experience it was to work in the newborn nursery, bathing and nursing the sweet, innocent babies!).

The other volunteers were a bit taken aback when at dinner time I announced that I was going to bed early and didn't want to eat the communal meal. Why? I SAID because I wasn't hungry. But in reality the thought of hearing another single word from any of the six other women I'm sharing the house with made me want to scream!

Crazy lady!!!

Anyway, I should count myself lucky that I lasted so long without going a little nutty. On the up side I'm feeling a little more composed today (or at least I acknowledge now that the concept of Rebecca McMahon attending a MEDITATION retreat where there is NO TALKING is a little on the crazy side!).

This afternoon Annemart and I are going 'go-karting'. Precisely what that means, where it is, or what sort of safety measures are in place is beyond me because the flyer we found is a little vague. What I do know is that it'll be a fun way to let off steam, and I am DESPERATE for such an opportunity!! Bring it on!

Patriotism in many shapes and sizes

I've been laughing at Mama Ju, because every time we see a banner or bumper sticker honouring Barack Obama (there are a surprising number of them about the place!) she insists that we stop and photograph it. She then sighs wistfully and says 'I love my president'.

A few days ago, Kayla - another American volunteer living in our apartment, presented each of us with a miniature national flag for our respective countries of origin that she had made for us, to put on our bedroom doors. So our house is now full of German, American, Australian, and Dutch flags. I jokingly said 'trust a yank to make a flag'. To which Annemart (the dutch volunteer, who had earlier suggested that each Sunday we assemble outside our bedrooms in front of the flag to sing our national anthems) responded 'Rebecca, you are worse than everyone...you brought an inflatable kangaroo with you. And what about at Mama Asia's house - you saw her kangaroo earrings and starting pointing and yelling "KANGAROOS - that's my COUNTRY!!!!"'.

Okay, she has a point. In my defence, Kev the inflatable kangaroo was a parting gift from Davo. And he has brought much joy and companionship to the household.

But as for the episode at Mama Asia's salon - when did I become such a bogan?? I don't even particularly LIKE kangaroos, unless they're served rare with a rich delicious sauce and a side of garlic mash. But I guess we all get a bit patriotic when we're so far from home.

Only in Africa...

Only in Africa, would an airline that takes the lives of thousands of people into its hands each day by flying them across the country, NOT have the technology to allow for internet bookings.

Only in Africa would that same airline not have the technology to accept payment by credit card at its local office.

Only in Africa would the ATMs impose a daily withdrawal limit of $400 when the flights (which, may I gently remind you, must be paid in CASH in PERSON at the office) cost $600.

Oh dear. The daily challenges. I guess that means that by Monday I will have made enough trips to the ATMS to afford a flight to Zanzibar.

Only to be told that the flight I want is now fully booked ;-)