tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75553614735304685872024-02-21T06:58:05.485-08:00Making Every Moment CountA journey to make E.M.C. on travels to Tanzania and Peru and everywhere in betweenSpencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-46272749782667507542011-10-03T19:55:00.000-07:002011-10-16T20:35:17.114-07:00Week 1 and the Wine ExpositionMy first week in Lima is complete. There's nothing too exciting about my day-to-day life so far. The Minga office is about a 30 minute commute from my house: 5 minutes to the bus, 20 minutes on the bus, then another 5 minutes walking. For curiosity's sake I walked on Thursday and Friday and it's about 50 minutes walking and great sightseeing. Miraflores is basically the South Beach of Lima; very touristy, upscale, on the coast, and there are casinos EVERYWHERE. Beside the fact that everyone speaks Spanish rather than English, it feels like an American city.<br />
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No one shows up to the office until 10:30 or 11am, so my typical day involves waking up at 8am (my body is trained well), running, breakfast and catching the news on CNN or CNN en espanol. Since we come in so late in the morning, I generally leave the office around 7:30 or 8pm. I have my desk in my own office room with a nice big window. The neighborhood of the office is very bougie and reminds me of Florida in the 70s (just a little different from my office space with Village Life). I have to admit I prefer the open air of the Roche office, but this experience will be good training for having a real 40 hour/week office job. My coworkers are wonderful, one of whom (Noemi) is 27 years old and very eager to introduce me to Lima.<br />
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Yesterday, I went with Noemi and some of her friends to the Lima Wine and Pisco Expo. I was expecting a modest neighborhood street festival; I couldn't have been farther off. The Expo was held at the Chorrillo fairgrounds and was HUGE! Over a hundred vendors from around the region providing free tastes of all of their wines, dancers showing off their salsa and tango skills, and great music. <br />
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Next door was the Pisco tent with about 20 pisco vendors. -Pisco is a Peruvian alcohol that is similar to a tequila, used with sweet and sour drinks or simply taken as a shot. Pisco Sour is a sort of national drink, with lime juice, egg whites, and bitters...sooo good!- There are multiple types of Pisco: Acholado, Quebranta, Torontel, Italia, Mosto Verde (the premium), each with their own purpose...for mixing, shooting, sipping, etc. Great first cultural experience in Lima!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQG14nEOl0LTwy-nIh3tYDFdXUjMjHRaMolxfEaQ1yMbZ_aIZPKCpfEO-D4EyqdmkW5eq0bitlBDIQ9wIdOGM5s87MZ9pTcinTs1FqqqgjeAQfYebqHjp-VmOh62fpCFfMjOYupdbLMNI/s1600/Pisco+Expo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQG14nEOl0LTwy-nIh3tYDFdXUjMjHRaMolxfEaQ1yMbZ_aIZPKCpfEO-D4EyqdmkW5eq0bitlBDIQ9wIdOGM5s87MZ9pTcinTs1FqqqgjeAQfYebqHjp-VmOh62fpCFfMjOYupdbLMNI/s320/Pisco+Expo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-3026696487199911712011-09-28T18:37:00.000-07:002011-10-16T19:55:00.186-07:00Two Spencers in One AirportAccording to the UN World Urbanization Prospects report, Lima is the 27th largest metropolitan area in the world with almost 9 million people living in the metropolitan area, so it would be crazy to think that I'm the only Spencer in Lima. But who would have thought that there were two Spencer's landing at the Lima Airport at midnight on given night? I sure didn't when I was looking for the taxi driver that my host arranged to pick me up. I saw a sign with "Spencer" on it and when I asked if his name was Gaspar he smiled and nodded (evidently not understanding me). Beside the taxista asking me how my flight from Quito, Ecuador was, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We had a wonderful ride (approx. 40 minutes) to Miraflores, and I got a bit of Spanish practice telling him about my project and learning about his family.<br />
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Then, we pull up to the Lion Backpackers Hostel and he tells me this is it..."No, this is not it, I'm staying with a family." And all of a sudden, the light bulb clicks. The sign he was holding at the airport also said Andrew on it and in my daze of traveling all day I just ignored it; he wasn't wrong in asking me how my flight from Quito was. Turns out two Spencers with arranged taxis to accommodations in Miraflores (one of 49 districts in the Lima metro) landed at the Lima airport at midnight on September 26th. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong one. <br />
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This would not have been a problem if I had been prepared and had written down Laura's contact information OR better yet, taken down the address. But I had figured the taxista would take care of that... Luckily the manager of the Lion Backpackers Hostel was very helpful and allowed me to use their internet to look up Laura's phone number and then called Laura for directions to her home. So, an hour and a half after picking up "my" ride home, I finally made it to my house for the next three months. We never found out what happened to Spencer Andrew but hopefully he made it to the hostel.<br />
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Home sweet home in Miraflores, Lima, Peru. Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-19946216508787955842011-09-27T18:08:00.000-07:002011-10-16T18:37:16.703-07:00Back in Business for a new experienceWell, everyone, after an unfortunate 8 weeks away from the blogosphere, I'm back in business. The last few weeks of my project work in Tanzania were very busy as I completed my 80 hut-to-hut surveys and conducted multiple stakeholder interviews with village leadership, school faculty and staff, and even with the Rorya district primary school officer. Once back in the US on August 30th, I barely stopped moving, never in one place for more than 4 or 5 days: Fayetteville for the first Razorback game of the season, Hot Springs and Lake Hamilton for Labor Day and quality family time, DC for a wonderful reunion with close friends and some professional meetings, NYC for the Clinton Global Initiative, and in between a lot of short periods in Little Rock (ALL IN ONE MONTH). <br />
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On September 26th, I packed up my bags again (much lighter this time) and headed off to Lima, Peru <br />
to begin project work with Minga Peru. I am developing a study tour program for the organization that will bring undergraduate and graduate Communication students to Lima and the Amazon to learn about Minga's work and to meet the women and children with whom Minga works. Although Minga looks to work with multiple universities in the future, we are currently planning on a pilot program with UALR for this coming May. The deliverable of my project is a program guide for the organization outlining not only the programming and lessons for the May trip but providing a framework so that Minga staff will be able to coordinate programming and logistics for future programs as well.<br />
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Not only does this next experience look to provide numerous lessons in program development, organizational management, and fundraising, but also will be a great comparison to my work this past summer in Shirati. Whereas in TZ my project work was in the field and I was working in the field most days, my work in Peru will be based out of Lima. I will only have one opportunity to visit the Amazonia communities (for a week) and so will have to take advantage of that week to gain as much insight as possible into the programs, the people, and the dynamic of Minga Peru in the Peruvian Amazon. Here's to the next adventure! Salud!Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-28140632737744639652011-08-04T13:11:00.000-07:002011-08-13T08:15:29.462-07:00"It's a Small World after All"<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After snorkeling, I hopped a cab to Mangapwani, where classmate Derrick Rainey has spent the past ten weeks doing his IPSP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, my original intention was to take a dala dala (public bus) up there for a mere 1300Tsh ($.88), but the cab driver that was taking me to the station talked me into riding up with him after bargaining him down by about $12 for the round trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned out to be a good decision because he was fascinating!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Born in Stone Town, his father left the family, leaving him to live with his mother and grandmother, both of whom had no income.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to help his family he started working and saved up to put himself through English school and then driving school, which allowed him to become a taxi driver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eleven years later, he owns his own cab (very clean!), a taxi business that contracts with other cabbies, and has bought his own house for his wife, two children, mother, and grandmother…cool story! He was fascinated with the projects that we do for IPSP and Capstone, and I think we have inspired him to start an NGO in Zanzibar assisting villages with their lack of clean water.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, I was able to visit Derrick in his village and received a full tour of his IPSP partner, Creative Solutions, an organization that provides education in English, art, carpentry, sewing, cultivating, and now thanks to Derrick, music, to young adults and pre-schoolers in Mangapwani.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The complex is fascinating as every structure is artistic, colorful, and utilizes local resources.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like he has really had a great time and been very successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the help of our friend, Margret, one of the students at CS, we went to the famous slave chamber, where Arab slave traders would hide slaves after the trade had been outlawed in the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chamber was protected by the cliff on which it sits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the chamber we headed to the beach for a swim in the west coast waters, a bit different of an experience but a beautiful sunset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great catching up with Derrick and hearing about the upcoming wedding that I will unfortunately miss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Congrats to Derrick and Lonnie!<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Turns out my day with Derrick was his last full day in Zanzibar, and coincidentally our flights off the island were only fifty minutes apart, so although we did not realize it until he showed up to the terminal and saw me standing in the gift shop, I was able to be Derrick’s last familiar face before heading back to the states!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My next story of connections occurred at the Dar airport in the security line to get back into the airport (no matter whether domestic or international, all those flying into Dar must exit the terminal and re-enter the airport).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was standing in front of two Americans and as all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mzungus</i> in Africa seem to do, we started talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tell me that they are graduate students from Berkeley who spent the summer doing graduate research in Kampala, Uganda (where two of my classmates are).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I excitedly tell them that I’m also doing graduate work and that two of my classmates are also in Kampala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as I tell her that I’m a student at the Clinton School of Public Service, she says, “oh yeah, isn’t that in Little Rock?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m incredibly impressed/surprised that she knows this, and she quickly explains that she met a guy at an internet café in Kampala who went to CSPS...Andy Lewis, my guess is you’re that guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, I landed early evening in Mwanza and was picked up by none other than Ben Mwangi*, an old family friend of CSPS classmate, Shamim Okolloh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had only met through Facebook, so it was an interesting waiting period outside the airport, wondering if he was actually the guy standing right next to me, but we easily found each other thanks to cell phones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a great time getting to know such a close friend of Shamim’s and Mama Shamim’s, my two favorite Kenyans, and I think that I’ve almost talked him into coming to Little Rock for our graduation next May, so we’ll see if he follows through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-88954242721633934992011-08-03T13:10:00.000-07:002011-08-11T13:10:42.138-07:00Finding Nemo! <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So Wednesday was to be our touristy day of snorkeling, souvenir shopping and touring the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set up for a fisherman to take us out to Prison Island, just off the harbor of Stone Town, and after about an hour ocean ride in a small fishing boat floating through crystal clear turquoise water, we arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were about six of the same boat hovering around the expansive reef around the island, so we took the back edge of the reef and had a field day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As wonderful as snorkeling in Costa Rica was, this far surpassed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fish swam around us as if we were one of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh! And I found Nemo!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was following this really pretty black and gold fish (obviously a Sigma Nu fish) when I saw a clown fish hanging around an anemone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the clown fish here are more black and orange with a little white, they’re unmistakable and upon a closer look, I found Marlon and his wife (who was not in fact eaten by the shark) and then in the back corner of the anemone there was little Nemo, a baby clownfish no bigger than the size of a small paper clip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyways, the aquatic life was amazing, and I can’t wait to get a book of tropical Indian Ocean fish so that I can be a dork and identify all the fish I saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I was amazed by the urchins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the urchins that I’ve experienced are an ugly brown color but these were jet black with a button-like middle that was neon orange encircled by five white dots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was terrifyingly beautiful; I still stayed far away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-63981772065076863832011-08-02T13:09:00.000-07:002011-08-13T09:27:26.646-07:00The Fish Market (F.A. Post for Week 7)<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This might be the definition of food heaven on Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every night in the Fordhani Gardens, tens of vendors set up tables, grills, and presses for 5-6 hours of food, drink, and fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a feeling that it’s mostly done for tourists, but I don’t care; I’m amazed!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each fisherman table is covered with skewers of kingfish, tuna, barracuda, lobster, squid, octopus, prawns, shrimp, mussels, scallops, beef, and chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there was chipati, coconut naan, regular naan, massive lobster claws, whole octopus tentacles, potato cakes, fish cakes, sambusas, fried plantain, ALL on a 6’ X 2’ table, and all mostly under 5,000Tsh (~$3.33) except for the lobster claws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You point to all the different skewers you want, they load it onto a white Dixie plate and then take it to the grill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When cooked, they load it back onto the plate with a backup plate and cover it in this chili sauce that although it practically makes you cry, it has the perfect sweet taste to compliment the seafood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first vendor was a man named Mr. Polite, and boy was he!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friends made fun of me for dwelling on this, but after two hours of eating, I went back to Mr. Polite for one last lobster skewer as he was packing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With only two skewers left, he laughed at my love for the lobster and gave me the last two for the price of one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkL3ne8sx-NA83Jwgj74ZBa4y3qlj77Ob-czqp4wHJ7boXp664hV4Cx0tn8ebmA52bhAc_YsJOf-relbLMB2LEgQ2CoPdV5Ed7qQFEh_6vz0s5-GH9Yzuqhuq2rQb-gaGg2u_Of_MYeb4/s1600/DSC01167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkL3ne8sx-NA83Jwgj74ZBa4y3qlj77Ob-czqp4wHJ7boXp664hV4Cx0tn8ebmA52bhAc_YsJOf-relbLMB2LEgQ2CoPdV5Ed7qQFEh_6vz0s5-GH9Yzuqhuq2rQb-gaGg2u_Of_MYeb4/s320/DSC01167.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Polite's Fish Stand</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In between the fisherman tables, there are stands with sugar cane juice flanked by big mechanical presses that siphon the juice squeezed from the sugar cane into a basin that is then emptied into a bowl and sold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s fascinating the preciseness of the way the men fold the cane over and over to get all available juice out of each stalk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, there is Zanzibar pizza.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much like a crepe, it’s thin dough fried but with toppings cooked into the dough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first attempt was with a chicken pizza and unfortunately I saw the massive amount of mayo that they spread on it, so although good, it wasn’t my favorite. But THEN I had the mango pizza and it was divine: just the right amount of sweet but with light dough that reminds me of a good ol’ peach cobbler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, we went back the next night and although I did not spend too much time at Mr. Polite’s table, I found a guy with comparable food who even had fresh lemon juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, food coma ensued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-76826971606856490782011-08-01T13:06:00.000-07:002011-08-13T09:44:13.702-07:00Something off of a National Geographic<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Dlc2x9uyb3mhV95Yh4Ovi_cs6Xkh0bFSnSLAvxUgEKe0okNDaiGT79aWwK5ejLWyA1aL8geM0bqvjSPKZ5lDzI2ZSnW80yczSR-JHGhukZ_2QE6DVypxAlqyf_7CefASZ5ZlmFlmjA/s1600/DSC01121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Dlc2x9uyb3mhV95Yh4Ovi_cs6Xkh0bFSnSLAvxUgEKe0okNDaiGT79aWwK5ejLWyA1aL8geM0bqvjSPKZ5lDzI2ZSnW80yczSR-JHGhukZ_2QE6DVypxAlqyf_7CefASZ5ZlmFlmjA/s320/DSC01121.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bwejju Beach - Indian Ocean to your left</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is exactly what Zanzibar is: National Geographic or Travel + Leisure, their cover of “history meets culture meets beauty” or “most beautiful beaches in the world”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A quick lesson about Zanzibar: located on the east coast of Tanzania, it has a long history of being a stop on the Arab slave trade corridor and so has an incredible blend of Arab, Indian, African, and oddly enough Italian culture and food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the “zan” in Tanzania, since the merging of Tanganyika and Zanzibar in 1964 and has its own Vice President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Told by a local, Zanzibar is like looking at the palm of a hand: the main part of the island is the palm and four fingers together and the east has a thumb with a bay in between the thumb and pointer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bwejju Beach at low tide - Notice how far out the waves are and the numerous "clam diggers" </td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bwejju is on the outside of the thumb; Stone Town is at the bottom of the pinky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we got a taste of the inlet between the island and Dar AND the east coast of the Indian Ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beaches in the east are like something off of a poster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The land is lined with palm trees growing out over the beach, the sand delicately gives underneath your foot, and the shellage is diverse and abundant (my mom would be lost for HOURS!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crazy thing about this coast is the low tide literally recedes for about a mile leaving a marsh-like space in between the regular beach and the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried trekking out to the water during low tide and made it about 30 feet before being totally stuck in the muck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The view, however, is incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hundreds of women are scattered from beach to ocean, dragging big bags and filling them with what I would guess to be sea life that didn’t make it out with the tide, hanging out in the small puddles that make up the barren ocean bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when it’s high tide, there’s barely any beach or sand at all, and when we were in Michamvi (at a hotel with a GREAT bar and restaurant that should be visited by all) the tide actually came onto the hotel property and up to the deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part of the island is surprisingly very isolated and quiet, few tourists, and incredibly peaceful, a great place to get away.</span><br />
<br />
</div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-44384457037943346842011-07-31T13:05:00.000-07:002011-08-11T13:06:22.170-07:00"Smile Ur in Zanzibar" <span style="font-family: Calibri;">As much as I love Shirati, I am at my core a city boy and so I have gotten very restless in the small, rural community of Shirati and the outlying villages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m running out of things to peruse at Monday Market, I’m running out of reasons to go to town, and although I will never run out of books to read (Esther has a library that rivals DC’s), my mind needs something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cure?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mini trip to Zanzibar!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve heard awesome things from CSPS Class 5ers and three of my SHEDmates have planned a trip, so I tag along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, with the internet capabilities in Mwanza and Zanzibar, I plan to download all the necessities for the database I’m trying to build for Roche Health Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve tried downloading it on “Shirati-net” twice only for it to give up on me after about 15%, so this trip is dubbed: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">business.</i> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a 5 ½ hour cab and bus ride to Mwanza (the second-largest city in TZ), an 1 ½ hour flight to Dar, and a 20 min puddle jump, we arrive on the famed “spice island”, ZANZIBAR!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what is the first thing we see?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nice topiary that reads: “Smile Ur in Zanzibar.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn right!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a great and positive greeting!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think for CSPS orientation we should have a topiary that says “Smile Ur at the Clinton School.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you think, Dean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The three of us left in Shirati joined our friend, Avi, a recent visitor of the Kilimanjaro summit and headed to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are to spend two nights on the east coast (yes, my first experience with the Indian Ocean!) in a beach village called Bwejju and then two nights in the capital and main city, Zanzibar Town, more commonly known as Stone Town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, before heading to Bwejju, we decide to grab dinner and a drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Avi: “So do you guys want to be next to the beach or ON the beach?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmm…when he said “ON the beach,” he was serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We enjoyed the evening at a restaurant where I literally had my feet in the sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a great start to the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, there’s always a catch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we’re heading out of Stone Town, we notice that a lot of the restaurants and clubs are dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After inquiring, the cabbie laughs and says, “Do you guys not know what today is?” –No... “The first of Ramadan.” –Wow, way to go team! This should make for an interesting trip as Zanzibar is 95% Muslim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let the good times roll…<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-67709677102609579702011-07-29T12:52:00.000-07:002011-08-07T12:53:27.685-07:00The Kuku Kollektors<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To add to the craziness that was this day, the hostel experienced the arrival of what we lovingly called the kuku kollektors (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kuku</i> = chicken in Kiswahili).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ante and I were on our way to meet Josiah and head to the hospital when we noticed about 30 men and boys all standing around the Kawira’s house, and almost every one of them was holding a chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One guy even offered one to Ante.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ran into the house to ask Dr. Esther what the heck was going on, and she had no idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily they didn’t seem angry, actually quite the opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our guesses were either they were there to celebrate Dr. Esther’s return from 10 days in Cyprus OR they were members of the local poultry federation and needed some meeting space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After sending Josiah out to figure out the craziness, he informed us that they were a sort of tax collectors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evidently today had been a mandatory work day for all men in Shirati to report and help fix/build a road in town (according to Josiah, the leftovers of the ol’ socialist government).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josiah had not reported and thus owed a chicken to the town council.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These men had been the ones to work and now were going to the houses of the families without a representative working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fine? Either a chicken, 3,000Tsh ($2), or something of similar value and removable (such as a plastic chair).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, folks, I can’t make this stuff up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well he had just killed his last chicken for lunch and he couldn’t give up one of our chairs that we use every morning when waiting for the Hilux, so he paid them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might wonder what they do with the chickens that they’ve collected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, they hold an auction immediately after all fines are collected and the money raised goes to…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, Josiah gives them enough money to buy three of the chickens up for auction along with his and Manine’s fines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus is the first strike of the infamous kuku kollektors.<o:p></o:p></span>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-80565088508772003882011-07-29T12:51:00.000-07:002011-08-13T09:58:57.912-07:00Giving blood in Africa<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What began as a totally normal day of not getting the requested data from schools and hut-to-hut surveys quickly turned into the craziest day I’ve yet to have in Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived back from Roche later than usual and as I’m resting a little, I hear crazy commotion coming from the secondary school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where the Chapakazi soccer team practices, so, wondering if they’re playing a game, I call Wiklife who informs me that his school is in a match with a rival secondary school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I like little more than school sports so I arrange to meet him at the game to watch and enjoy some friendly competition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my way to meet him, I run into Dr. Esther who flags me down and asks me what blood type I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell her that I’m pretty sure I’m B+, and she quickly shows excitement for my answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They need to give a blood transfusion to the boy with BL before they can begin chemotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loyce (pronounced Lois), one of the nurses whom Ante and I love…she’s hilarious…is compatible, but they need one more person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After confirming my blood type with my mom I tell her I’m in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, one may say, “Spencer, are you crazy? Giving blood in Africa?!” Well, Dr. Esther, Ante, and Elizabeth (all medical professionals) assured me that it is perfectly safe and that I will see them remove the sterile needle and bag from the plastic packaging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between committing to donating blood and the actual blood donation, I run over to the soccer fields to see the game…it is crazy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are hundreds of people (students, parents, general fans) standing on the sidelines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And every time either time gets even close to scoring the girls go crazy and run on to the field, only to quickly retract and run back off, scurrying out of the way so as not to interfere with the players coming at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I witness a goal by Wiklife’s school, Kuturu, and you would’ve thought Elvis had entered the field, as every female student ran onto the field screaming and jumping celebrating the goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At 6:30pm, I left the game to head to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josiah and Ante are joining Loyce and me for moral support and the experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrive at the hospital to find a single lab tech in the lab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name is Tobias, and you would’ve thought that he hadn’t seen a human being in years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was overly excited to see us and incredibly welcoming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We explained that we needed to take a pint of blood from Loyce and me so that we could give BL boy a transfusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He quickly informed us that they have a lot of blood in their fridge, to which Loyce snapped back, “Well, why don’t you just give it to us?!” (This was to be her first time giving blood and I don’t think she was totally stoked about it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explained that since he was not a patient of the hospital that he couldn’t provide it for free; however, if we gave two units he would switch out two units; this will work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we begin the process; and what a process it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tobias is obviously very good at his job and greatly enjoys it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He talked us through EVERY. SINGLE. STEP. of his job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explained how he was going to prick my finger and remove my blood to test blood type and for HIV (no worries, I’m proudly negative).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He explained to me how he could tell which type my blood was and the purpose of the control (thank you, sixth grade science).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally we make it to the phlebotomy room and he sets me up for the donation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now everything had been very similar to giving blood in the US minus a few technological luxuries mostly for comfort that we use in the US; that is until the needle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As usual, he was licking his chops at my nicely large, easily findable veins, when I looked up as he was about to put the needle in, and I immediately gasped: it was HUGE! Huge and metal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I’m spoiled with the mini butterfly needles or whatever they’re called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it through the insertion, and one great thing about a huge needle is it pumps a lot of blood very quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loaded up a pint bag in about 3 minutes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(My fraternity brothers and I used to race to see who could fill up a bag the fastest, and I’m pretty sure the fastest was about 5-6 minutes).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the bag was full, needle out, and pressure applied, I rested for a few minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I had the great idea to take a “picture with my pint,” and so got up and went to ask Tobias if I could (here I have found that they’re much less strict about privacy and certain standards that would never fly in the US).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if I was still recovering from the blood loss, hadn’t had enough water, or simply got up too fast, but within about a minute of being in the main room, I started sweating badly and felt a little woozy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, as I have done before for my parents, I announced to everyone that I was about to faint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josiah and Ante ran to catch me as my knees collapsed, and poor Ante quickly realized that I was much heavier than I look and handed me off to Tobias.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did Ante do next? Ran to grab my camera; most would be mad at this…I was happy that I have some great documentation of the ordeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never passed out or lost vision or hearing, but I quickly found myself seated in a chair, Tobias and some random nurse (where she came from I have no clue) holding my legs up above my head and Tobias fanning me with a blue medical folder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Typical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remain more or less in this position for the next 10 minutes on Tobias’ orders (as he laughs the entire time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I spent ten minutes lounged in a chair, feet propped up, and a nurse (I soon found out her name was Leonida) fanning me to keep me cool; the only thing missing was a palm leaf, which of course I asked for…she didn’t get the joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6Khd8yciBJZx7yrpPew6y1lS4fcXFcPKU66ngxMdzFWiiLujxwIt70aGCdtPWYXWxTo4F8hNImp2Izo1XNpGhEZMDix8WcywlWNEjG20z1FOHQTDhvwLTk7BR6MWs1UloAd4mthVzG4/s1600/DSC01078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6Khd8yciBJZx7yrpPew6y1lS4fcXFcPKU66ngxMdzFWiiLujxwIt70aGCdtPWYXWxTo4F8hNImp2Izo1XNpGhEZMDix8WcywlWNEjG20z1FOHQTDhvwLTk7BR6MWs1UloAd4mthVzG4/s320/DSC01078.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impressive response and recovery care from almost passing out (insert palm leaf)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, Loyce had given her pint and was already walking around worrying about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt pitiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with Tobias demanding that she sit and rest, she refused, saying that women can handle blood loss a lot better than men; after all, they’re used to it from childbirth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we end the night Loyce and I a pint of blood down, BL boy a pint up and looking much livelier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All in a day’s work.<o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5H3NxiX9zZfg-Bl04H6Is5hNDj0yC9gaZhJb8tKxl0gKoGjVqrsQfrGMqLrAFEZeVgiEJFOb8laWx8twGrjiPe3ODdCdwnzUB6IHCxgtopmcMPp02YmPCqwFN8x2CizetW9sKyBL2mI/s1600/DSC01072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5H3NxiX9zZfg-Bl04H6Is5hNDj0yC9gaZhJb8tKxl0gKoGjVqrsQfrGMqLrAFEZeVgiEJFOb8laWx8twGrjiPe3ODdCdwnzUB6IHCxgtopmcMPp02YmPCqwFN8x2CizetW9sKyBL2mI/s320/DSC01072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As the needle goes in...I swear, it was HUGE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-52830616714503912002011-07-28T12:50:00.000-07:002011-08-07T12:51:40.986-07:00Encountering a pediatric cancer patient in Tanzania<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Burkett’s Lymphoma (BL) is a cancer prevalent in East Africa that is thought to be caused by EBV (Epstein Barr Virus).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is seen mostly in children who experience tumor growth generally in the face or abdomen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Esther and SHED are currently participating in research and treatment funded by the National Cancer Institute through a program called EMBLEM and there is actually a Burkett’s Lymphoma center across the street from the SHED complex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When arriving in Shirati, I was excited to hear about this and was interested in anything I could do to help (I’m really missing my CARTI Kids, especially since I missed the trip this year…in Chicago of all places-Go Cubbies!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a patient admitted into the center when I got here, but unfortunately soon after my arrival he died from BL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past week, however, Ante came across what she believed to be a boy with BL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and his father came in to the clinic because the boy’s foot was swollen (like a baseball) and severely infected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Ante helped them with the foot, the father mentioned that the boy had a big lump in his lower belly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lump felt just like a tumor, so we brought him back to Shirati with us for observation and possible treatment (it blew my mind that the tumor was actually a side-note of the visit and thanks to Ante, they were able to identify another very dangerous complication for this boy).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out he does have BL and after an ultrasound of his abdomen, we know that the tumor is very big and wrapped around his spleen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a complicated situation because before the tumor can be treated with chemotherapy, the infection in the foot must be controlled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the past week, we’ve been soaking the foot, he’s been heavily medicated with antibiotics, and the swelling and infection are slowly going away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boy has been a champ, especially considering that a week ago his life was totally normal (besides of course the massive, painful foot that he had) and now he’s a young teenager having to battle cancer, the effects of chemo, and a weakened body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will keep updated on his progress.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For more information regarding BL and the EMBLEM study, visit the SHED Foundation at </span><a href="http://www.shedfoundation.org/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">www.shedfoundation.org</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-87470494093530975572011-07-26T12:50:00.000-07:002011-08-07T12:50:43.004-07:00A different culture of record keeping<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, I am supposed to be picking up data from the schools regarding attendance records and national exam scores for the past 6 years (the three years before the start of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Uji</i> project and the three years since).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This proves to be much harder than expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon my initial visit I discussed with them some of the records that would be available for me and after some extra thought, I outlined in a later phone conversation the types of data that I would need (through a translator, of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was almost all lost in translation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first school had a packet ready for me, produced by the district education office outlining the scores and rank of the school for 2008…only 2008.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out they were numero uno that year in the district but were not for 2009 and 2010, so I have a feeling that they only wanted me to see that one year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next school’s product is even more pitiful, only giving me a sheet of paper with the number of students who took the exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although each of these documents is helpful and shows good trends for the evaluation, it’s not enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to my faithful Rosie, we’re able to explain again everything that we need and confirm with them that they can provide it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They explain to me, however, that much of it will have to come from the district office, as they don’t keep a lot of those records on file.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have quickly realized how different the systems of reporting are here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out, even though all students take national exams, the only schools that receive their results in paper form are the top ten schools in each district.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The others are informed (I guess by phone?) and that’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, they do not keep student-by-student attendance records, only total amount and only calculate annual averages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In no way do I intent to bash this system because they do the best they can with the resources and lack of technology that they have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I have learned a lot about the flexibility I must maintain in conducting an evaluation here, and it’s good to recognize these road blocks in trying to develop practices that will help VLOP monitor the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Uji</i> project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My next step is pursuing if there’s any possibility of working directly with the district office…we’ll see how that goes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-29618742159648099722011-07-25T12:47:00.001-07:002011-08-07T12:49:40.154-07:00The not-so-sweet sounds of Shirati in the morning<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never growing up in the country, I got my share of farm animals and early wake-up calls only at Boy Scout camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make up for this lack of exposure, I am living in Shirati, Tanzania, where there’s pretty much no such thing as sleeping past 7:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the rare occasion that you’re in a dead sleep, you may make it to 8 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has been an interesting transition, as the only sound I’m used to waking me up in the morning is one of our five dogs barking or my mom screaming at them to be quiet and not wake me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shirati, I believe is more active and bustling in between 5 and 8 in the morning than 5 and 8 in the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First call of the morning is the Bunda bus: 5am, leaving for Bunda (about 3 hours away) but rather than quietly leave Shirati, it announces its departure with honking and some sort of music that sounds like those god-awful ringtones that the original Nokias had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It drives on the road that passes right in front of my hostel, and there have been mornings in which Fernando and I thought it was coming through the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next, comes the rooster: 6-6:30am, not only making his presence known but multiple times, as if I had been able to sleep through the first 4 announcements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the children: just before 7am, they all start arriving at school and talk and scream as if they’re just getting back from summer vacation…every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our hostel is neatly positioned between Mkoma Primary School (I could literally spit onto their playground) and Kuturu Secondary School (outside of which the political party blasts propaganda, evidently recruiting future supporters).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, the gong: 7am, school is beginning and a noise resonates from either school that sounds like every Tibetan monk is in unison banging their peaceful gongs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m interested to attend school with Wiklife so I can witness what the damn thing actually is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the “bell” has been rung, there’s no going back (to sleep) because then begin the morning announcements for each school, the dogs barking, cows are awake thanks to the rooster, and the whole barn is welcoming the morning; and so, I do too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, my housemate goes to bed no later than 9pm, so I have no excuse to stay up late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, I am paid back for my quiet, peaceful childhood of sleeping in the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-53921625464824984142011-07-25T12:47:00.000-07:002011-08-07T12:49:48.569-07:00The not-so-sweet sounds of Shirati in the morning<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never growing up in the country, I got my share of farm animals and early wake-up calls only at Boy Scout camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make up for this lack of exposure, I am living in Shirati, Tanzania, where there’s pretty much no such thing as sleeping past 7:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the rare occasion that you’re in a dead sleep, you may make it to 8 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has been an interesting transition, as the only sound I’m used to waking me up in the morning is one of our five dogs barking or my mom screaming at them to be quiet and not wake me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shirati, I believe is more active and bustling in between 5 and 8 in the morning than 5 and 8 in the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First call of the morning is the Bunda bus: 5am, leaving for Bunda (about 3 hours away) but rather than quietly leave Shirati, it announces its departure with honking and some sort of music that sounds like those god-awful ringtones that the original Nokias had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It drives on the road that passes right in front of my hostel, and there have been mornings in which Fernando and I thought it was coming through the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next, comes the rooster: 6-6:30am, not only making his presence known but multiple times, as if I had been able to sleep through the first 4 announcements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the children: just before 7am, they all start arriving at school and talk and scream as if they’re just getting back from summer vacation…every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our hostel is neatly positioned between Mkoma Primary School (I could literally spit onto their playground) and Kuturu Secondary School (outside of which the political party blasts propaganda, evidently recruiting future supporters).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, the gong: 7am, school is beginning and a noise resonates from either school that sounds like every Tibetan monk is in unison banging their peaceful gongs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m interested to attend school with Wiklife so I can witness what the damn thing actually is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the “bell” has been rung, there’s no going back (to sleep) because then begin the morning announcements for each school, the dogs barking, cows are awake thanks to the rooster, and the whole barn is welcoming the morning; and so, I do too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, my housemate goes to bed no later than 9pm, so I have no excuse to stay up late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, I am paid back for my quiet, peaceful childhood of sleeping in the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-71806553843538028202011-07-22T11:34:00.000-07:002011-08-15T22:28:10.556-07:00Let the surveys begin!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday, I began my hut-to-hut surveys on usage and satisfaction with the Roche Health Center and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Uji</i> Project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first day was slow to begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After an issue finding transportation, a very bumpy ride in a corolla station wagon that should never traverse those roads, and a punctured tire outside Roche, we finally made it to Migeko, the subvillage I’ll be interviewing first. One of the nice things about the punctured tire is it happened in front of the home of a nice couple, Joyce and Helon Amolo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Helon was a Mennonite minister for years and now at the ripe age of 80, he and his wife now enjoy a quiet but comfortable life in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wife was wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She offered me their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">choo</i> (toilet) and demanded I eat some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> because I looked thin (sounds like back home).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> looked very different from that at the schools, so I was hesitant – a reddish, brown color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was quickly explained to be made out of sorghum and millet rather than corn or flour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great, much sweeter than the school <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drank it out of a bowl made from a dried gourd (Mom would have loved the bowl!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ2lTqSdoWj0ix_6SLEIE8TeiqE2EJiosL4LRYlp8juz8_foPdu75H17XWrTvMuGHVrp6mW57zb-rBuai3RVmn_5eoKbKcWYEpRTZGMG43IiEapgp9Sy9GrL0Y91i9NWB8xqA0fPDx-Q/s1600/DSC00926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ2lTqSdoWj0ix_6SLEIE8TeiqE2EJiosL4LRYlp8juz8_foPdu75H17XWrTvMuGHVrp6mW57zb-rBuai3RVmn_5eoKbKcWYEpRTZGMG43IiEapgp9Sy9GrL0Y91i9NWB8xqA0fPDx-Q/s320/DSC00926.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melda and her children who live in Migeko subvillage.</td></tr>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The surveys went well, although slow, as we were led by the subvillage chairman, Otieno (Agnes’, my committee member, husband) and Paul, chairman of the education committee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They took us all over the subvillage, passing many homes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I explained that we needed to just pick a spot and proceed hut-to-hut rather than pick and choose homes, they told me that if we only did one area, villagers on the other side of Migeko would be jealous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This could be a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three and a half hours later, we finish our fifth survey, and as it is already late, I figure we’re walking back to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope, Otieno takes us to his home to interview his wife (Agnes – this survey will probably have to be thrown out due to bias).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a long interview, only extended by the late, late discovery of a second wife, he invites us into his home to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so late, but this hospitality is necessary in their culture and of course, I never turn down food (very similar to the Southern hospitality, I feel right at home).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Agnes brings out a bowl with ng’ombe (beef) and broth and then two plates of what looks like bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grab it and realize that it is very soft, not like bread, and realize I’m wrong; it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i>. YES!!! (Things to do in TZ: try <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i>. Check! My TZ/African experience is complete) Killian explains to me that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i> to Tanzanians is like the potato to the British, bread to the French, pasta to Italians, and rice to Asians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He instructs me to grab a piece, roll and mold it in my hand into a bowl, stick my thumb in the middle to make an “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali </i>bowl” and then dip in the broth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is SO GOOD!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it has the consistency of cookie dough and so is very chewy, it has a soothing feel to the pallet, yet is a little tough to swallow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whereas I miss pizza, fried food, and tortilla chips, Tanzanians miss <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i> when they are away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusv2GdxQTH7QVNww6fl_Y6Tm-TCsQVyCGwonNrcsj-FBHEpf8KvZoMJrPS7tL_h3Z1yKWUI1PpomogD8CzyjFpO4iqC5uTBJKFdHLxJJ76sKDM5wCRjKGaPOeGIB7GUaEfk0wx3bh6yA/s1600/DSC00912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusv2GdxQTH7QVNww6fl_Y6Tm-TCsQVyCGwonNrcsj-FBHEpf8KvZoMJrPS7tL_h3Z1yKWUI1PpomogD8CzyjFpO4iqC5uTBJKFdHLxJJ76sKDM5wCRjKGaPOeGIB7GUaEfk0wx3bh6yA/s320/DSC00912.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first meal of <em>ugali</em> <em>na nyama</em> (lamb meat) with Paul-VLOP committee member, Otieno-Migeko subvillage chairman, and Killian-my faithful translator (left to right)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second day of surveys goes even slower with us only making it to seven homes in four hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out Migeko is the largest subvillage and so the homes are much more spread out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s interesting dealing with a translator because half the time, I wonder what all he is saying to the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes about three times as long for him to ask “Have you been to Roche Health Center in the past three months?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Killian is a great companion and knows his languages well!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After survey #7 (which went half as long as all the others because Killian was tired and ready to stop) Nyamusi picked us up, only for us to be ushered to the town center to meet with Otieno.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, we were ushered to a meal with Otieno and Paul of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i> and meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, though, the meat was chicken, and it was wonderful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a lot of meat, much different from the chicken we had in Shirati, and flavor was nice and salty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made sure to give me the wing with the most meat, but then followed it up with another piece of….I’m still deciding whether it was the chicken liver or testicles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, I was pleasantly surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was very different from normal chicken meat but tasty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that this is a tradition present in all subvillages…I could get used to this wonderful food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also a great time to get to know the leaders better and talk about the project, albeit through a translator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-41469526495930794242011-07-20T11:33:00.000-07:002011-07-25T11:33:54.500-07:00Update on William John and nursing school graduation<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You may remember William John from my experience at the Mennonite Church about three weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s okay if you don’t; I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least I didn’t recognize him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went to the Zappa Kindergarten, where oddly enough they do photocopying, to copy my survey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, it is finally printed and ready to go!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there, one of the others waiting starts talking to me, and asks if I remember him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh crap!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is one of my most feared questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have met so many people in this town and the villages and have done a good job at remembering my committee members’ and village chairmen’s names, but there are just too many to remember everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My answer? “Of course! How’s everything going?” Phew, crisis briefly avoided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We discuss my project, Roche and the health center, as well as his nursing school regimen, and he mentions religion and Jesus a few times (all the while I’m trying to figure out how I know him and more importantly his name).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His knowledge about RHC doesn’t narrow too much down, but nursing school does and the religious references even more so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I ask him, “now, remind me your first name again?” (This is an okay question because many here go by their last name) His answer: “William.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ding, ding, ding!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light bulb has gone off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sitting next to William John, the kind soul that translated and explained the Mennonite Church service and fundraiser to James and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew exactly who he was now, and he had no clue that anything was ever wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went on talking for another HOUR (it evidently takes forever to make 50 copies of a 13 page survey – that’s 650 pages), explaining his educational background, how he’s graduating in three weeks, and that he is printing off his final project report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their final project involves picking a family in a village, observing them, noting all health problems, and then assessing the causes and cures for these problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must then educate the family on how they can treat and prevent these problems in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a very cool application of their learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nursing school here has just as much of a focus on counseling and education as the actual medical knowledge, which is a nice addition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then make the mistake of asking where he did his project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He misunderstood and thought I asked where his project paper was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This prompts him to get his paper and page by page, word by word, read me his report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>AAAHH!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is including title page, table of contents, acknowledgements, abbreviation pages, everything! Luckily, by page 12, my copying is done and so we must end this wonderful moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was good to see him, and I have now seared into my head what he looks like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, I’ll get to witness a nursing school graduation here…we will see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-46884830664927042842011-07-20T11:32:00.000-07:002011-07-25T11:32:52.554-07:00Movie night with the mzungus<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The past two nights, Fernando and I have watched movies with our buddies, Emmanuel and Wiklife (the coaches of the soccer team).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve been setting this movie night up ever since I got here, but something always falls through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we finally pick Monday night, only for the power to be out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We push through anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wiklife is big into war movies, but the closest things I have to all-out war movies are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Last King of Scotland</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Few Good Men</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latter I think is a little too much talking, and although the former is a little intense and not a lot of fighting, it’s about Idi Amin and Uganda, something close and relative, that they know a lot about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure whether they enjoyed it as a whole, but I could tell that they liked some parts and were following everything easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day, by the grace of God, Elizabeth found <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lion King</i> in Esther’s bookshelf!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As cliché as it is, we have been wanting to watch it ever since we got here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, movie night #2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We invite Wiklife and Emmanuel again, and this time Emmanuel’s brother, Joseph, joined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was glorious, and although I wasn’t allowed to sing along, I enjoyed every moment of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not really sure what they thought about it since Joseph fell asleep and the other two were silent the whole time (probably thought, “Why are we watching a cartoon of animals from the Serengeti talking?”). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, I think it’s interesting for them to see what many Americans envision when they think “Africa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-69157605726185366642011-07-19T11:31:00.000-07:002011-07-25T11:31:57.514-07:00Killian Killing a King Kobra<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My African experience is almost complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen a king cobra and subsequently its death (thank goodness!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were on our way to Roche for clinic and my school visits, the Hilux is packed, and so Sam, Harry (Rosie’s husband and my driver/translator for the day), Fernando, Marta (a Dutch med student tagging along), and I are all in the truck bed, enjoying the breeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of a sudden a HUGE black snake crawls into the road and before we can do anything we run over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nyamusi immediately slams on the brakes and backs up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In front of us is a snake, easily five to six feet long and about two to three inches in diameter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we know it, Killian and Nyamusi are picking up massive rocks, throwing them at the snake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The snake is in the middle of the road – its middle section was squished by a tire and so stuck to the ground – getting beaten with big rocks. It is about a minute in when it raises up about a foot and splays its cobra crown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh s***!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is when Harry and a couple of villagers join in on the stoning of the snake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within another minute, the cobra is dead, only its tail twitching, and Killian is holding it swinging it around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will remind all that in no way am I embarrassed that at this point I am still frozen in place in the truck bed, only having moved to grab my camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once Killian put the snake back down, a woman from the hut right off the road ran up to it and through one last rock on the head, obviously thinking, “Take that, damn cobra!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We soon learned that the snake had been terrorizing the locals for months and so it was a big public service (Killian should receive an honorary degree from CSPS) to kill the snake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also found out that the cobra was not only a king cobra, but a spitting cobra! Again, it was intelligence not fear that kept me in that truck bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s hope that this is my only experience with a snake while in TZ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-86775150872725955372011-07-19T11:30:00.000-07:002011-08-14T08:14:24.744-07:00Finally visiting the schools!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk06HqVt3lL5ypdp8NssfT4is6M3dD3LPY5Txkn9YOm2w5kqBzytl-kyT43EU6zF0W9qzp1fHkBdMatUtdC-705Mj1MX3o78A9iux-XCwC97BHamoSQ4-koqR8FtfbiXVKPsfKcuj0VPY/s1600/DSC00889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk06HqVt3lL5ypdp8NssfT4is6M3dD3LPY5Txkn9YOm2w5kqBzytl-kyT43EU6zF0W9qzp1fHkBdMatUtdC-705Mj1MX3o78A9iux-XCwC97BHamoSQ4-koqR8FtfbiXVKPsfKcuj0VPY/s320/DSC00889.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first taste of the porridge served at primary schools in Roche...tastes like cream of wheat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So after four weeks of waiting, I finally get to visit the primary schools that host the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> project!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first three weeks I was here, they were on summer holiday, and last week they were busy getting students back into school mode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So here I am, spending the day meeting with administrators at Migeko, Ratia, and Roche primary schools, the three <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">msingi</i> of Roche village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quick background on the project: in 2008, VLOP began supplying these schools with flour and sugar to make <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji, </i>the previously mentioned porridge, to be served for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cooks are to be volunteers from the community, so that there is no added cost to the school or students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Public schools in TZ do not provide lunch to students and so they must walk home for lunch every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the distances are so far that many never return for afternoon session; others stay at school with nothing to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea is to provide students with a meal to keep them attentive so they can learn throughout the day but also keep them at school for the entire day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My task for the schools is to develop a monitoring system so that VLOP can keep track of important outcomes and indicators of success/failure with the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also evaluating the current issues and needs of the program at each school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begin at Ratia PS, then Roche PS, and end at Migeko PS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Roche Primary, we arrived as the Standard 2 (second grade) students were taking their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> – they don’t begin school until 11, so they take their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> later than the rest of the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked if there was enough for me to try the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> just so I could relate to them and the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cecilia, the Standard 2 teacher, says “of course!” and is surprised but excited that I would be willing to eat it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And….it’s really good!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s basically cream of wheat in the US (Things to do in TZ: try <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i>. Check!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I just have to get to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The teachers were so welcoming and helpful at all three schools, and I greatly look forward to spending the next month working with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get any time with the kids, but that will come next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They need to be focusing on their school work.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXorcP1-9OoZMhRfOLblly0h70C_xBdLa8H1KDZlt7aDl7TnEeigwiI0s0MhOUf8jF1YscMkG3npSfFbLGZksDjHnANjspcV2Enr1MYzOADMShkN2j6mwbhi9ScJIYjspP8pmT7jTfAU/s1600/DSC00875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXorcP1-9OoZMhRfOLblly0h70C_xBdLa8H1KDZlt7aDl7TnEeigwiI0s0MhOUf8jF1YscMkG3npSfFbLGZksDjHnANjspcV2Enr1MYzOADMShkN2j6mwbhi9ScJIYjspP8pmT7jTfAU/s320/DSC00875.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The students of Roche Primary School getting their cup of <em>uji</em> for the morning break</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-79168709743708080942011-07-17T11:28:00.000-07:002011-07-25T11:29:41.258-07:00Proving that mzungus CAN dance<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This afternoon, Fernando’s football team threw a party for his departure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The party was enhanced by the fact that they won a big game yesterday (against an older, supposedly more skilled team also from Kabwana) with a score of 3-1 (well, really 4-1, but evidently arguing with the ref can get a goal reversed…I question whether some money was exchanged).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The party was held at the home of Joel, an 8 y.o. badass who is the lead scorer for the team and is easily smaller than everyone else who plays with or against.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mother owns a shop in town (where they sell the great <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sambusa</i>!) and so they have a very nice home: a living room that can seat comfortably 15 or so people, 25 if they’re small (like the team is); a satellite for TV (one of the signs of wealth here), a separate hut for cooking; and very nice decorations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The party included the numbering of the new jerseys that they received thanks to their donor, Mr. Fernando, the serving and enjoying of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maraga na wali</i> (YES!), some Luo dancing by none other than Benatus and Joel’s little brother, and then a cup was sent around for everyone to donate towards their buying of cleats for the whole team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end we raised $15,000Tsh in total; not there yet, but every little bit counts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, there were speeches by Joel’s mother welcoming us to her home and thanking us for coming; Wiklife, who spoke for the team; a few other teammates; and Fernando. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a wonderful party, and I was honored to be included.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look forward to the next five weeks of hanging out with my TZ friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon the conclusion of the party, we were all outside hanging out, when Benatus started dancing again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but jump in on the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luo dancing is basically “walking it out” done solely on your toes and a little lower than the American version.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Utter shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all went crazy, screaming in Luo, probably saying, “WHAT?! Mzungu can dance?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, Mzungu can dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I earned a little respect there on that patch of dirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-92213740940890118952011-07-17T11:26:00.000-07:002011-07-25T11:28:29.404-07:00Culinary Lessons of Tanzania (F.A. Post IV)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When traveling to a foreign land, one of the concerns, excitement mixed with fear, is the food availability and culinary selection of where one is going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is an even bigger concern for Americans, as we are used to ungodly quantities of whatever we’re eating, ease of acquisition by simply driving up to a fast food restaurant, ordering, grabbing a box from a window, and driving off, and a selection about as vast as the Grand Canyon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of that describes Shirati, Tanzania; and, as I will pretty much eat anything except for chocolate, mayonnaise, and muster, I have been enveloped in the food culture here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to my parents, do not worry, I am not starving or losing a ton of weight; actually, it’s been quite the opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Much of the diet is based on what can be farmed and raised by the family: corn, millet, cassava, cow, goat, sheep, fish, and chicken(/egg), all of which are combined to make the different meals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are the foundation of the NW TZ diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who are fortunate add rice and beans (I wish I had my Lizano veggie sauce from Costa Rica with me), a wide array of fruits dominated by the banana, pineapple, and mango, potato, and peppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than that, it’s pretty simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two basic meals are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i>, the second of which you may recognize from my project with VLOP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whereas <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ugali</i> is the bread of the diet, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> is porridge; yet they have the same ingredients, just cooked differently: one baked over the fire, the other cooked with water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ugali</i> is probably THE quintessential base of the Tanzanian diet, and I have yet to get to try it or the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i>…not cool.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have enjoyed much of the above food: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">marage na wali</i> (red beans and rice); goat/beef/lamb with rice and cabbage; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chapatti</i>, the Tanzanian version of a tortilla, served with anything; flat pancakes; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mondazi </i>(fried dough); lots of egg for breakfast; fish and chips (French fries), which is the “pub/restaurant food” here; goat/beef/lamb/fish stew; and others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing I can definitely say about SHED is they provide a good variety of local TZ cuisine, meals with a little American flavor, and meals considered luxury to anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To tell you all the culinary novelties that I have enjoyed would be ridiculous and inefficient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned, though, of one thing that I DO NOT like:<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This morning we had a great breakfast of pancakes, jelly, sugar, and tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pancakes are by far my favorite breakfast and are not like American pancakes, as I don’t think they use baking powder here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are light, thin, and easy to eat A LOT OF.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could put a tall stack to shame; try three or four tall stacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast, though, Robert brought out a container of fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside was an orange melon-looking fruit sliced into crescent shapes…cantaloupe?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jumped up so pumped about having cantaloupe and quickly cut off a piece and popped it in my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the bite was going in my mouth, I noticed there was a small, thin skin on the fruit (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uh oh, cantaloupe has rind, not skin</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then bit down onto it, and the taste that came only secured my disappointment that this was not cantaloupe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only was it not cantaloupe, but it was one of the worst tastes that I had ever had come from a fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It only stayed in my mouth for a few seconds, but in that time, my taste buds were totally horrified, my tongue confused with whether it was touching a fruit or the sweaty armpit of a hairy man who has just run a half-marathon in the desert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, that is exactly what it tasted like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, from now on, please, oh please, do not EVER let me eat PAPAYA!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-20731491443054639732011-07-15T00:38:00.000-07:002011-07-17T00:39:51.427-07:00A gathering of leaders....eventually<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, I finally am able to get a meeting with the Roche village council, also including the committees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day begins a little rough as Rosie must work at RHC with it being a man short, but it works out well as I begin my work with Killian, the famous translator of SHED.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Used and loved by all, I’m excited to get a full day with Killian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hilux drops us off at the village office (where the meeting was supposed to be held), but within minutes we realize that beside the two of us and Ongoro, one of the VLOP health committee members, no one is around (it’s 10:15 and the meeting was “supposed” to begin at 9).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The village executive secretary shows up around 10:30 and informs us that it is at RHC, not the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we begin the hike to RHC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it was over an hour in the blazing sun, it was a great trek through the farms and fields of cassava, corn, and grass throughout Roche’s subvillages Darajani and Nyataya.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shown the bore hole to provide water for the village (it provides enough water for about one subvillage) built by ESA, a Swedish NGO that used to do a lot of work in TZ but became frustrated with the response (or lack thereof) they were receiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Killian put it, Tanzanians are hard-headed and don’t like change once it’s given to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also was shown the foundation for the secondary school that was to be built on the now-VLOP property that will be used for expansion of RHC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evidently the school had started construction when a wealthy man from Ratia (subvillage east of the property in Nyataya) paid for the school to be moved and built closer to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for VLOP, the school was moved and so the land was given for RHC’s construction.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Around noon, the meeting finally gets underway (remember, African Standard Time, which actually goes well with my sometimes unpunctuality in the US) in the living room of a home just behind the health center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are about twenty-five villagers present including the village chairman and executive secretary, Killian, and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those present were committee members or chairmen from all five subvillages representing health, education, and water interests, a meeting of the village minds, if you will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meeting is begun just as any city council, school board, or official meeting in the US, with the typical formalities, welcomes, and quick news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m introduced and thanked for my presence and future work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the meeting is handed over to me, I take the opportunity to introduce myself in Swahili (a repeat of my first meeting with the chairman), but as I haven’t practiced it in a week, it’s a little rough, and most smile or laugh at me – I think more in a cute, pitying, but appreciative way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meeting in my mind went very well, as I received a lot of input, opinion, and stories from many of the present leaders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One major cultural aspect that I noticed and appreciated was that when someone spoke to give me their thoughts (whether positive or negative), they began by expressing how thankful they were that VLOP and SHED had helped them build the health center and provide lunch to their children and how important the projects have been to the community…everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The comments are also very redundant, but it appears to me that the purpose of this is not to be redundant as much as reinforcing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems they believe that by “seconding” and repeating what someone has previously said, they are showing how true and important the point is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really respect this, especially from an evaluative perspective in that it’s always good for showing that one person’s comment is (or is not) the opinion of the whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After three hours of discussion, questions, justifications, answers, and logistics, Jackson, the village chairman, ends the meeting by thanking me for my future work, my passion, and informs me that upon my departure in six weeks, we must reconvene so that they can show their happiness in giving to me (what, I do not know) as I am giving to them…very cool! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huts of Roche, here I come!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-23411601283405014852011-07-14T00:36:00.000-07:002011-07-17T00:38:16.573-07:00Hitting the ground running<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This entire week I’ve spent finalizing my survey and getting everything ready to begin hut-to-hut and villager interviews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monday morning, I woke up bright and early and began inputting patient information and data regarding treatments, diagnoses, and other patient-specific activities of the Roche Health Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s very interesting how high the number of patients were for the first couple weeks of the center being open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was made quite obvious how great the need for a health center in this area was and the anticipation of the opening of RHC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although there is little to no follow-up on most patients, the fact that many have not had to come back for further treatment hopefully is a good sign that the two-day clinic is helping residents receive quality health care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another observation is that the patients are not just coming from Roche, but from neighboring and far off villages in TZ and Kenya (remember RHC is only about a 20 minute walk from the border).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, it seems to me that there is some valuable information in these records but compiling it from paper records is tedious (as I have found out over the past two weeks), and so I wonder the benefit of computerizing the records into a database that Daniel (the Nurse Assistant who lives at Roche) could keep up with and once a month transfer to VLOP and SHED’s hands for monitoring and research purposes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After talking with Dr. Esther and hearing her enthusiasm, I’m interested in pursuing the possibility further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evidently, no hospital, clinic, or dispensary in the entire country keeps computerized records, and as district and government officials ask for paper records, the priority is for written documents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the possibility of RHC being the pioneer in moving TZ health care to a more digital phase would be so cool!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll see how this works out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spent much of midweek formatting my survey (which takes a much longer time than one would hope), and tweaking, deleting and adding questions and sections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received some helpful guidance from Rosie and Dr. Esther, who informed/reminded me of things that I just simply would not know or consider because of cultural differences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m excited to receive further input from the committees, as I’m sure I am missing a few things, but feel that they survey is pretty comprehensive in evaluating satisfaction with RHC and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">uji</i> project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time next week, I’ll be in the field putting it to work!<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the lighter side of things, I saw my first rock hyrax on Thursday evening while on a run towards the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kyraxes are rabbit-sized rodents that can only be found on or closely around the large rocks that are scattered around the countryside of Shirati, most well-known for being on Eboke, the “mountain” behind Shirati.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re cool little creatures, and where we were we find multiple hyrax hanging out on top of the rocks staring at the sunset…obviously a romantic spot for the male<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> h</span>yrax to bring a hot date.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-66034348572803775582011-07-10T00:33:00.000-07:002011-07-17T00:35:45.972-07:00Crazy bus trip to the border II<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our bus ride to TZ began MUCH better than the last; keyword: began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew better this time and arrived at 9 (rather than 6), and we left promptly at 9:45am. Thus ends the normalcy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must confess that we went against one of Mama Shamim’s rules of busing in E. Africa and had to sit in the back of the bus; we now understand why it is a rule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus begins my list of things that I will never do again after the bus ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, I will never ride in the back of a bus in East Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are no such things as “shocks” on the bus that we’re on and so we feel every single bump on the road, especially the speed bumps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly, I will never complain about speed bumps in Little Rock, Arkansas, or anywhere else for that matter, because those in EA put all others to shame; I’m talking mini mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only two images that come close to the feeling of being in the back are: infant Spencer in the Johnny Jumper bouncing up and down, up and down; and when cartoon characters are shot out of cannons and such, flying across a road or ground bouncing as they come to a stop, only there was no suspension pulling me back up and the ground was not a cartoon but a hard, uncomfortable seat killing my butt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I will never think twice about bringing an animal in transit with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lady on the back row (directly behind us and next to my right side) brought a chicken with her on the bus; yes, a live chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by damn, if any animal behaves as well as that chicken did for six hours (minus the first 2 minutes of freaking out before it was put on the floor), it’s allowed to travel with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so well behaved that at one point, everyone started screaming, “where’s the chicken?! Where’s the chicken?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?!?! You’ve lost the damn chicken, unbelievable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No worries, though, after five minutes of searching it was found against the back wall sleeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyways, I unfortunately conclude this post on a sad note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus was less than 10 minutes from the border, actually in Isebania’s jurisdiction when all of a sudden the bus driver SLAMS on the breaks, swerving, as our bus quickly leans to the right, about to tip over into the ditch on the side of the road; I’m talking about two wheels off the ground tipping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, most of us are on the left side and it comes back to earth and comes to a stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terrified we gather ourselves and start figuring out what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We quickly realize things are bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a piki in the ditch on its side and right behind it a man on his back screaming, one leg going the wrong direction, people are running from all directions to the front of the bus screaming, and we soon realize that they are running to a man lying dead in front of our bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best we can gather is that the man had stumbled out into the street, was hit by the piki, both of which were hit by our bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an odd feeling being on something that kills a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past 5 ½ hours, we had been bitching about how fast the driver was taking the bumps, and yet, his speed in the end possibly played a role in a man’s death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of me wonders if things would have changed if one of us had said something to the driver, but especially coming from a mzungu, I’m sure he would’ve changed little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We actually had multiple people back in Shirati act like it was no big deal, for deaths along the ride happen like that all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, shaken up and kinda out of it, we finally make it back to Shirati and SHED, and I find myself thinking, “thank god, home sweet home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555361473530468587.post-28412574554455202512011-07-10T00:29:00.000-07:002011-07-17T00:42:10.977-07:00A Rough Day in Africa<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At 4:00 am, we reluctantly hop in our cab for the CPT airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a good thing that I was wide awake because our cab driver was not…he was either drunk or exhausted because about every three minutes he would swerve, every car on the highway was flying by us, and I’m pretty sure half the times I looked at him his eyes were closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily we made it, and six hours later we’re flying out of Jo-burg, sadly saying goodbye to South Africa, proudly holding our touristy vuvuzelas, and ready to head back to “real” Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We land in Nairobi at 2:45pm and although we proceed quickly to customs, 45 minutes later, I’m finally getting my passport stamped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember when I spoke so highly of my experience with Kenyan customs and the officer who helped me and commented on my smile? Yeah, I change my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did the customs officer invalidate our current visas that are supposed to be good, but he made me go back and fill out the visa app form again, AFTER he let Fernando through without it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He also would not let me buy a single-entry for 90 days and made me buy a transit visa that only lasts 2 (that's going to help). He claims that Nairobi does not sell multiple entry visas (I'm not quite sure why the largest city and capital doesn't provide them). </span>He must have felt me killing him with my eyes. Bad experience #1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We finally get our bags (minus my ski jacket that was evidently taken out of my bag during our wonderful customs experience. Bad experience #2.) and find Mama Shamim, who had been waiting with the cab driver for an hour and a half (why they got there so early, we don’t know, but this would come back to haunt us later with a $50 cab tab). In an attempt to get some souvenirs, Mama Shamim takes us to the Masai market in downtown Nairobi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set foot on the grounds and within ten seconds, we each have 2-3 guys trying to help us shop, bringing us to their stands and harassing us for business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within two minutes of being there, we each had about 5 guys and by the five minute mark, we’re fed up and leave. Bad experience #3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s pretty sad because for all their work to get business, they got NONE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we will not be back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then proceed to the grocery store to stock up on snacks for the bus ride back to Shirati.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After having a guy cut right in front of us in the line, I pay and thank the bagger for my groceries by saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Asante </i>(thank you in Kiswahili); he proceeds to inform us that “on this side of town [they] know how to speak English, so I should too.” Wow, talk about some friendly people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad experience #4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily we eventually made it back to Mama Shamim’s and stayed inside enjoying time with Mercy, Mama, Natasha, and Carolina, safe from any more bad experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I apologize for the negative comments, but this was my one horrible, angry, negative day of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great things are to come, I’m sure.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>Spencer Frederick Luckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18294106320020294863noreply@blogger.com0