Home (sigh)

I'm sitting at my own desk, at my own computer, feeling a little down. It is so, so good to be with my husband and family again, but everything seems pale here. There is a blandness to this culture and life when compared with the bright colours, the hard red earth, and the dangerous sun of Tanzania. Here, traffic glides by. There, bicycles and trucks swerve chaotically around each other as busses belch out heavy choking clouds. It is not that I miss the choking, or cleaning buckets of dust out of my ears every night, or having to brush my teeth with bottled water. It is something else I can't yet quite describe. Perhaps it is something like the effort of life there, and the obvious, felt vitality in people. Some of those people are the strongest I have ever met. They push and push and push against poverty, thirst, disease, stigma - and it has given them more muscle and heart than is usual for people here. 

It is so hard to believe that a few nights ago we were dancing in the courtyard of the Cpar office, re-playing Bob Marley over and over (and over) again, drinking glasses of wine or bottles of fanta passion, laughing hysterically as Paul channeled his inner ostrich. It is hard to believe that a few days ago we boarded the bus and arrived 10 hours later in Dar Es Salaam, all of us shocked to find ourselves in an oversized, reeling city after spending so long in the country. The coastal air was so different, smelling of salt and fish, humidity coating our skin instead of dust. Jean and Japhet gave us a tour of the city's finest hotels - flowing fountains, chandeliers dripping with jewels, thick carpets and baby grand pianos - to show us that wealth in Tanzania does not trickle down.  And of course we spent some time wading in the ocean. Our last hours in Tanzania were spent staring forlornly out to sea, drinking in as much of its peace and beauty as we could before we had to leave for the airport.

To say that we were all very impressed by Cpar and the work they are doing there is a good contender for understatement of the year. Having studied the many failures of NGOs in developing countries, Jill Heinrichs was so pleased to see the success of Cpar in Tanzania.  And all of us learned how really helping people means making an effort to know what they want and need, and means working to make it possible for the people to adopt and sustain the changes themselves.  

And now I know I will have dreams of Tanzania. My nights will be strange and fantastical voyages back to Masai villages, to herds of zebra, and to the almost holy summit of Kilimanjaro. I have already looked at my pictures several times, and have stuck my nose in the fabrics I bought to smell the heady scents of Karatu's market - livestock, roasting meat, sugar-cane, rubber sandals, peanuts...

Thank you so much to Jean, Japhet, Deo, Nderingo, Ed, Mpesa, Mohammed and all Cpar staff in Tanzania for so generously teaching and inspiring us. Thanks also to Paul Tucker for arranging and managing all the details. Now, who thinks Kerri will have second thoughts and will take that guy up on his offer of 10 cows, 10 donkeys for her hand in marriage?

Karatu

It is nearly time to leave Karatu, and so I have been trying to commit its details to memory. It is a town on a highway, like a tangled knot on a long string. The streets trail off the highway like frayed threads, and having been here awhile now we've had the chance to walk many of them without getting lost. The buildings are long and low, made of red brick or concrete, and painted in what can only be described as ice-cream colours muted by layers of blown red dirt. Some are shops, guest houses, or restaurants with wobbly red plastic patio sets and cases of bottled pop, chip fryers, or choma (barbeque) grills. All the drinking glasses appear dingy and smudged. In fact, the whole of Karatu has a smudged look, as though it were a greasy, dust-covered photograph someone made a half-concerted effort to wipe clear. It is a fascinating place. It is a hotbed of differing religious beliefs, styles, and people - Masai in their famously red plaid shukas, school kids in uniform, farmers in from their fields, women in kengas, and of course many in jeans and t-shirts. Conspicuously absent are the tourists. Though this highway drives straight into the Ngorongoro Crater, one of the most popular safari destinations in the world, most tourists pass through, stay one night, or just long enough to get off the bus and buy some generic African souvenirs.

Speaking of safaris, we too got the chance to drive into the crater. And I must admit to feeling the urge to don a faded blue ralph lauren button-up, a pocketed khaki vest, some binoculars and a tilly hat, and to use phrases such as "tally-ho!" and "by jove there's a lion!" But, in all seriousness, the crater is one of the most wildly beautiful places on earth. Picture miles of tawny earth, golden in the sun, traversed by so many herds of animals. I felt entirely priveleged.

Over the past few days, we've also had the chance to talk a little, about how we feel about Cpar and about what we've learned, which i'll leave for next blog ... For now it is time for our wrap-up party.. toasts, drinks, and dancing.

In the spirit of Nyerere...

Before this study tour, I had the impression that donating money to aid projects in Africa was like throwing money into a bottomless pit, and that rarely would the money do any real good. I have never been so happy to be so wrong. The 60 or so representatives of Cpar's farmer field schools that we met yesterday now have a warehouse stacked with bags and bags of maize, 3000 bags to be exact, enough to feed their families for the whole year, and enough to sell. No one will go hungry, even during the lean season. It was an encouraging sight, and I could really feel the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction these people had as we stood between the corn stalks under the burning sun. Farmer field schools consist of around 25 to 30 people each. They are co-operatives who experiment and learn together about methods that will help increase their yields, including the planting of maize alongside pigeon peas and mixing in other plants that return nitrogen to the soil. Many families have quadrupled their yields, and with improved storage techniques they have managed to achieve food security. A little education has changed the entire village. These are not the starving Africans you see on those terrible TV commercials, there are no vacant listless expressions here. These are strong, active, productive people.
And, it must be said, they are almost embarassingly hospitable. I think it is safe to say that none of us on the Cpar team have ever experienced a welcoming party quite like that one before. As soon as we stepped off the trucks and even before I had time to wipe the dust from my glasses we were surrounded by celebrating dancers. It was as if we were engulfed by some sort of multi-coloured African amoeba, and I found it humorous to look around and see the bewildered looks on our pale, puffing faces as we attempted to follow the Iraqw dance steps. Stand shoulder to shoulder, hold your fists chest high and pogo on the spot - two fast, one slow - to the beat of the drum. Keep doing this for a long, long time until thoroughly exhausted and grinning.

Needles!

The little boy screamed and cried on his mother's lap after being given a needle against measels, his displeasure made worse by the fact that there was 9 strange white people staring at him. Yesterday was national immunization day, when kids all over the country were immunized and given a dose of vitamin A and a de-worming medi cation. Husna Hassan has been a nurse for 35 years here, and works frequently with Cpar. Typical of most long-time nurses, she has that tough but gentle manner about her, and is excellent at her job. As a nursing student, I really enjoyed being able to help give needles, holding the kid's little arms between my thumb and forefinger and watching their faces stiffen into bravery or collapse into tears. As entertaining as the drama of immunization day was for us, we were also very entertaining for the kids. Dr. Don Payne is the most dedicated photographer in our group, and the kids love him and his camera.

This morning at breakfast we talked, as per usual, about the bat and owl noises we heard during the night. It is going to be another scorcher of a day, but we are all ready to head out in the trucks for another "african massage," meaning the jolts our bodies receive from the bumps and ruts of the roads.