T.I.A.

I just left the post office after a failed attempt to find out if I need a special country code to mail to the U.S. On my last batch of postcards the postal worker shrugged me off and I assume she took care of it since some of the post cards seem to have made it. Today the lady sassed me like I was crazy for asking, and I was like, "This is the post office! Where else would I ask?" She just shook her head and said something along the lines of "This is Africa, we don't use country codes." Whatever. I just left and laughed my way to the internet cafe where I could wrap myself up in the comforts of "Google.:

T.I.A.: This. Is. Africa.

It's a phrase I first heard in the movie Blood Diamond, but over the last six weeks it has been a way of life, a constant buzz in my ear. Africa. Girafffes, monkeys, and malaria- oh my! There might be a road, the truck might make it, you might find an ATM that works, the power might be on, you may find a restaurant that's open on Sunday. T.I.A. and you just never know.

The last few days have been the epitome of the phrase, and I've been laughing all the way.

On Sunday morning, after our night out, the girls and I ate breakfast at the hostel's rooftop restaurant. I had a shower that morning. It was the first time I had a shower instead of a bucket bath in six weeks. It was heavenly. Afterwards I came here, to The Patisserie, to try to blog about my epic night. After an hour and a half of emails and blogging, we lost power and I was unable to post. "Oh, well, maybe tomorrow..."

I live on a continent of tomorrows. "Kesho, kesho..."

Afterwards Jenna, Mary Ellen, Jessica and I met Ras Dixon and some of his friends up by a beautiful river in the shadow of Mt. Meru. The night before he had invited us over for lunch, saying his Mama would cook us whatever we wanted. Mary Ellen had jokingly demanded macaroni and cheese- "Don't forget the cheese! Not just macaroni! Macaroni and CHEESE!" So we lounged by the river, walked around in the sunshine, and then moseyed over to his Mama's house for lunch. We were served a big pot of plain macaroni noodles, a pot of Makande (a wicked tasty corn and bean dish), and some yummy vegetables. Half way through the meal Dixon asked Mary Ellen if she wanted chili, and she told him that she didn't like chili because it was too spicy. "No?! But you say las night- Macaroni an Chili! Don' forget da chili! And I DID forget da chili, Mary, but I went back! I went back to da store because Mary say don' forget da chili!"

We exploded with laughter.

"Mary Ellen, you jokster! Why would you say you don't like chili?! You LOVE Macaroni and Chili! You asked for it! Don't forget the chili! Remember?"

Mary was in hysterics. What could she do except pile on the chili sauce and smile for a picture? It was excellent. Dixon is really crafty with beads and he has been making each of us a bracelet with our name on it. Every single time I look at my bright yellow bracelet I will hear Dixon's voice chiding Mary about her Macaroni and Chili.

This week we are working with a group of kids ages 12-14 at the Olkariyon village school outside of Arusha. This is the same village we've been working in for the last two weeks, but it's been so different and so fun each time. Most of the staff (Sommy, Javesson, Crispin, and Harry) have been staying out in rural areas during the week to do bio-intensive agriculture training and chicken vaccinations, so they take the big GSC truck with them. It was so great to see them yesterday before they took off for the village- I miss them! Since they take the truck, we have been using a hired driver with a little rickety old daladala. When the daladala showed up yesterday the roads were sloshing with clay-like mud from the rains that carried on from the night and through the morning.

Let's review: daladala + muddy dirt road + driver who avoids driving in inclement weather

Hm.

We slipped and sloshed and ooooohed and eeked all over the roads, until we finally slid in slow motion, backwards into a shallow ditch. In my experience, locals who aren't used to dirt roads are essentially useless when they do use them. It's not their fault, they just don't know what to do. They are afraid to gun it when necessary and have no concept of the disaster that spinning tires create. They're also sure as hell not going to listen to car advice from wazungu girls.

The dala was more and more entrenched as the driver made one mistake after another, and we were late for our first day of class. So the volunteers and translators gathered up all the teaching materials and started walking, leaving the daladala driver behind with a growing crowd of men who each had the perfect advice for fixing the situation, despite the fact that none of them drove. The mud out there was sticky and our shoes quickly became platform shoes with branches sticking out- African clown shoes, perhaps? When we were halfway out into a field that we thought might be a shortcut to the school, the daladala showed up on the road behind us and we trudged back to pile in and go to school.

The first day of class was pretty uneventful, except that we had 103 students instead of the 60 we were expecting, meaning that we were short of booklets, pens, soda, and peanuts. I went to buy candy to supplement the pitiful snack supply, and get this: they didn't want it. Kids have been demanding candy from me since I set foot on the continent and the one time I buy it they don't want it? Whatever. I made them repeat after me in a loud chorus as I listed off all those giggle inducing words about the human body and reproduction. After class we had a bit of extra time so I taught them the Camp Michigania version of "Singing in the Rain" so they could practice a little English. They were hilarious.

It was really downpouring by the time class let out and the dala driver was nowhere in sight. We huddled in a classroom torturing the GSC Coordinator Mike by talking about the good food we craved from home- he's a Kiwi in serious cheese withdrawal. At this point it was 2:00pm, and even then we had an incling that we wouldn't be eating "lunch" before 4 or 5. When the driver came to get us he brought an old truck with a shotty transmission- better than the daladala, but not exactly the GSC truck. We piled three people in the front, four in the back, and four more in the trunk with the three crates of soda. Once again we slished and sloshed and slid right off the road while our students laughed from the roadside.

Suddenly, one of the translators, a Maasai Polar Bear named Tom, hopped out of the front seat. He took off his nice jacket, whipped a machete out of nowhere and started hacking down bushed to lay underneath the tires for traction. This worked for a little while, and when it didn't he just pushed the truck out of the mud bank. As he pushedthe truck I said, "Hold on. I just want to make sure everyone is on the same page: Thomas just whipped out a machete, chopped down some bushes, and now he's pushing a truck carrying 10 people." Everyone burst out laughing. When he got back in the front seat someone asked him where the machete came from. "I always have it," he replied casually, "just in case." More laughter. "Good little Maasai warrior!" laughed Mike. And off we went.

Today our driver arrived with an even smaller truck, and we had almost as many people, plus an additional crate of soda. Three people in the front seat, six on trunk benches with a tower of four crates of bottled soda in the middle. Somehow we made it there without anything exciting happening.

I showed up today expecting to teach an HIV crash course to a group of teachers at the school, but the headmaster (who had already changed our student program times and dates twice) forgot to ask the teachers in advance, so instead I helped teach 53 giggling preteens about puberty, reproductive anatomy, menstruation, and sex. I loved it.

To get things started I taught them to sing Boom Chicka Boom and they were fantastic. We stressed that the couldn't laugh at people's questions, but periodically when I saw them giggling (at pads and tampons, or when we put up the posters of sex organs) I would pause and tell them all to laugh it out. It seemed to work pretty well. We have a ton of information to cover, but they're all really into it and asking questions. I felt great when we left this afternoon because I felt like I was really doing something. By the end of this week 103 kids will have more knowledge about human anatomy, body development, menstruation, sex, and sexual health than the majority of the human population. Weird, eh?

I like teaching this stuff to kids because I don't feel awkward about it. We make them yell the words they're so embarrassed of, we answer questions, encourage them to laugh. Bodies are weird, man. They make noises, and smells, and they do confusing things. Most kids- hell, most adults- haven't got the faintest idea how their bodies work. I sometimes felt weird living in a house I didn't know very well. Can you imagine feeling like that in your own body?

The kids are great. They think I'm funny, they sing my songs, and they make me smile. I definitely want to teach for a little bit after college. Teach for America or something, I dunno. It's just amazing. It would be cool if I could talk to them without a tanslator, but it's also incredible how much communication is nonverbal.

Ahhhhh Africa.

Just a few weeks left now and I'm starting to plan my free time after my GSC stint ends. It's crazy how long I've been here and how much I have and haven't done. At one point last week I was a little grumpy because my funds and timing will limit my adventures. "Why didn't I make more of my early weekends?" I grumbled a little. But OF COURSE I feel that way on some level! That's how traveling works! I'm over it now. I've gotten so much out of being here, and I'll have a blast in the next four weeks.

Cause I'm that lucky.