Hospital Architecture

(1. General Ward with three phase construction: New shower area, three new exam rooms and new reception 2. Maternity Ward with four phase construction: red-first phase with 8 new delivery rooms / green - new neo-natal rooms / blue - 10 year master plan expansion with two new theater rooms / yellow - 25 year master plan construction for new patient room)

Help, Help, I'm being repressed!

As our time in Haydom is drawing to a close Betsy and I have been waxing nostalgic about our time here… wait, what, not us! Ok, that part about being sad is a total lie; I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a bag of cassava chips. That being said, we have to give a shout out to all of you who sent us packages, you’re the best! My parents, Betsy’s parents, my sisters, Ryan and Tamara in Tampa and I can’t forget my aunts, Kathi, Mary, Patti and Vicki, THANKS; you all ROCK! Since the packages arrived, as you all know on Christmas Eve (“a Christmas Miracle” exclaimed by both Betsy and my Mom), we have been pretty much eating exclusively from said boxes of goodies and we don’t feel the least bit guilty!

In one of those boxes came a giant bag of Hersey’s chocolate (thanks Mom and Dad) and in another was a package of balloons (thank you Zillig girls). At my first point of reflection these goodies are relatively un-noteworthy until we realized that our family has never had balloons or chocolate in their lives! We gave our family a sizable bag of chocolate, among other things, which their four and two year old children commenced consuming as soon as we handed the goodies over. We tried to stress, in vain, that they should eat the candy pole, pole (very slowly). Within the hour Upendo, the four year old had a tummy ache and Wesley was bouncing off the walls! We went over to have dinner with our family that evening to see that Upendo and Wesley, normally in bed at this time of night, were still up running around with the balloons, which were in and of themselves a HUGE hit! Stefano asked if we wanted to take Wesley for the remainder of the evening, we politely declined, sorry about that, no more sugar for our family. All in all our Christmas was a good one, I having just recovered from the flu was elated by the plethora of snacks, thank you again!

Time has been passing by rather slow lately, but passing which makes me think of my sister, Sarah and my Mom. As look in the mirror and brush my hair, yes it’s long enough that I need to brush it daily now, I am constantly reminded of Sarah; essentially as my hair grows longer I look more and more like her. It doesn’t help that Betsy keeps calling me “Sarah”. Also, I feel like I’m turning into my mother, I’ve been eating white bread, with butter on it, chocolate (since the boxes arrived), and candy! I know, I can’t believe it either, but I guess that’s what you do when the only other option is ugali.

That being said, the eight guests, who were staying at our family’s 750 square foot house, have left. This is a great thing for Betsy and my personal hygiene since we have had to resort to using scrap paper as toilet paper as of late. Since the family friends were in town we have had a drastic shortage of usable TP, luckily they left and we didn’t resort to Betsy’s surveys, but it was close!

Speaking of being disgusting, one of our research assistants mopped our floor for us. She came over to transcribe with Betsy and was apparently disgusted enough by our American filth, apparently people here mop their floors every day, not once a week like us, that she had to stop and mop the floor. I loved how someone who bathes twice a week was telling Betsy and I how disgusting we were because the floor wasn’t clean enough to eat from… oh well, we have freshly mopped floor so I won’t complain, too much.

As Betsy’s survey is coming to a close, she only needs seven more to hit the 300 mark (100 more than she originally planned) she’s been getting more adept to entering the data. Drastic increase of data entry efficiency has afforded her time to play Mine Sweeper, the cheesy little game that comes with Windows, non-stop! I really think by the time we head out from Haydom that she will be a grand-master of Mine Sweeper, if there is such a thing. I’m constantly reminding her to return to her data-entry which I receive the response, “I am doing data entry, I just needed a little break… ok only 10 more tries at the advanced level, I have to beat 200 seconds!” I think this game has created a monster.

Out in the village this week we spied a woman stacking mud, yep Monty Python and the Holy Grail style! The initial reaction was that she must be doing this for some reason but neither Betsy nor I could find any discernable rationale. She was just in the middle of her yard, digging mud and stacking it into nice little piles. This display of non-sense made us run home and check out our copy of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the part where Arthur is speaking to the communist “mud-stackers”. We’ve decided to stop being oppressed as well, on to eating more Honey Wheat Pretzels, yum!
-Ryan

The Christmas Miracle

We’ve both been feeling a little dumpy lately, mild to moderate tummy issues, missing the holidays at home, and our coveted fan is breaking (somehow, after 2 months!?). Today, Ryan came down with flu-like symptoms, and was achy with a slight fever (the same symptoms as one of my research assistants, Valentina, we’re blaming her). I was sick earlier in the week, and Ryan took over the role of Anthropologist in my absence. This morning, I left him at home while I went to the hospital to meet my research assistants, and head off on yet another day of interviewing adolescents. The novelty has worn off, and it’s gotten a little mundane asking kids about how often they eat ugali.

Since we arrived in Haydom at the beginning of October, we’ve been pestering the head secretary, Eliwaza, asking if there are any boxes for us, and making her call the post office in Mbulu several times a week. Well, this morning, when I was meeting with my research assistants, she came RUNNING up to me (Eliwaza is overweight, about 45, and normally does not move quickly in anything that she does), yelling “Eliza! You have packages!” (also no one in Tanzania gets my name right – the majority of people think I’m “Besti”, but at least they don’t think I’m Chinese). There was a mail run from Mbulu that arrived late last night, and there was not one, not two, but FIVE packages that arrived for Ryan and I!!!

I told my research assistants we were doing something different this morning: carrying boxes to my house. These were not small boxes by any means. In total, they represented over $400 in postage (thanks everyone for spending so much on us!), so I was definitely going to need help. I carried the largest one, Peter carried the next 2 biggest, and Regina put the last 2 on her head, and we headed off. As we were leaving the hospital, we passed the head of the transportation division, Wilson Jackson (by the way, he has a brother named Michael Jackson). He saw that we were struggling under the weight of snack foods and reading material, and offered to give us a ride in a hospital car. I returned home to my bedridden fiancée/(slacker) research assistant to exclaim, “A Christmas Miracle has happened!!!” In which case, he was momentarily cured, and jumped out of bed to check out our loot, yelling “Thank you, Baby Jesus!”.

A special Pu-Blog shout-out goes to Ryan’s parents, Betsy’s parents, Ryan’s sister Sarah, all of Ryan’s aunts, and our amazingly awesome friends Ryan and Tamara! We got some good stuff!! Aside from the 80 AAA batteries from Ryan’s parents (yes, that’s right, EIGHTY), we got multiple bags of beef jerky, honey wheat pretzels, trail mix, cookies, crackers, cereal, spices, bug spray, hand sanitizer, Neosporin, football/frisbee in one (it’s awesome), books, magazines, Scrabble, candy, slim jims (with the cheese sticks), saline, etc, etc….you can see from the picture.

On a sad note, the only thing that broke in our shipment of goodies was the one bag of Doritos. It somehow ripped open in the box, and this being Tanzania, and it being sent over 2 and a half months ago, we decided (after quite a bit of deliberation, and maybe a few tears shed by Ryan) that we had to throw them away. Sorry Ryan (Richey, that is). The other sad note is that we didn’t get this amazing haul of stuff 2 months ago! We only have a little time left in Haydom, so it’s going to be a snack orgy until then. We sat down today for a lunch of tuna salad with crackers (thank you Sarah), slim jims with cheese sticks (thank you, Ryan’s aunts), Oreos (thanks Betsy’s parents), and honey wheat pretzels (thanks everyone!).

Merry Christmas!
Betsy and Ryan

(Pictures: 1) the Christmas tree our family made for us out of tree limbs, fake flowers and ribbon, 2) Betsy’s research materials, aka Simba’s doggy bed, 3) our loot)

Chino-Latino, Wazungu?!

Recently, the locals have started to call me “mchina wazungu”; my first thought about this is that since plain old “wazungu” wasn’t working in getting my attention that they would add a little something to it and maybe, just maybe I would show some sort of reaction. I told Betsy what the people were saying to me and she told me that this is the word they use for Asians. Apparently, they think I’m Chinese, mainly because they don’t differentiate between any other Asian culture and every Asian is Chinese to them. At first I thought, they must be semi-retarded to think I’m Chinese, but upon further contemplation my hair is pretty dark and since all of the other wazungu here are from Norway, they all have light brown or blond hair, it started to make sense. They probably haven’t seen an Asian, so I’m assuming they just went with it. Even though it could possibly make sense, I still think they’re idiotic. Although one of our research assistants thinks we are from Japan, the other wazungu don’t think that I’m Chinese, yet…

Being the project architect of the hospital has been going well so far, although they had about 15 projects in the queue, so Anders and I have been plenty busy. This is a great thing since it keeps me occupied and at the hospital, allowing me to successfully dodge data-entry with Betsy, muhaha! We just finished up designing the master-plan for the Maternity Ward Expansion. In our first meeting to discuss the design the only feedback I received from the local nurses is that they will no longer have a dedicated room to put their shoes. Apparently, this is a major issue for them, since every subsequent meeting we’ve had the issue continues to circulate. I would have addressed this issue but I have explicit directions to omit these design changes from the man at the top. This is in part because the hospital currently has over 5,000 deliveries per year with four delivery rooms; it is exceedingly taxed right now so every bit of additional space is imperative to be used for services, not shoe collections. Below is the current design for the expansion, the Red is Phase I to start construction January 16, Green is Phase II to be completed immediately after Phase I. Blue is Phase III, which will be in 10 years to keep up with increased demand, and Yellow is Phase IV which will be added in 20 years, give or take 5 years.

Last week Betsy and I went to the “Supermarket”, yes the supermarket, that’s what the locals call the semi-monthly market that comes to town. We were dismayed by the fact that the circus only stocked things you can already purchase in Haydom, only at an increased price which doesn’t make much sense to us. Either way, one stand was selling machetes which were inexplicably bent at the end; which confused the two of us for weeks. Confused us until just the other day when I saw a man cutting the hospital’s grass with it! Since the only place in Haydom with any grass is the hospital, I’m sure they’re the only one’s purchasing these “bent-grass cutters” (I apologize for the ridiculous pun).

Passing the time on the weekend has become difficult to say the least. Especially now that most of the Europeans have departed for Christmas back home, it’s pretty much just Betsy and I here. We went to a salt harvesting lake at the base of Mt. Hanang (see our last posting of pictures). It was great to get out of Haydom for a little while, even if it were only to watch a bunch of guys shoveling bottom of a murky lake into giant sized piles. The salt itself is quite tasty, which is what the locals use to salt their food here which we unwittingly ate before knowing its origin. We also stopped by the hospital’s farm, which consists of 15,000 acres of farm-land and about 100 goats imported from Norway! Not much to say about the farm, it was pretty unspectacular aside from its shear enormity and the fact that they imported goats; as all of you already know, goats are everywhere here, seriously!

Speaking of people being stupid, we’ve come to the conclusion that people here don’t know where they’re walking. They drive on the left side of the road, fine, just please walk and ride your bike accordingly! Everyday it seems as though people run into us or near-misses occur. Betsy and I have tried to make sense of it, our longest running hypothesis was that they are like water, taking the path of least resistance but that has since been disproven. Just yesterday I had a man run his water cart into my leg as I was moving to get out of his way. I think it could be that they stare so intently at us “wazungu” that they completely forget to walk the tangents, or something of that sort. Betsy has the Ludacris song “Move Bitch” (sorry everyone) on her iPod, which plays through our minds every morning while dodging the shotgun scatter of people, potholes and puddles which line the roads to the hospital. Some may find that Betsy having Ludacris on her iPod is absurd but I would say that’s just about right, watch for her to pimp her ride out when she gets home...
-Ryan

Finger Lickin' Good

Ok, not finger-licking good, especially since giardia is one mis-placed lick away...
(1 - Betsy learn to cut the pumpkin, 2 - Me cooking up something fierce!, 3 - The finished product, pumpkin ugali! For all of those who want to try making it, ie Joel Holtry, start with a pumpkin. Cut it into bits, throw into a very hot pot. Stir for one hour, or until mushy. Add maize flour and mix until stiff, enjoy!)

Salty Lake

(1 - Bets and I with the lake & Mt. Hanang behind, 2 - where our salt comes from...)

Thanksgiving Photos

(1 - me taking it to the chicken, 2 - Betsy hesitating before the kill, 3 - Betsy reveling in the kill, 4 - the FEAST!)

These white people not know to cut the pumpkin

Today started off like every day in Tanzania, where we woke up feeling a bit ill, and not wanting to go too far from the choo (toilet). Although not that unusual, it was especially bad because Regina, one of my research assistants, had invited us to her house to meet her parents and see their farm. We both decided that we weren’t feeling up to it, and would tell her we couldn’t go. She doesn’t have a phone, so we had to wait until she came to our house to pick us up. When she got here, she was wearing a new dress and new shoes. She was so excited we didn’t have the heart to bail on her, so we grabbed some TP and the camera and headed on our way.

Regina had told us her house was about a half an hour walk from Haydom, so we thought this would be a fun little morning trip. When we started on our way, she looked at my watch, and seeing that it was 11:15, said that we would be there by noon. Ryan and I both sighed, not wanting to walk too far with questionable bowels, but set off on our hike. We walked ….and walked….and walked….past the secondary school that we drove to for the study, past one of the villages we interviewed in to get a comparison to Haydom, past 2 rivers, and finally arrived at her parents house at 12:45.

When we got there, her mother, father and countless siblings (she is the second oldest of 12, her youngest brother is 5 months old, 2 months younger than Regina’s own baby) greeted us with open arms. They had prepared a pumpkin, one of the staple foods in the area, and wanted to teach us how to cook pumpkin ugali (kind of like polenta). Ryan and I have decided that Tanzanians generally think we are semi-retarded. Their logic goes that since we don’t know how to cook ugali, the most basic and easy food here, that we must not know how to cook anything else either. Regina started the lesson by showing us how to cut up the pumpkin into chunks. When I offered to help her, she gave me a look that said, “I’m not sure you can manage this without major injury” and handed me a knife. I’ll admit I wasn’t that adept at squatting and cutting up a hard pumpkin placed on a tarp on the ground. In my defense, the knife she handed me was truly the world’s dullest knife, where you couldn’t really tell which side of it was the sharpened one. The family that we live with lets the local herd of toddlers play with sharper knives (more on that later). Everyone thought it was hilarious to watch the mzungu mangle the pumpkin, prompting her mother to observe, “These white people not know to cut the pumpkin! Hahaha!”. Gee, thanks.

While the pumpkin was cooking, Regina’s father took us on a tour of the farm. We saw where the goats sleep (in the room adjacent to where the people sleep), the cow pen (a circle of acacia limbs), and how to feed chickens (yell “kuku kuku kuku” and toss corn at them). Regina said that they are able to grow all the food her family needs as well as all the feed for the animals, and never have to buy anything. Albeit, they only eat maize, eggs, beans, greens and milk most of the time.

After the pumpkin cooked and mixed with maize flour and a dash of oil it was ready to eat. Basically, you roll a ball of ugali dough, then dip it in whatever sauce comes with it. Today it was melted animal fat. Ryan and I tried one dip, both gagged a little, and then stuck to the plain ugali. As far as ugali goes, pumpkin ugali is pretty good – meaning that we wouldn’t touch it with a 10 foot pole in the states, but after walking for an hour and a half on an empty stomach it was edible, which is more than can be said for regular ugali. They also gave us fresh milk for lunch. This sounds wonderful and quaint, but if you’ve never tried fresh milk, there’s a reason we don’t drink it in the states. It’s sour, and has chucks on curdled fat floating on top. Unfortunately, a storm was rolling in, and we had an hour and a half walk ahead of us. As we were left, Regina’s parents gave us some fresh eggs and told us “karibu tena” (welcome again!). We hurried back as quickly as possible to Haydom, and straight to Samjo, our favorite restaurant for some meat and rice, and to get the taste of curdled milk out of our mouths.
-Betsy

Pictures!!!

Chickening Out

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving! Ryan and I decided to celebrate Turkey Day by buying the family some chickens, and helping them cook a pseudo-Thanksgiving meal of chicken, potatoes, rice, and banana bread. There aren’t any turkeys in Haydom, so we had to settle for chickens. They are very expensive for most people here, so it was a special treat.

Relatives from the country had given them two chickens, but being Americans, and this being Thanksgiving, we decided that two chickens were definitely not enough for 17 people. We headed to the market with Lucy, one of the kids, to pick up three more. Word had gotten out that the wazungu wanted chickens, and a few steps outside of our gate we were met by people with armloads of chickens ready to sell. Lucy bargained for us, and $12 later, we were the proud owners of three live chickens.

That afternoon, we invited our friend and research assistant, Prisca, over to help us cook and to have Thanksgiving dinner. We started by making banana bread. I didn’t have a recipe, or measuring cups, or really any idea what I was doing, so I just started mixing flour, eggs, sugar, oil and bananas in a bowl. When it looked remotely like banana bread dough, I scooped it into a loaf pan, and stuck it in the oven. The ‘oven’ is a wood burning stove, with a chamber for baking, so there no telling how hot it is or if the temp is constant, so I just put it in and hoped for the best. While the bread was baking, we decided it was time to ‘deal’ with the chickens.

The family was convinced that two chickens were enough for everyone. These are scrawny, natural, African chickens, that spend their lives running around scavenging for food, not big plump American chickens who spend their lives getting fat and juicy. There was no way two chickens were enough, so we compromised and settled on three. With a parade of kids behind us, we grabbed a (rather dull) kitchen knife, and headed out back. Ryan and I had made a pact that if we were going to eat the chickens, we would each kill one, but neither one of us really knew how to go about doing it. Prisca (wearing nice shoes, a tailored dress, and perfectly braided hair) however, got right in there, and taught us to stand on the wings with one foot, their legs with the other, then grab their head and pull it back with one hand, and slit their throat with the kitchen knife, then hold it until it bled out and stopped flopping. At this point, I decided I was just going to have potatoes for dinner, and I was fine with that.

Ryan was up next, and without hesitating, positioned the chicken, and with Prisca cheering him on, started cutting. It seized, it flopped, and it bled just like it was supposed to. Two down, one to go….my turn. Ryan handed me the bloody knife, and I was on my way to vegetarianism. I begged and pleaded. I said I just wanted potatoes for dinner. I said I’d lived for 27 years having other people kill my meat for me, I didn’t see any reason to change. But Ryan, Prisca, and the kids wouldn’t back down. They were all teasing and laughing at me, and finally, my pride got the better of me, and I decided to go for it! I stood on its wings and its legs, but couldn’t bring myself to hold the head. Emanueli, one of the kids, held the head back for me, and with Ryan, Prisca, and all the kids cheering for me, I got in the zone, and cut its throat. It actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, the chicken died a rather painless death, and probably had a better life than most of the chicken I eat in the states. However, I will forever be thankful for Hy-vee and its saran-wrapped boneless skinless chicken breasts.

Turns out that killing the chickens is just the beginning of the work. Next, they are dunked in boiling water and plucked. We found out is that rubber chickens look amazingly like the real thing. Who knew? Then we seared them over the fire to burn off any remaining fluff, and we washed them, cut their necks more cleanly, and cut off their feet. Simba, the family puppy, was one lucky dog, and ended up eating all three chicken heads and some of the feet. Then he passed out, in a puppy version of the Thanksgiving turkey-coma.

When it was time to cut them up into pieces, Prisca again got right in there and started hacking. It was really more of a biology lesson for Ryan and me. We learned what eggs look like inside the chicken (they look like yolks), that the gizzard really is full of pebbles, and that unless they are American freak chickens, they don’t really have much breast meat.

That night, the family invited us over to their house, and we all sat down together for our feast. Three chickens actually make an amazing amount of meat, especially when you use ALL of them. Two chickens probably would have been enough, but three allowed it to feel like Thanksgiving, where no one worried about taking more than their share. We had broth from the chickens to put over rice, boiled potatoes, and banana brick. I forgot to put any sort of rising agent into it, so it was a bit dense. Besides being a masonry material, it was acutally pretty good. Being polite Tanzanians, they all said they loved the bread and wanted the recipe (but then they started talking in Iraqw, so who knows what they actually said about it.) At the end of the meal, we were all full and happy (tumeshiba sana).

We’re thinking about getting a goat for Christmas….
-Betsy

Witchy Woman

We’ve figured out some of the sounds Tanzanians feel represent the local wildlife; I feel the most interesting of descriptive sounds to me is the bee. Apparently, Tanzanians think that instead of bees “buzzing”, as Americans would assume, they produce a “sucking” sound; which is best described as the sound you would make sucking on a dry straw. This isn’t a bad thing, just a strange observation that I happened to remember this morning.

Also, we have met some friends; well I have more or less from playing futbol on Tuesdays and Fridays at the hospital. They’re all Europeans but they sort of share our culture, sort of. We coaxed them into meeting up with us at our favorite restaurant, Green View Garden Restaurant. Well, the Green View definitely doesn’t have any green “views” nor does it have a garden. We think it should be called, Cell Tower View Concrete Restaurant, that’s the best description one could make. View or not, it’s the best place in town so we are regulars, John, the owner and Jacob, the maître d' restaurant, are great! Anyway, we met up for a drink with our new Euro-friends this past weekend; Green View is also the only place in town with wine. Well, this wine thing was a spectacle to say the least, luckily they actually had wine glasses to drink from but had a smaller wine glass in which they actually measured the drinks. Jacob came out with the box of wine and the small glass to measure out the glasses one by one, it was quite an experience. By the end of the night, Jacob was falling over drunk (literally); Betsy and I figured he was getting drunk because we bankroll their restaurant so they could afford a drink or seven. On a side note to drinking I’ve noticed that when I drink Castle Lager, my favorite beer here although I probably wouldn’t drink it back home, my ears begin palpitating. We were trying to figure out why this happens, the jury is still out, so if any of you have any ideas, I’d be open to hearing them.

The next morning I decided, since Betsy had recently had a dress tailored, that I would get a nice button down shirt tailored myself. We went into a local tailor that specializes in men’s clothing and had them take my measurements. They said to return in four days and the shirt would be ready. Four days came and it was time to return for my newly tailored shirt or garbage bag, whatever you want to call it. I tried it on and felt as if they took my measurements in centimeters and cut the fabric in inches, the shirt was HUGE! Also, the arms were about two inches too short so we tried to get them to take it in and decided the sleeves were ruined; we had them convert it into a short-sleever. I’ll keep you updated with this but I plan on having a suit tailored while I’m here, should be an interesting process, especially since it will be in local fabric…

To adequately describe the type of care people receive from the hospital here is hard to pin-point. Seems as though the “western” doctors that are here do a fine job but some of the local health-professionals are somewhat lacking. Regina’s (our female research assistant) boyfriend was having what we thought were epileptic seizures, hence one would diagnose him with epilepsy, not here. Apparently, he’s not taking any medication for his episodes, which I’m pretty sure is not a good thing, because the doctor he visited told him it was the work of a witch. They ran tests on him, which were inconclusive, so their only explanation was that someone in Haydom is apparently performing hostile witch-craft towards him. We thought it weird to hear from a hospital, albeit in rural Africa, staffed with western doctors.

Hope all is well back in the States and that everyone had a great Thanksgiving free of witch-craft and hob-goblins!
-Ryan

Goats are all the rage!

The last week or so has been somewhat eventful retrospectively, but it is Haydom; anything that happens is an event. We’ve continued to make headway on Betsy’s research which is always a good thing. Also, we found something in which Betsy is definitely better than I am, killing flies and other various bugs with our tennis racket. I really think she missed a golden opportunity to become the next Monica Seles. Usually, she’ll spend a half an hour each day casing the “apartment” looking for flies to kill, it’s a never ending battle so she’s constantly entertained. Unfortunately for me, I’m either ducking to get out of the way of a wild electrified tennis racket or having to move out of the volley of life-less fly carcasses sailing through the air. The place usually has a distinct carbon smell to it; I’m guessing all of the wings that are fried in the racket contribute to the burning flesh smell. I can’t complain though since she does an amazing job of ridding our place of the annoyance; I can’t stand it when they land on my face!

I’ve been receiving quite a bit of ‘street-cred’ as of late, I’ve broken out the ‘siata’ greeting. For the most part we get heckled and taunted on a daily basis while walking around Haydom. Peter, our research assistant, has been teaching me some Iraqw words, which is the local language in Haydom. Most people will still speak Swahili but if you’re ‘wazungu’ you definitely do not know how to speak Iraqw! One evening, with the new greeting fresh in my mind, Betsy and I went for our usual walk to the water cistern at the edge of town. Along our route we were being pestered by a couple of boys driving their cattle, after greeting them with a ‘siata’ they immediately became silent. We overheard one of them saying to the other, (this is Betsy’s Swahili translation) “that guy just said ‘siata’!” Since that day I’ve broken out the ‘siata’ with many people throughout the day which either gets a smile or a dumb-founded look in return, either way it’s definitely breaking the tension on a day-to-day basis.

Speaking of tension, I have decided I HATE GOATS! I don’t know where this ‘goat-rage’ derives but it’s definitely a persistent feeling that I have whenever around them and in Haydom it’s hard to keep your distance, they’re everywhere! I think most of my distaste for goats may come from the fact that their “bah” or “neh” or whatever it is they do is semi-reminiscent of the kids who run around town yelling “wazungu, wazungu”, it’s just a misplaced hatred. We were hoping, for Thanksgiving, we would be able to buy one and roast it for our meal…

Something roasted sounds really good right about now, I’ve been drooling for a couple days! Peter and I interviewed a kid from the tribe of Barbaiq, pronounced, barbeque. I’m not sure if their food is any different from the local tribes’ food here in Haydom, but I wouldn’t mind trying it out. I’m sure being part of the tribe of BBQ has its advantages (ie – roasted goat).

Also, I’ve become the project architect for the hospital, much to my chagrin. We met with the medical director a couple weeks back, Dr. Olsen, much of the conversation consisted of Betsy’s research and what the hospital’s objectives in the area are but when told that I am an architect back home, his eyes lit-up. Their “architecture team” currently consists of a carpenter (Anders) from Norway and contractor (Albi) from South Africa, Tanzania doesn’t have an enforced building code so you can pretty much do whatever you like and obviously, anyone can design it. I guess they don’t pay much mind to ADA here either, not that it would matter, one would die here if they became incapacitated anyway. When we find reliable internet, I’ll upload a few pictures of Tanzania’s construction means and methods, very nice. Anyway, it’s good to actually have something that I specialize to sink my teeth into, even if it consists of the most mundane of projects. I have to continually think in an African mindset, they use sticks and mud to build things.

Speaking of dying, we found the hospital’s cemetery, more or less a body drop. Some of the local tribes, when they bring their ill members in, will leave them here, when they die, the hospital takes them to a large plot of land next to the airstrip outside of town and buries them. I would have to say, the plant life out there does grow unusually well, Betsy and I had commented on that many times before learning the gruesome facts about that area.

We’re about to head to the hospital for Research Assistant training, we are starting the second part of the study soon and have to train them on a new section, should be interesting. After that, up to Mt. Haydom, more or less a large pile of rocks, not really a mountain since Betsy and I can climb it in about 15min. I promise to send pictures soon but our internet modem with Vodafone doesn’t work anymore and the hospital shut-down all of the computers, so we have to mooch off of Anders’ computer, which really sucks. That’s Africa for you, rely on nothing because one day it’s here, the next day it’s gone, oh well, I think we’ve adjusted alright to the lack of connection to the Western-world.

Well, I won’t bore you anymore than I already have; I know my posts are extremely long-winded and “somewhat mundane” (direct quote from Betsy). Hope all is well back in the States, since we really don’t know what’s going on there, no phone calls, no packages, no email…
-Ryan

Ps- happy birthday Sarah, not sure I’ll get to my email anytime soon, so wanted to plug it in there. Happy belated birthday Brian, we were totally in the dark through the 10th of the November.

Running Scared

We’ve been back in Haydom for a couple of weeks now and starting to fall into what you would call our “routine”. It has started to get easier for us, partly because we’ve been going gang-busters on Betsy’s research (kicking butt and taking names), which helps my state of mind; sitting around doing nothing was killing me! We spearheaded the qualitative portion of her research last week in a training session which lasted two days, by the end I felt as if I were one of the Leakeys. Peter and Regina (our research assistants) seemed to pick up the idea of the study pretty quickly which put our minds at ease.

Time came when we actually had to start going out and doing the research, but to our surprise it has been going more smoothly than we had initially expected. We have, however, run into a few kinks in the road, one big problem is that I’m a white male over the age of twenty. Normally this wouldn’t seem like an issue but since it’s just Peter and I, most of the kids run away at the sight of me. Peter said that most of the young boys run because white people only come looking for kids when they’re in trouble. It also doesn’t help that the adults in the rural areas are telling the children that we’re going to kill them. All in all we’ve been able to entrap a few of the boys into doing the interviews. We have a long way to go from here but looks like we’re going to do alright.

Many of you have sent packages and I wanted to send you an update as to what both you and we can expect. First the package goes to Dar es Salaam, then it is trucked out to Mbulu, the district capital. It apparently sits there and waits for that person to claim said package. Well, on a daily basis we’ve been going to the administration office in the hospital asking about the package my Mom sent over a month ago, finally a package with the name “Elizabeth” was sitting in Mbulu. Unfortunately, the postal worker took a gander inside and saw that the items were worth something, so basically they black-mailed us into paying them Tsh 6,000. This happens to “wazungu” mail, evidently this does not happen to Tanzanians, which they obviously know by the fact that it’s coming from outside their country. So, we waited another three days for the package, after the dirty-money (figuratively and literally, their money is incredibly dirty, I would rather lick a dollar bill than handle some of this currency) exchanged hands only to see that the package was for Elizabeth Fausenhausen, not our beloved Betsy. We continue to pester the Admin staff, hoping that something, anything will arrive soon, but alas, nothing thus far, so we continue to wait…

...Bat Back Into Hell(dom)

OFFICAL: I am apologizing for the obscure Meatloaf reference, sorry to bring back bad memories

How Betsy was able to coax me out of the KLM Boeing 777 out of Tanzania, I will never know, and how she was able to stuff me back into the land cruiser to Haydom is an even more amazing feat. Well, I guess the rohypnol she dropped in my beer in Dar has finally worn off so my cognitive thoughts have returned, at the very least.

Dar es Salaam was a great experience and we were very happy to get a bit of a respite from the tedium that is Haydom. While in Dar we knew that we NEEDED to bring supplies, snacks and luxury items back with us, as Haydom has nothing to offer in the realm of 1st world goods. After much exploration, we found what we were looking for, chips, spices, fruit spread, TONS of cookies, an electric tennis racquet, a real fan and yes, a wireless internet modem! We packed all of these things, actually stuffed, smashed and piled everything we could possibly fit into an adult diaper box we found at the “wazungu” grocery store, and hoped for the best.

While in Dar, we spotted local stamp makers, guys on the side of the road who take old tires and cut the rubber into stamp-sized pieces and customize them with old razor blades for people who, well, want a stamp. I have been eyeing the possibility of having a stamp made since I first stumbled upon these people in Arusha, so I had to have one. Betsy and I made friends with one of the local Dar stamp makers, apparently everyone in Tanzania loves stamping things so it allows for ten stamp makers to set up shop within a mile radius. So, Betsy created a little drawing, this is something I definitely should have done, and gave it to Martin, our designated stamp dude. Martin told us to return in two hours at which time the stamp would be complete. At the designated time, we returned to find that the stamp was exactly how Betsy drew it out, unfortunately it was not what we wanted which was, Tembo (elephant, Betsy’s nickname for me) and Twiga’s (giraffe, Betsy’s nickname for herself) Tanzanian Adventure, with an image of a giraffe and elephant in the middle. Instead it said, STEMBO and TWIGA, in place of the elephant they carved a tree. The STEMBO mistake came from the fact that Betsy had made a little “scratch-out” at the beginning which Martin mistook as an “S”. Now, STEMBO is not a Swahili word so confusion abound for Martin who probably couldn’t understand why on earth we would want such a word, but did exactly as he was told, much to our chagrin. Both Betsy and I quickly realizing the mistake, asked him to carve an elephant into the remaining space on the stamp. In what looks more like a malformed fetus, Martin, tested the stamp and proudly handed it to its new owners, giraffe and fetus; apparently fetus will be my new nickname. Thoroughly disappointed, I returned to Martin drawing in hand, this time done by myself, and asked him to create a new stamp. The drawing I had created left nothing to the imagination, which was sketched in roughly ten seconds, since we know what happens when you ask Martin to design something. Delighted to see me, he directed me to return in two hours, status-quo. When we returned to purchase the stamp, to my surprise he cut the stamp EXACTLY how I drew it, EXACTLY! As you can see, it’s quite hilarious, since the elephant I drew was semi-retarded looking. Next time we will come to Martin with a computer print-out drawn in AutoCAD.

After the excellent week we had in Dar, we had to jump back on a bus heading to Arusha, we heard Scandinavia Express was the “best”, so we decided to try their service. The tickets were 4000Tsh cheaper than the Dar “not so” Express, the trip was to take eight, not ten, hours and they had a restroom on the bus! Well, the day of the trip we boarded the bus to find the restroom was not functioning, typical Tanzania for you. We also noted that only 12 people came on and all of them were wazungu, weird! So the bus headed for the country-side doing break-neck speed for Tanzanian roads, which is roughly 45mph. The reason this is thought of as quick is because every five miles or so you’ll hit a speed bump, literally, a speed bump. Well, what was a quick trip soon came to a crawl as we began to pick up “ticket-less” passengers on the side of the road. Before we knew it, we had a bus load of people and the driver and attendant had a fist full of schillings! (ok, no more cheesy pop-culture references from the 1960/70’s) After having stopped over twenty times, we quickly realized that this trip was infact much worse than the Dar Express, we arrived eleven hours later, three full hours after the designated time, again very Tanzanian. This wouldn’t be so bad, had we traveled 800 miles, but the distance from Dar to Arusha is roughly half that! After watching two extremely cheesy B films, one which was titled “The Base”, look it up, I highly recommend it, we arrived in Arusha. All in all, we were glad to go get a decent meal and rest the evening before climbing aboard the dreaded land cruiser to Haydom.

The next morning, butts still sore from the prior day of travel, we jumped into an 11 person land cruiser. Of course it was not only stuffed with 16 adults and 2 children, making the human total 18, but also 4 chickens! Knowing what to expect on our trip back, the 6.5 hours of rough-riding was relatively predictable and manageable. Our driver, we’ve had a different one each of the three trips, was semi-blind, which only added flair to the white-knuckled ride up the mountains. We finally arrived in Haydom that evening, Costech approval in hand and a box full of snacks in tow. We are now ready to conquer the task ahead of us, researching adolescent nutrition, for all of those not sure why the heck we’re here (albeit I ask myself that same question from time to time).

We hope that all is well back in the States and that fears of Africa have not frightened Betsy’s parents into retracting their desire to meet the two of us here... it’s not that bad, so long as you have cookies. 
-Ryan

(pics: Ryan and Rachel in Boat at Maliaka House, Ryan eating a fish head, stamp guys, Martin closest to Ryan, Stamps)

Ten Things the U.S. Hates About US!

Our journey continues! Thus far, we have done everything the US Embassy security personnel explained not to do while you’re in Tanzania. We had our mandatory security briefing at the Embassy today, which went well but left most people shocked and bit freaked out. The things we have done which we’re told not to:

1. Walk in the middle of the night down unlit back-roads in search of an elusive restaurant.
2. Use ATMs, apparently people in Nairobi want to steal our money.
3. Use the DalaDalas, taxis or CNGs (little three wheeled motorcycles)
4. Actually walk into markets without armed guards or purchase wooden giraffes at the carving market
5. Go anywhere in Posta (downtown area) especially the Muslim section
6. To be anywhere within eye-sight of the water (Indian Ocean, since Dar is located on it)
7. Never leave the confines of Dar es Salaam or Arusha, since the rural areas of Tanzania are lawless (Haydom apparently falls under this category)
8. Eat at any restaurant regardless of lit atmosphere, aside from the two Subways.
9. Follow local Tanzanians guiding you somewhere because you were lost.
10. Last but not least, never trust any of the US Embassy guards… aside from the eight Marines which guard the interior compound.

The security personnel would rather you experience Dar and Tanzania from your hotel window rather than actually go outside; sorry Bill and Laura, looks like the safari and Kilimanjaro are off, we can’t leave the airport, it’s far too dangerous!

Friday, as Betsy and I became hungry for lunch, we set off from our hotel in Posta (not only are we not supposed to be down here, actually residing here is unheard of for Wazungu!) in search of a tasty meal. We were staying at the Safari Inn, it’s a modest place located on Libya Street in central Posta. Heading in the direction of the harbor (also, don’t go near the water), we happened upon a restaurant called Al-Hazzari, it was centrally located on Mosque Street, and was serving up a most pleasant smelling food. Wide-eyed and oblivious to her surroundings, Betsy headed onto the patio of the open-air restaurant. In what looked to me to be a recruiting hotspot for the Taliban, ten Muslim men sitting outside eating in a row almost spit their food out as they watched in horror as a white, blond-haired, blue-eyed woman walked into the restaurant. Friday is the Muslim holy day, it was about 1:30pm, right after their second call to prayer for the day, I’m assuming many of them had just retired from the mosque to enjoy lunch. Realizing the situation, I grabbed Betsy’s arm and immediately walked her out of the establishment. Walking down Mosque Street in the opposite direction, I noticed I had not seen a single female for the last 10 minutes, it was time to find food elsewhere! We ended up sitting down at a place called Ladybird’s, a small Indian restaurant, it served great food and cheap too! It was good to have escaped out of Little Kabul, unscathed.

Explaining why we were walking down a deserted, unlit road in search of a restaurant will never make a lot of sense until you visit the Malaika House. We, Betsy, Rachel Favaro (Betsy’s friend who is currently in Dar) and myself, set off on our fateful journey around 7pm Monday evening, it was already pitch black out since Dar is close to the equator, and walked in the direction our hotel staff had prescribed. After wandering through deserted residential areas for about 30min we happened upon, Lipold, a security guard at one of the compounds who told us the restaurant was in the opposite direction we were headed. We turned around and walked down another unlit area in which we hit, what seemed to be a dead-end. A young man sitting in a drainage ditch caught our attention, telling us we didn’t have to walk all the way back to the main road, but instead to follow him on a short-cut through the ditch. We continued on this and finally hit the main road, in which we deviated once more down an unlit residential area. This time we actually hit a dead-end, populated by fifty or so Tanzanians, we couldn’t tell how many there were since Tanzanians are REALLY hard to see in the dark of night, seriously! A friendly Canadian, who also happened to be a Tanzanian, popped out of the shadows to direct us in the best North American English accent I’ve heard since our KLM flight attendant on our way to Amsterdam. He explained that he had never heard of the Malaika House but that he loved the Houston Astros and BBQ, and were lucky because there was a great BBQ restaurant around the corner. We walked away from the crowd of Tanzanians, who by this point had broken out in mass singing “happy birthday” to us, since it is the only English any of them knew. We walked another 15 or so minutes until we decided it was no longer prudent to continue the course we were currently on, so did an about face and headed back to the main road. By this time it was nearing 8:30pm and I was getting cranky, I had walked for miles on end that morning in search of a functioning ATM (something we’re not supposed to be doing, according to the US Embassy). We finally hit the main road and located the nearest taxi stand (also, don’t do this) in which he drove literally half a mile down the road to the Malaika House, ugh! After much tribulation we finally arrived at our destination. When I say it was Malaika House, it was definitely a house, without any lights or identifying features which would traditionally signal that you are at a restaurant. In fact, we opened the door to the house and found a security guard sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the entryway. He explained that the restaurant was through the house and on the beach. As we approached, the place opened and saw a great sight, the Indian Ocean with the coolest Tiki-hut/bar in the world! It was awesome, the food was fantastic, Betsy and I had grilled fish and Rachel had beef. We sat in the chairs on the sand for two hours drinking beer and having a good old time. Apparently, the place closes down at 10pm so we were forced to leave and make the 5 minute walk back to our hotel, not too bad. Apparently, these are all things you should not do, should not attempt or even think about doing while overseas, because according to the security personnel, you will inevitably die.
-Ryan

(images: local fishermen, original slave trading ship still in use, Betsy with cows)

COSTECH update

Well, Monday rolled around, and Ryan and I headed off to our appointment at COSTECH. We were armed with letters of support from various organizations and village leaders, and lots of time to just sit in their office and wait. I walked into the office ready to fight for my permit. I handed over the letters, and the guy read them carefully and said “Ok, now give me $300, and you’ll have your permit.” SUCCESS!!!! Only one little step between me and research clearance. The problem was that we didn’t have $300 in US dollars, being in Tanzania and all, where they use the shilling. I brought up this point to the man, and he said that all we had to do was go to a bank, and deposit the money into a bank account. It was all very easy really, and there was a branch just up the road. After yet another Tanzanian miscalculation of distance, we arrived at the bank.

We had our ATM cards to get T-shillings, and all the information for the account, we were good to go! We walked up to one of the account managers to ask how this process would work. She said that they didn’t exchange money at the bank (despite the rate chart on the wall indicating otherwise), and that we would have to go to an exchange bureau to get dollars, then bring them back to deposit them. We asked about the rate chart, and they said they would only do dollars to shillings, not the other way around. We walked out into the parking lot, but decided to go back and see if by some chance someone had bought shillings, and maybe they had dollars on hand. We went to a teller, who said “of course you can deposit shillings into a dollars account, you just have to have an account manager approve it.” Ugh. Back to the account manager. We told her what the teller said, and she said “oh, yes, if I approve it, you can do that. You just have to get a receipt from COSTECH.” Um, what? We were AT THE BANK to get a receipt to take to COSTECH. After explaining this to her, and that we wanted to put money in, not take it out, she asked if I had any documentation from COSTECH, that she could see as proof. I didn’t, however, I had my USF research approval stuff, so I showed that to her, and she said it would work. This paperwork actually has nothing to do with COSTECH, and was basically just a random piece of paper I was carrying, but whatever, I wasn’t going to complain. She told us we needed to get a photocopy of it and bring it back.

We set off to find the closest stationary shop. These shops are EVERYWHERE in Tanzania, so this wasn’t going to be a problem. We found one just around the corner, but due to rationing, there was no electricity in this part of Dar today. She thought the other side of the street might have electricity though. We headed over there, but again, no electricity. We remembered that the bank seemed to have electricity, so we headed back there to see if we could pay THEM to make a copy. Back to the account manager. “Oh, why yes, of course you can make a photocopy here. You don’t need to pay for it, either.” Thanks for telling us that now. She pointed us to the poor over-worked secretary who seemed to be the busiest person in the bank and went back to her office to wait. Another wait in line. Ryan decided to expedite the process and go get the money from the ATM while I got the copies. Problem was, the ATM wasn’t working here, so he headed off down the street in search of a functioning one. I got the copies and headed back. The account manager stamped them and told us to go to the teller with the money. I waited….and waited….and waited….and then started freaking out. Meanwhile, Ryan was on a 6-mile wild goose chase for a working ATM that took VISA cards. These are amazingly few and far between in Dar. After almost an hour and a half, he arrived safely back at the bank (albeit a little dehydrated and tired) with the money, and my blood pressure and heart rate began to return to normal.

We triumphantly walked up to the teller with the money, the account info, and the stamped photocopy to deposit our money. The teller looked skeptically at us and promptly disappeared for the next 10 minutes. When she returned, things went amazingly smoothly and we got the money deposited and hopped on a Dala Dala back to COSTECH. Back at COSTECH, we showed our receipt from the bank, drank about 2 liters of the coldest water in Sub-Saharan Africa, and in about 20 minutes, I was ready to do research in Tanzania!!!! After the bank experience, we spent the rest of the afternoon taking a much needed rest and re-hydrating.

-Betsy

Dar Days

Note: sorry for the backlog of posts, we didn't have time to sit around and blog much, as we were out having too much fun!

I’m back to my old digs, Dar! (I lived there for about 3 months when I was an undergrad, studying at the University of Dar es Salaam.) A lot has changed since 2003 (movie theaters, shopping malls, pseudo-Target?!), although after a day here, it seems exactly the same. We started our day by attempting to walk to the American Embassy from “Posta” (downtown) where our hotel is. We quickly learned that Tanzanians a) give the worst directions EVER, and b) are seemingly completely inept at map-making. Although the Embassy was off the map that we acquired at the hotel desk, someone had hand drawn directions to the Embassy in the margin, making it look approximately ¼ mile off the edge of the map. Oh how wrong that was. We walked ….and walked….and walked out on the road that went off the edge of the map, looking for the embassy on the right, just off the corner of the main road. After about 2.5 miles, we thought we must have missed it and turned around. After making it back to where the map stopped and not seeing the American Embassy (we passed Iran, Sudan, Poland, Norway, France, Germany, Mozambique, Canada, Egypt…), we stopped and asked directions. After much discussion – some of it even about our problem at hand – they decided it was much too far to walk, and that we had to take a cab. Boy, were they right. At the bargain-basement price of 4,000 Tsh, we hitched a ride to the Embassy. For the distance – about 4 miles – it was a pretty good deal.

Once we arrived at the Embassy, things were good. The Embassy staff were great, and very helpful. We ended up sitting around chatting with them for a couple of hours. It’s a literally a little slice of America, where you can drink out of the drinking fountains, and even their port-a-potties are the fanciest Ryan had ever seen. (This ain’t no RAGBRAI, baby!)

Anyway, we then got yet another completely disproportionate map made by one of the Embassy staff (a Tanzanian) and headed off to COSTECH, the research ethics office. After about 3.5 miles in the mid-day equatorial sun, we made it! ….only to be told to return on Monday. Since both Ryan and I were not about to walk another step, we attempted to get a cab, but failed miserably at getting anything but ‘wazungu’ prices. Luckily, we were on a Dala Dala route, so we hopped on and Ryan got his first taste of true Dar life. Dala Dalas are public mini-busses that shuttle around the city for about 20 cents per ride. They are jam-packed and hot as hell, and definitely not made for people over 5’5”. But they get you where you need to go, and cheaply, plus you get free entertainment from the circus that is the Dala Dala.

-Betsy

Bat out of Hell....

Sunday evening I took a turn for the worse, after dinner I became extremely sleepy. I went to bed early the evening, around 9pm and awoke around 11pm and could barely control my bowels. Just before 2am I was vomiting and extremely dizzy, I didn’t know what was going on, I felt fine only five hours earlier. This continued for much of the night until I felt as though I purged everything in my body. The next morning Betsy ran out to pick up some Sprite, what a life-saver! I was bed-ridden for all of Monday and most of Tuesday, which is not the most pleasant scenario in Haydom. That is especially true when Betsy, on Tuesday came down with Giardia, AGAIN! I keep telling her to stop eating other people’s Pu, but it’s just so hard to remind her when I’m sitting in bed. I think Frank has the same problem sometimes.

To make a long story short, we planned our escape from Haydom while we were still sick as dogs, not knowing if we would make it. We left Haydom at 5:30am in the notorious Land Cruiser, yeah, that one! Thank god for oral rehydration salts, which taste horrible but made both of us feel a TON better that morning. After another grueling 5.5 hours to Arusha, we crashed at the Meru House Inn. I must say that was the second worst ride of my life although it paled in comparison to the first, we were able to finagle for the front seats!

After the much needed stop-over in Arusha, we boarded the Dar (not so) Express, for Dar es Salaam. We’re both enamored by the fact that it seems you can board this bus at any junction of your liking; we stopped in the most random of places to pick people up. It was nice to see the country-side of Tanzania; we went from mountainous rainforest, to grassy savannah, ending in the coastal tropics of Dar. Along the way we were shown a movie, Prey, probably the worst movie I’ve ever seen. I equate it to Jaws on land, although Steven Spielberg definitely did not direct this flick. I think Tanzanians love the crappiest of American cinema (reference prior post about Stupidest Animal Videos). Set in the Serengeti, a tour goes horribly awry! The tour guide is first eaten by a lion and drops the keys to the vehicle 100 yards away. Meanwhile, the entire pride of lions surround the car and the people are trapped inside, for days on end. Eventually, through a stroke of good luck, people find the car and semi-rescue the occupants only to be over taken by the large male lion. The woman in the movie somehow rigs the car with a gas-bomb and blows the whole thing to hell, making it out unscathed! Truly a great film, one for the ages.

Well, we arrived in Dar, and let me tell you, I’m considering staying here the rest of the time and sending Betsy back! It’s a pretty cool city, the little I’ve seen of it, which there is a lot of. Speaking of which, we’re itching to head to the beach, so I’ll cut this short. Kipepeo, here we come (That’s what I’m talking about, anthropology finally pays off)!
-Ryan

Adventures in beer buying

We’ve become more accustomed to life in Haydom. One of our major accomplishments was negotiating a crate of beer from the local distributer. In Tanzania, you HAVE to return the soda and beer bottles, so it’s quite a hassle to buy beer to take to your house, especially if you’re not returning empties. Also, men, such as beer distributors, seem to like to deal with other men rather than a mzungu woman.

On our beer-finding expedition, we walked up to a distributor, where of course, as in all Tanzanian stores, there were about 5 men loafing around, seemingly doing nothing but being nosy. As soon as wazungu walk up, they get interested. Ryan and I start looking around and I ask if we can buy a crate of Tusker. They look for our empty bottles, and realizing we have none, say they don’t have any Tusker. We can see it sitting 10 feet away from us. When I mention this fact to them, they tell Ryan that we need bottles. When Ryan stares blankly back in their direction, and I say that we will pay a deposit for the bottles, they ask Ryan how much. Finally, we are able to negotiate a price for the bottles, and the cost of the beer. This was a big purchase in Tanzanian, almost $40 for 24 beers and the bottles, so I wanted to be sure that when we returned the bottles, we’d get our money back. I made them sign a contract (a blank piece of notebook paper, which I wrote an agreement on in Swahili), which they thought was the weirdest thing in the world. You don’t get receipts here, let alone ever have to sign anything. We’ll see if the contract actually works, or if ANY of the random guys are there the day we return them…….I’ll keep you posted!

As we were getting the beer, Ryan looked around the corner of the building, then fled to the other side of me. At first I thought he was being paranoid or something, and didn’t notice the sloshing sound backgrounding my negotiations. Apparently, there was a guy standing in a bucket….stark naked….just outside of the beer distributor. After he finished his bath, he came to join the mob of people watching the wazungu try to get beer. Just one of the many random things you see walking down the street in Haydom.

After we successfully got and paid for our beer, our elation faded as we realized we had a mile-long walk back to the house, carrying 50 or so pounds of beer. We thought we were being smart by bringing a cloth to cover it while we carried it back, but nothing could cover up the distinctive sound of bottles clunking together. If possible, we were even more of a spectacle on this walk back than any other. When I say ‘we’ carried it back, I mean of course Ryan carried it back. He definitely got his workout for the day, and earned his luke-warm beer! The next day, we were sitting down, and he noticed 2 bruises on his legs. I got really worried that it was some kind of horrible bite, or crazy African disease (I can be a bit of a hypochondriac here), but then we realized it was from the crate banging on his legs as he walked! Anyway, now we’ve been enjoying Tusker at home on our evenings off, and remembering that in Tanzania, EVERYTHING is an adventure!

-Betsy

home

slightly faster internet connection, here are a few pictures of our new digs.

Celestial Excretions

Oh, the beautiful stars! I have never seen a sight so amazing in my life, well, I take that back, I have read a few National Geographic magazines and the pictures I snapped of the sky could possibly be published. Anyone out there know of an editor at NG that would want a photo of the Milky Way?! I promise to post them when we arrive in Dar, maybe a few weeks from now, give or take a few weeks… you know, Tanzi-time.

There was a bit of good news this morning, we received word that Betsy’s Fulbright funding will be sent out to us next week, that’s a load off our minds!

Speaking of pictures, we’ve received numerous requests to photo-document our elusive pet, Alfred, I promise, before I terminate our relationship, I’ll try to get a picture of him. I will have to apologize though, I usually have one thought in my mind when I see him, “die mother- #$@&er, die mother-#$@&er, die!” So, that being said, I may not have the will nor the strength to withhold dealing my great vengeance down upon his head (I’m currently reading the Bible, so the Pu-Blog may begin to have vengeful “god-like” references, for all of the heathens out there reading this, I feel your pain).

Well, we’ve been here, in Tanzania, a little over two weeks now and I feel as if the beginnings of what they call “culture shock” starting to infect my being. Everyday we walk by the same people, what they do all day long, I have no idea since they’re in the same spot at all times of their waking hours, who call out to us “WAZUNGU, WAZUNGU!” It never gets old to them, even if we pass by three or more times throughout the day! I’m definitely not a person who enjoys being the center of attention 24/7, so that is starting to wear on me. Yesterday, we met with the head-master of Haydom Secondary School, who is in one of the more respected positions in Tanzania. We met with him hoping to utilize him as a resource for studying adolescent nutrition in his school. Right off the bat he began telling us his life story and how his parents died ten years ago, it was a pretty sad story, but then went on to explain how he always wanted to be a doctor and it was never his intent to be a school head-master. After about fifteen minutes of the “sob-story”, he asked us to sponsor him so he could go back to school and become a doctor!

After a long explanation of how we too are students and cannot afford helping him, we retreated into the hospital compound where we found a Tiki-hut in the backyard their housing. Betsy and I promptly made ourselves feel at home here, over-looking the valley below, tucked away from curious eyes of Tanzanians. For me, this was the most comfortable place I’ve been since arriving here. We were alone, no one bothering or soliciting us; we were able to just become lost in our thoughts. Unfortunately, we only had a short “vacation” there, since we do not live within the hospital gates. We are currently living like true anthropologists; our life is a constant ethnography, as Betsy explained in the previous post. I’m not an anthropologist nor do I plan to become one, thank god because I’m just too ethno-centric!
-Ryan

adventures in ethnography

Well, things are moving along, and I feel like we’ve gotten a good start, albeit slow, on our study. Sometimes, when daily life is so monumentally alien to us (bucket showers, no internet, pit latrines, oh my!) it’s easy to forget that we’re here to actually do work! We will be researching adolescent nutrition in the Haydom area and ultimately trying to understand ways to make culturally-based nutrition programs targeting adolescents. It seems to be a very neglected topic here, with most health outreach focusing on maternal and child health and HIV. We are the only wazungu living outside the hospital compound, which puts us in a 24-hour a day ethnography. We’ve already learned a TON in the past 2 weeks and haven’t formally started the study yet. We went with the outreach clinic to a village yesterday about 45 minutes away from Haydom, and the difference between food resources was amazing! To us Americans, Haydom seems like a barren food waste-land, with few pre-packaged foods (soda, a handful of cookies, some peanut butter, and that’s about it – there is one type of canned cheese and a bottle of Alter Wine in the ‘wazungu’ shop in town, and if you know us, that’s going to make for a long 10 months). In the village there was even less, a few greens, onions and mangos being sold, and some generic cookies. In interviewing people, their diet was amazingly monotonous, especially now, in the dry season when the crops aren’t growing and the wild vegetables and fruits aren’t available. Basically, they eat a stiff maize dough called ugali, and maybe some milk, beans and greens if they are lucky.

We’ve spent the past week and a half meeting people, and preparing our research materials, namely taking pictures of local foods for a pile-sorting exercise. I don’t know what I would do without my #1 research assistant Ryan who’s graphic design skills have been indispensible! We’re both excited to get them done and get the final research clearance so we can try them out (ok, I’m excited for the nerdy anthropology part of it, Ryan’s just excited to get moving).
-Betsy

icky-sicky

Phew, through one solid week at our new home and we’ve definitely been given a wake-up call. I was ill on Tuesday but recovered nicely but just as that passed I started to have the beginnings of a bloody nose. If you know me well my bloody noses are infamous, which usually end hours later, my nose being cauterized and leaving me light-headed. Naturally, this scared the Pu out of me, what are we to do? We went to the hospital to buy a styptic pen (silver nitrate), which is the cauterizing agent on the end of a long wooden cotton swab. Apparently, Haydom Hospital doesn’t have anything for cauterization, good to know if either of us begin bleeding profusely we’re hours away from the nearest functioning medical facility. Another item that eludes our grasp here is a tube of Neosporin, which is the most basic of items to have on hand!

Betsy, on Saturday evening began to feel ill herself, the next morning she was unable to get out of bed, not good. She burped once and I caught a whiff of it, I remember Vikas emailing me and telling me about sulfur smelling burps being Giardia. Giardia is a stomach infection transmitted through fecal matter, yuck! As her state continued to worsen we decided she should take antibiotics. Good thing, she’s feeling much better today, so much so that she was actually able to eat breakfast. So far it’s been quite the test, physically and mentally for both of us, hopefully as we become more and more accustomed our surroundings, life here will become easier. I knew we would both become ill through our time here but never thought it would be so soon. Hope all is well back home, I wish I could drink tap water right about now…
-Ryan

BFE Africa!

It’s like we are in rural Africa! We were without electricity from 3pm on last night, again, seems to be common occurrence, three times a week or so, give or take a day. Luckily, the family has on stock a large quantity of “shumaa”, or candles in English, which lit that evening’s dinner. I have a feeling Betsy and I will have “romantic” dinners quite often here, much to our chagrin because the darkness usually invites the buibui, or spiders the size of Betsy’s head, out of the walls. We have affectionately named one of the extraordinarily nimble spiders, Alfred; though not as cuddly as Frank, our dog, it may possess superior intelligence. We currently have a running tally of insects killed, Betsy is not as adept to killing as I am, although I definitely do not possess a “killer-instinct” myself.

Betsy: 4 roaches, 2 mini-spiders, 2 centipedes

Ryan: 4 GIANT spiders (gross!), 3 roaches, 3 mini-spiders, countless flies and the largest beetle I have ever seen! So large that I had to run and get Betsy to look at it before I took the howitzer to it.

Life here has been alright, I love the family we’re living with, however, I’m still trying to adjust to Tanzanian culture. There is a saying here, “Tanzanians are not like Westerners who like to have everything finished today, we leave the hardest tasks for tomorrow.” This mentality has been a stick in our spokes on a daily basis, which I’ve lovingly termed, Tanz-time, and has driven me nuts from the day we arrived. I am not an anthropologist, that is for sure and watching the paint dry is definitely not a coveted past-time for me, so this experience, albeit great so far, has had its definitive points of frustration.

The past few nights, especially the ones without electricity, have been quite spectacular, celestially speaking. A few nights ago I witnessed an amazing sight, the Milky Way, which is all but impossible to see in the US. Every part of the sky was lit-up with twinkling, yes they actually do twinkle, stars and there wasn’t a dark spot to be seen. Venus, which is high right now, was so incredibly bright is was hard to take my eyes off of while the rest of the stars come in a brilliant array of colors ranging from bright white down to a pale brown. It was one of the more incredible things I’ve seen in my adult life and wish all of you could see it. I will try to perfect my aperture timing over the next few nights and upload the pictures when we are in Dar. I have to apologize for the lack of pictures over the past week, Haydom’s internet connection shares the same mentality of its people, Tanz-time.
-Ryan

Life in Haydom

Well, we’ve been in Tanzania for over a week now, and our first week of being in Haydom is almost done. We’ve been enjoying living with Mama Neema and Stephano, their 7 kids, and the 5 or so other people who seem to live here – we haven’t figured all the relationships out yet. Our house is starting to feel more comfortable, and we’ve decorated the walls with pictures of family and a huge map of Africa. We have plans for a batik slipcover for the couch, and possibly some batik wall hangings as well. The bugs are prevalent, although since we are in the highlands, the mosquitoes are not as bad as in Arusha. Our main problem is the ‘buibui’ (spiders) which both Ryan and I HATE in general, and the ones that they have here are basically the biggest, ugliest spiders you’ll ever see outside of a zoo. For their size, they are also amazingly fast, which is even more unsettling.

Haydom is interesting to say the least. There are no paved roads, making it incredibly dusty, and goats, cattle, chickens, cats and dogs seem to roam free. The roving packs of dogs are definitely hunting something at night, although neither one of us is brave enough to find out what. People are very nice, and kids love running up to the ‘wazungu’ and yelling random English phrases such as “good morning” (at any time of day) “thank you very much” and “give me money”. The brave ones try to grab our hands, or touch my hair.

The shops in town are pretty basic, and we’ll definitely have stock up every time we go to Arusha. We went on massive search for peanut butter where we canvassed basically the whole town. We finally found ONE shop in the whole village that had a BUCKET of it, which the shopkeeper unearthed from beneath a pile of junk in a corner. Amazingly, it wasn’t even out of date. Obviously, Ryan was very happy about that development.

The project is going well, and we’ve made some contacts in the community and at the hospital. Everyone has been really positive about the project, and things seem to be moving along. I had a huge step forward today, when I found out that the research clearance was preliminarily approved!!

Ryan was talking to a Tanzanian who works for an NGO that builds dorms for secondary students all over Tanzania, who said that the village that we’re in now is the most remote place he’s been in Tanzania. After Ryan and my experience here, that seems about right.

-Betsy

So, we made our way to Haidom, the village in which we will be conducting our research, after a 6.5 hour trip in the most uncomfortable, crowded and crazy transportation ever! We rode in a Land Cruiser, a quintessential African vehicle, with our luggage strapped to the roof. After being blackmailed into paying more for our massive “wazungu luggage”, Tanzanians apparently do not travel with five full-sized pieces of luggage, we were on our way. The Land Cruiser, which was originally to have a maximum capacity of eleven, was stuffed with fifteen people. Tanzanians, while short, are much wider than Betsy and I; not only were our legs smashed into the seats in front of us, but my body also doubled as a backrest for an inconsiderate woman. We traveled 3.5 hours on a double track dirt and grass road, which was not without its potholes, washes and various water mitigation issues (thank you, Jaron, for the terminology), up a large mountainous region. Thankfully, the Land Cruiser was equipped with a snorkel which helped as we forged a river before hitting the mountains and into Mbulu. The town of Mbulu is mid-way from Arusha to Haidom, which we stopped for a stretch and a potty break (this is the point of mild “freak-out” for me). After going on a wild goose chase, we were finally pointed in the right direction to the choo, or restroom in Swahili. The second half of the ride we requested the front seat, which made the last 2.5 hours of driving “not-so-bad” but by American standards, horrible. We made it to Haidom around 3pm, which has absolutely no paved roads, and our host family was waiting for us at the station. We came back to their place where they have a separate detached structure which is to be our home for the next 10 months. The first few hours here were wavering at best, as the thought of being here for almost an entire year began to saturate our minds. I got my first taste of the bucket-showers and pit latrines, which I am sure we will become more proficient with as time progresses. Our family, however, has been great to us and has made us feel right at home; they had lunch ready when we returned and then around 8:30pm they served us dinner. This morning they brought us breakfast and then lunch around 1pm, the hospitality has been great! It has been quite an eye opening experience for me thus far and seems that the next ten months will continue to hold my constant attention.
-Ryan
ps- sorry, we will post pictures soon, the computers in Haidom are extremely slow and we have to size everything down.

Exploring Arusha

On Wednesday we ventured out to explore the city of Arusha and Ryan got his first experience of Tanzanian city life. Our first stop was the ATM and Shoprite, also known as wazungu central (wazungu is akin to ‘gringo’ and means ‘westerner’). After successfully getting money and wandering around refrigerated food items, we ventured off into ‘real Arusha’ to get the list of supplies we realized we needed, such as shower flip-flops, washcloths and a cell phone. Day 1 in Tanzania was a success and we accomplished all of our goals and then some! At sunset, we watched the traffic from our hotel balcony, and took some pictures of the street at rush hour. We also ventured up to the roof, which has an amazing view of Mt. Meru framed by Jacaranda trees in bloom. Today, Ryan was introduced to Tanzanian rice and chicken as well as one of my personal favorites, bitter lemon soda and Konyagi (something like gin).

On Day 2, we went further from our hotel in Arusha, and explored more of the side streets, as well as the ‘fancy’ area. (not to scare you mom and dad, but it’s a little ways from our hotel.) We also found an internet café with reasonably fast wireless. Score! Our biggest success today was getting tickets to Haydom for Saturday! Thank goodness for Crystal and her detailed instructions; we never could have done it without her. (like, I’m sure, many things to come on this trip!) We also found some great Indian food, topped off with some Tusker and Kilimanjaro beer.

After two days, we’re getting more used to being a constant spectacle, and fending off ‘rafiki’ (friends) who just want to show us their paintings, shoes, safari trips, pirated DVDs, etc that they are selling. When venturing into a very non-wazungu market, one guy didn’t even want to sell us anything, he just wanted to be seen walking around with us. (This was really weird to both Ryan and I, neither one of us are what you would call ‘cool’). We’re having fun, but both Ryan and I are excited to leave Arusha and get to Haydom soon!

-Betsy