Hello?

As part of our journey down the long path of Swahili fluency, we have been trying to master greetings.  Though this sounds simple enough, I assure you, it is no simple task.  Everyone tells us that Swahili is an easy language to learn, but I’m not yet convinced. 

In English, there are a couple greetings that work for all occasions and a few standard responses.  In Swahili, things get a little more complicated.  Greetings depend on the time of day, and the age of the person being greeted.  Additionally, each greeting has it’s own answer that cannot be interchanged with any other greeting-answer.  Time-based greeting are easy.  It’s a simple matter of inserting the right time word (asubuhi, mchana, jioni, etc.) into the sentence. 

However, when you get to greetings based on age, you really have to think.  If the person is older than you, you say, “Shikamoo”, to which the correct response is “marahaba”.  Younger people greet each other with “Mambo vipi” (and the reply ‘poa’). And remember, don’t mix the responses! 

Though learning the phrases is easy enough, using them is more difficult.  When you pass someone on the street who is slightly older than you, should you use the formal ‘shikamoo’ or is appropriate to say ‘mambo’? Should you wait for a child to address you with ‘shikamoo’ or can you initiate with ‘mambo’?  Keep in mind that these are the greetings that we have mastered – there are even more we are less familiar with. 

Once you get beyond greetings, you find that Swahili is a very structured language.  There are a lot of rules, but very few exceptions.  Swahili is like Spanish in that the verb has to be conjugated to fit the person along with the tense.  Fortunately, in Swahili the conjugating is nearly always the same and doesn’t vary with the verb like Spanish. 

Though verbs are relatively easy, adjectives can be tricky.  Adjectives take a certain prefix  depending on the noun class and plurality of the noun being described.  Unlike in English where most plural nouns  receive an ‘s’ or ‘es’, Swahili nouns fall in to various classes which are pluralized multiple ways.  For example, ‘kitabu’ (book) becomes ‘vitabu’ in plural form but ‘mtoto’ (child) turns in to ‘watoto’  and ‘mbwa’ stays ‘mbwa’  no matter how many dogs there are.  These examples are just three of many noun classes.  Once you figure out the noun class and plurality of the noun, you have to conjugate the adjective to fit. 

Swahili, as you may have noticed, is packed with double consonants.  There are a lot of words with mw, mb, ng, kw, mn, or mt.  People say that Swahili is pronounced like it sounds (which I maintain can be said by any speaker of his/her native language.  Think about it.).  I don’t know about you, but I was never taught the pronunciation of ‘mk’ words when I was a toddler.  Though Swahili and English share a similar alphabet (there is no q in Swahili), some Swahili words are difficult for an untrained English mouth. 

Fortunately for us, good-byes are limited to a couple variations.  ‘Kwa heri’ is the standard ‘good-bye’, ‘Usiku mwema’ means ‘good night’, and ‘baadae’ is the slang  for ‘later’.  With that in mind, kwa herini until next time!

Type to Learn

A few days back, I headed to the Nsoo Secondary School for another day of teaching.  I was running a little late and once reaching the school, headed straight for the classroom.  Before I reached my destination, I was intercepted by the school’s secretary, Mary.  She said the headmaster wanted a word with me.  I told her that I had class then, and perhaps I could speak to him afterwards?  No, she said, it’s urgent. So off I go with Mary. 

Upon entering his office, I saw the headmaster squished behind his desk which was pilled with messy stacks of dog-eared papers.  Head in hands, he motioned me to sit at the  chair in front of the desk which is always facing the wall, perpendicular to the headmaster.

The head master sighed once and said, “We have a problem.”  Uh-oh, I thought, this doesn’t sound good.  Hundreds of possibilities flooded my head.  What could this be about?  They weren’t going to fire me, were they? 

“Yes?” I asked, mentally rifling through all of the possibilities in my head.

“Final exams are next week and our typist is gone.  We need someone to type them up.  Could you do that?” he asked, fiddling with a blue pen.  Much relieved that I wasn’t going to be fired from my volunteering job, I eagerly agreed to the task and went to class.

Later that afternoon, I was flagged down by Mary again.  She led me to a backroom, unlocked a heavily padlocked cabinet and pulled out a huge stack of papers.  Warily, I eyed the thick pile of exams.  It was a lot more than I had bargained for.  She cheerfully handed over the papers and thanked me profusely.  I had the notion that if it wasn’t for me, she would have had to type all of the exams up. 

Once home, I settled in to type exams.  The work was more interesting than I had expected it.  Knowing little about the Tanzanian school system and curriculum, it was interesting to see what these students were learning and compare it to my high school education.  Though  the material covered is similar, the delivery method is different.  Unlike in an American high school were you can choose which classes to take, in Tanzania you have no choice.  The courses are also maintained throughout the year and repeated at higher levels in subsequent years. 

I returned to the school the following day with half of the papers typed only to find that they didn’t have power and I couldn’t give them the typed exams. 

“Come back tomorrow,” Mary said. “Hopefully we will have power then.  Oh, and here are some more exams.”  She handed me another stack, though this one wasn’t as large. 

All in all, I typed up over 20 final exams (which were no little tests, by the way) on every subject ranging from Math to Bible Study to English (which, surprisingly, had a few grammar mistakes).

Tales from Safari (edition V)

Mud in Tanzania is unlike any other mud I have experienced.  After a good rain, the lowland roads on the coast turn to sticky black molasses.  The soil absorbs extreme amounts of water and grab at everything that passes.  Especially vehicles.  On our return to Mweka, we found ourselves stuck in the mud several times.

Driving in the mud seems to be even more difficult than driving on snow or ice.  Luckily we had exceptional drivers that could keep the momentum going while still keeping the vehicle in control.  We bounced along, fishtailing and soon our white Land Rovers were brown.  We were doing good until the vehicle in front of us got stuck and we had to slow down.  Then we, too, found ourselves stuck.  After a few minutes of spinning tires and moving inches we were freed.  Unfortunately, the supply vehicle behind us was in deep.  After moving to higher, dry ground, we unloaded and hiked back to free the stuck Land Rover.  It took a good deal of time and manpower, but the students were able to push the Land Rover out of the mud and back on the road.  Cheers and high-fives were cut short as the Land Rover quickly found its way back into the mud.  The process started over and was repeated a few times that morning. 

     

Once we made it back to the main road, which was paved, we were safe.  But as we passed through the Pare Mountains, which had early that day experienced heavy rains,  parts of the road were flooded with murky orange water and gullies appeared where none had been previously.  In the more arid Northern regions, when it rains deforested areas are prone to heavy erosion, as we saw. 

Tales from Safari (edition IV 1/2)

Here is another perspective on the bush meat incident written by the ever-captivating Professor . . .

I was angry, only I didn’t know whom to be angry with. The assailant, the villagers, the rangers, the foreign factory owner, the government, whom? All held and sidestepped responsibility. There was little I could do other than extend a spiritual embrace to a soul hovering between life and death.

The water buck was mired to its belly in mud in a watering hole on the edge of the village. It quivered with exhaustion. Deep lacerations oozing with blood spread across the haunches, neck and face. Snorting in fear and defense, a frothy mix of blood, sweat and hormones cascaded down the broad face from the laceration just below the eyes. The look of fear, pain and exhaustion was unmistakable. With it’s characteristic white ring of fur around the buttocks and a beautiful gray brown coat the muscles of this common water buck likely had shimmered athletically just hours earlier before descending to this lethal watering hole. Here in the night it became entangled in a crudely set snare.

The watering hole was a muddy puddle of water not more than six meters in diameter on the edge of a small village. Nearby was a large tank of water for villagers who cautiously watched while filling their vessels. The water buck, as the name implies, must visit water daily and the end of the dry season had forced this particular animal to venture to the edge of the village in search of water.

Snares do not discriminate. A water buck is a large animal comparable to an American elk. The poacher, machete in hand, likely had approached in the night to harvest this animal as the lacerations attest. Finding a machete no match for the horns of a healthy water buck, the poacher probably retreated in the hopes that the animal would weaken before dawn, enabling harvest and discrete distribution of what then would then be bushmeat.

Many times I had taught about bushmeat in my classes on conservation biology and each time I presented the difficulties of poverty versus conservation. How can westerners cry about animals lost to poaching when abject poverty and hunger fuels desperation? What would my students do I ask and who is to blame? Like many difficult problems there are no simple answers, yet here I stood watching this water buck seeking desperately to find someone to blame.

The villagers watched as the rangers lassoed the water buck and dragged it out of the mud after several hours of trying to scare it out of the watering hole. The animal braced all legs, pulling back against the cable hooked to a truck until it collapsed. The villagers were silent. No one would utter a word, though likely each of them knew who carried the bloodied machete. This was meat lost. The East Indian factory owner indignantly insisted on a doctor for the poor animal. He spoke with denial in English, apparently unable to speak Swahili. I wondered if he felt a twinge (or perhaps a surge) of guilt in this factory town of poorly paid hungry people.

The rangers carefully went about their job of tying the animal and loading it on the truck, still alive. This task clearly pained them and brought great sadness. The water buck could not be left in the waterhole to die or even be shot as this was viewed as incentive to poachers. The government, in an effort to discourage poachers mandates that the animal must be transported and released in the hopes of recovery. Animals taken only a short ways are often stalked by their assailants and butchered, so the journey deep into the bush in the back of a truck was long.

Before leaving the site, the rangers collect the snare and take photographs knowing that is unlikely that anyone will be held accountable, but rather to add the evidence to the growing pile of statistics on bushmeat. They remove another snare in an adjacent tree along with a tethered vervet monkey, long since dead. The young monkey too small to butcher, was left to die and now was no more than a dried carcass.

The rangers unload the water buck deep in the bush where the acacia trees stretch to the horizon. Theirs is not an easy job. I wonder how many silent prayers they have made over similar heaps of blood matted fur. Though of little comfort, the bush is a better place to die and as we departed the soul hovered between the savanna and clouds.

I still have no answers to the questions I pose to students on bushmeat, nor was I able to identify any group or person to blame, but something inside me changed. There is a small piece of sadness that comes from lost hope and I find myself deeply angry. Angry at a world that allows people to be hungry, for corporations who fail to provide a living wage and for governments forced to make difficult choices. The world is big. Big enough for waterbucks, villagers, corporations and westerners, but only when we all take responsibility. We cannot and must not lose hope, for hope is the spirit that guides us from anger to responsibility. Could hope be the strongest conservation tool we have? Maybe, the answer lies in a combination of hope, beauty and dignity for all, including waterbucks.

Tales from Safari (edition IV)

During our stay at Sadani National Park we had a unique experience.  One day, after dropping the students off in the bush with a promise to pick them up five kilometers south of that point in a few hours, we headed back to camp.  Before we got to camp we came upon a watering hole just outside a village.  As Sadani National Park has been recently established, all of the area’s former inhabitants have not been entirely relocated.  (The government is in the midst of buying out a salt company whose workers live in a town within the park boundaries.) 

Reaching the watering hole we realized what the commotion was about.  Being the end of the dry season, this was one of the remaining watering holes in the area and many animals flock to it.  Unfortunately they don’t all leave. In this case, a large male waterbuck had been caught in a snare.  A small group of villagers stood around watching while four park rangers tried to free the animal.  In the previous night, the hunter had tried to kill the snared animal but only succeeded in wounding it.  By the time we had arrived, the waterbuck had lost much blood from deep gashes on its nose and side and was in a weakened, frightened state.  The rangers tried poking and prodding the beast but to little avail.  When waterbuck are scared, their tendency is to water, making it hard to chase this one away from the watering hole.  After several failed attempts, they resorted to a new tactic.  Looping a cord over the waterbuck’s horns, five grown men tried to put the animal out of the mud, moving the creature only meters before the rope broke.  Once armed with a new rope, they tied the waterbuck to a truck and pulled that way.  The poor creature fought its removal to exhaustion and collapsed on the ground.  The waterbuck was then tied up, pilled in the back of a pickup and driven off, deep into the park, where the poachers couldn’t find it.

In a country where over half of the population lives on less than $1 a day (and nearly all of the country on less than $2), illegal hunting is a popular method for food and income.  In National Parks, hunting is strictly prohibited, though laws do little to deter poor villagers.  It’s easy to sit back and think, ‘why would anyone do such a thing?’, but when you consider the circumstances, black and white become gray.  When you have starving children to feed, and bush meat is considerably cheaper than beef, you are not inclined to spend your precious little money for the conservation-friendly beef.  The on looking villagers certainly knew who the culprit was but kept the secret to themselves.  But can you really blame them?  The salt company pays them little to nothing, their children are hungry, and why should the waterbuck get free access to the town’s watering hole?  Until communities have greater ownership and economic benefit from wildlife it is unlikely that the bush meat trade will decrease.A vervet monkey was also caught in a snare, but not being worth the small amount of meat it would provide, was left in the tree where it was snared.

     

Tales from Safari (edition III)

As I have previously mentioned, we spent a good amount of time on the beach.  I could devote a rather lengthy post to how much I love the ocean, but I think that it would bore a good deal of you (or make you so jealous of my beach time that you quit reading).  So instead I will devote my time to other things. 

The coastal area of Pangani is a beautiful place.  The blue waters sparkle in the sun and there is always a breeze to carry the heat away, and best of all there are virtually no mosquitoes. In the mornings, local fishermen hoist the white canvas sails of their dhous (catamaran sailboats) and emerge from the Pangani river to disperse on the wide seas for the day.  The tides at Pangani were impressive.  The difference from high to low was half a mile.  When the tide was out, the white sand beaches stretched far and a beachcomber could find multitudes of colorful seashells and stranded jellyfish with stubby tentacles. 

The culture of the coast is also different from farther inland.  Though the Kilimanjaro region has Tanzania's highest population density, the coastal region is far poorer.  Even though Pangani hosts a lower standard of living than say Arusha or Moshi, theft is rare.  (Having said that, I was the unfortunate victim of a boot-thief, much to the dismay of the group.)

During our stay at the coast, we visited a mangrove forest, a seaweed farm, tide pools, and the Maziwe Marine Reserve.  The students did studies on diversity, took species inventories and listened to presentations given by locals.  The teaching style is a bit different here in that students are much more self reliant. When left on their own, they set to work and and complete their surveys.  During lectures they listen intently and ask insightful questions.  And on a Friday night they can be found not at the bar blasting loud music, but next door at the quiet restaurant finishing up their homework. 

Liability is also different here.  In the States, doctors prescribe every test imaginable to avoid missing an illness and being sued.  Here, seatbelts aren’t required and in fact, many of the seats don’t even have them.  Getting to Maziwe Marine Reserve requires a 90 minute boat ride.  Before we left, life vests were handed out, just like they would be in the States.  The difference was that there were fewer than 10 lifejackets for the 24 people.  The lifejackets that were handed out were little more than orange vest that might have once had some stuffing for flotation.  There was little doubt in my mind that if an emergency arose, the vests would provide no assistance. (To add to the circumstances, only about half of the students could swim.) 

Our stay at the beach was very enjoyable and it was hard to leave.  Luckily our next stop would be a National Park. 

Tales from Safari (edition II)

At Mweka Wildlife College, the students periodically go on safari to put their theoretical knowledge to practice in the the field.  The safari group we went with were third year advanced diploma students.  These are the seniors of the college and they really know their stuff.  So last week we piled twenty people and two drivers into two Land Rovers (I’m still not sure how we all fit) and headed of to the coast.

The drive from our home in Mweka to the coastal region of Pangani where we stayed took a good part of the day.  As soon as you come down off the mountain, the air warms and the enclosed quarters of the vehicle become increasingly confining.  But the landscape is distracting and you soon forget your sardine-packed state. 

East of Moshi, the landscape is covered with scrub brush and the Pare Mountains loom blue on the horizon.  Baobabs, thick-trunked trees with spindly branches, dot the countryside and shade herds of goat and cattle.  Many of the larger trees have conical boxes hanging from braided rope that serve as beehives. 

The dusty landscape is void of water and agriculture except for the occasional oasis which can be spotted miles off thanks to the grove of coconut trees they support  Upon closer inspection, the coconut trees show stems notched for ideal footholds. 

Further along, the Pare Mountains turn into the Usambara Mountains and through their peaks, you can see Kenya.  The soil also changes from burnt orange to crimson red.  Towards the coast, cinder blocked and tin roofed houses give way to mud and stick thatched huts. 

Half way we stopped at the Highway Restaurant.  The name seems a misnomer to me.  Lots of businesses boast the title “highway” but I have yet to find the highway.  The road, though fancy by African standards, is but one lane in each direction.  I would only qualify that as a road. 

The scrubland turned to vast fields of sisal as we neared the coast.  Spiky plants stretch in even columns to either horizon.  These plantations are the remnants of the colonial period which have since been bought out by Asian companies.

As we crested a hill, the Indian ocean came into view in the distance.  Past the fields a sapphire ribbon was pasted on the horizon beneath the pale blue sky.  As we drove through a village that overlooked the distant ocean I had to wonder how many of the children in the village had been to the ocean.  In a poor, rural village many people live their whole lives within a few miles of their home village.  In my opinion, everyone should get to experience the ocean.

Reaching the ocean we set up camp just back from the white sand beach.  The hot equatorial afternoon was cut by a warm breeze and the scent of salt water.  Coming from the middle of a continent, there is something irresistible about an ocean.  Maybe it’s the tangy smell of the water, the tides, the vast expanse of blue or perhaps all three things.  Whatever it is,  I would travel a million miles to get to the ocean and willingly spend all my life there.  Though our drive was long and hot, it was most definitely worth it. 

Tales from Safari

As we just returned from a Safari, this coming week of posts will be about our adventures.  I’ll start today with a letter home.

 

Dear Friends,

I hope every thing is going well in the Northern Hemisphere.  Is it cold? Is it snowing?  That’s a shame.  I was sitting here on the warm,  tropical Indian Ocean and decided to write you a letter.  It’s hot on the coast, but a light breeze off the azure waters makes the beach a perfect place to relax.

Today we went to island Marine Reserve Mziwe about an hour’s boat trip.  The ocean here is so clear and warm!  The deep water blues are a color you wouldn’t find in a Crayola box, and the shallow waters are an aqua even National Geographic can’t capture.  As I’m used to the temperature of Minnesotan lakes, Lake Superior in particular, I brace myself as I jump in the turquoise waves, but instead of ice cubes I find a hot-tub. The only bad thing about being on the coast is the amount of sun – I’m afraid I’m a bit burnt.  I’ll have to remember to put on more sunscreen on next time I go swimming.  Alas, life isn’t perfect, is it? But nearly so in this case.

Tomorrow we are leaving this beautiful paradise.  But it isn’t as bad as it sounds.  We are headed to Sadani National Park where we hopefully see all kinds of exotic wildlife.  Wish you were here?

Best of Wishes, Mara

And for everything else, there’s $10

The prices of food and other commodities in Tanzania continues to astound me. The other day I bought five tomatoes, two cucumbers and an eggplant for 38¢. On top of that, the quality of the vegetables is much better and fresher than any you would find in the states. Sending a text message will cost you only 1/5th of one cent. I thought it would be interesting to see what you can by with ten dollars here in Tanzania. With ten dollars you can buy all of the following items:

• 1 bag of cookies ($2.30)
• 1 bottle of Coca Cola (30¢)
• 1.5 liters of water (54¢)
• 1 box of cereal ($2.30)
• 1 can of beans ($1.08)
• 1 large aluminum cooking pot ($2.30)
• 2 rolls of toilet paper (23¢ each)
• 1 bag of potato chips (77¢)

And with another ten dollars, you can buy all of these items:

• Juice ($1.84)
• A large loaf of bread ($1.00)
• 1 kg of sugar ($1.15)
• 2 kg of flour ($1.84)
• 1 jar of strawberry jam ($1.84)
• 6 candles (92¢)
• Laundry detergent (46¢)
• 1 package of gum ($1.11)

If you want to look at it another way, you can buy any one of the following with just ten dollars.

• Dinner for three at a nice restaurant
• Hiring a maid to clean and do laundry for two weeks
• 3 silk scarves
• 4 bags of cookies
• 4 boxes of cereal
• 10 loaves of bread
• 10 cans of beans
• 13 bags of potato chips
• 18.4 liters of water
• 24 lb of sugar
• 33 bottles of Coca Cola
• 44 rolls of toilet paper
• 53 movies
• 65 candles
• 223 text messages

Though basic food stuffs are cheap compared to American standards, other things, like books, are expensive. A wildlife guide book will cost somewhere between $45 and $75.

It’s a good thing that $10 will buy a lot of food because Master Card won’t work for everything else. Hardly anyone takes credit cards, so your $10 needs to go a long ways.

Cooking with a Cooker

Coming from a house with a oven, a microwave and a full cupboard of spices and baking paraphernalia, we have found it difficult to come up with meals that fit our new situation. Having more time to cook, and less things to cook with we have found ourselves at an interesting crossroad.

Our first problem was one of equipment. Upon arrival, we were given a refrigerator and a set of dishes to use; nothing more. So naturally, one of our first orders of business was to purchase some of the things we would need to cook. We ended up buying a ‘cooker’ as it is called. Though I was initially hesitant at its capabilities, the cooker has proven to be quite useful.

As you can see, it has two burners and an oven. However the oven can only go to 250° which provides for some interesting baking. We also acquired a few basic kitchen items like stirring spoons, pots and a pan. Because of the difficulty in finding cooking utensils, we end up using a tea cup as a measuring cup and a real table spoon as a tablespoon.

The second difficulty we have been coping with is ingredients. Because you don’t find any supermarkets here, getting baking ingredients is a challenge. We have a limited number of spices (one called ‘Tanzania spices’ – a mix we have no idea what its made up of), baking powder but no baking soda, a bag of generic flour and a few other basic items. Not having a cookbook, we get our recipes off the internet. The recipes we get off the internet though, only resemble what we mix together and throw in the oven. When your recipe calls for thyme and baking powder – neither of which you have – you tend to get a bit inventive, more out of necessity than of creativeness. Some days we don’t get a chance to find recipes and end up guessing. (Mac n’ cheese is just macaroni and cheese, right?)

In addition to those ingredients we have a pile of avocadoes (the avocado tree in our backyard is dropping them faster than we can pick them up). Since neither of us is all that fond of guacamole (and we don’t have any chips to put it on) we have been searching for recipes with a large proportion of avocadoes. Using a banana bread recipe as a template, we have created a new dish – avocakes. These little green cakes, however unappealing they may look, actually taste quite good. They make tasty sweet cakes for desert. If your interesting in trying them out, check out the recipe at the bottom of the page.

The hardest part of cooking here is the variability of electricity. Often, when you want nothing more than a hot bowl of soup for dinner, the electricity is off and you are stuck with a cold cabbage salad or a P&J sandwich on week old bread. Now there is nothing wrong with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I adore them, but after the third meal, you really wish you had electricity to make pasta. Lack of electricity also makes refrigeration hard. After 48 hours with out power, you begin to question the safety of the chicken in the freezer.

With ample time in the evenings and a hour and a half lunch break, there is plenty of time to experiment in the kitchen. Experimentation makes for interesting meals and is definitely fun (though maybe not so entertaining for those who have to eat what you cook).

Avocakes

• 1 cup flour
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tbs cinnamon
• 1 cup of mashed avocadoes (about 3 medium avocadoes)
• 3/4 cup milk

Mix all of the ingredients together. Place heaping spoonfuls of the batter on a greased pan. Cook for 15 minutes at 250°.

If you want to get the whole experience, measure ingredients with teacups and spoons, find an avocado tree and go collect your own avocadoes.

For the Birds

If you’ve noticed the new bird list in the right column next to the posts, you may have been wondering what all the strangely named birds look like. Well, it is your lucky day. Here are a few pictures to satisfy your inquisitive mind. (Keep in mind that birds, especially the little ones, are difficult to photograph so some of these pictures are rather grainy.)

This prehistoric-looking thing the Silver-cheeked Hornbill. These large creatures make the most noise I’ve ever heard out of a bird. Their wings make loud whooshing noises when they fly and they have a distinct call.

Here is the lovely Augur Buzzard. This one likes to hang out on the football goal.

Meet the beautiful Amethyst Sunbird. When the sun catches his feathers just right, his chin shines iridescent red and the top of his head brilliant green.

The one and only Common Bulbul, tricolor variety.

This would be the Black-and-white Mannikin. Doesn’t look much like a manikin to me either.

And the ever prominent White-eyed Slaty Flycatcher

This is the feather of a pied crow. The Pied crow looks like a North American crow wearing a white vest.

This terrible picture is of the Speckled Mousebird. It’s hard to see here, but the Mousebird has a funny crest of feathers on its head and a super long tail.

And this cute little fellow (the Common Fiscal). . .

. . . is a killer. (Poor lizard)

This is the female Baglafecht Weaver caught in the act of making a nest.

I’ve saved the best for last. This is definitely my favorite bird of all the ones I’ve seen so far. It is the Variable Sunbird and is almost as noisy as the Hornbill, but much prettier.

This duller one is the female.

Those are all the bird pictures for now. Bye!

Got Water?

In the land of 10,000 lakes, we tend to take water for granted. We swim in it in the summer, it always comes out of the faucet and we water our lawns with it in the middle of the day. In Tanzania things are a little different.

Water is a commodity. In a developed nation with extensive aquifers and surface water, we consider water as abundant as air. But across much of the globe, water is a scare commodity. In developing countries some women walk for hours and have to stand in line just to fill up a container of water. Next time you turn on the faucet in your kitchen sink, think about that for a moment.

Here in Tanzania, we are a the very end of the dry season. Across much of the country, water is hard to find. We are lucky. Being situated on Mt. Kilimanjaro means we have more water than other areas thanks to the melting snows and runoff. Even though our water source is more reliable than in other areas, it is still less consistent than water in the States. Periodically, the water is shut off and we are left high and dry (pun intended) for an average of one to three hours. Eventually it will come back, but you never know when it might get shut off again. Some days we only have a couple hours of ‘water time’. This, as you can imagine, makes simple activities – like showering and washing dishes – a challenge.

Okay, go back to your faucet. What do you notice about the temperature of your water? It can get pretty hot, right? Have you ever stopped to consider your hot water? It’s rather convenient. Before this year, I never thought much about hot water, other than it was nice after coming in from the bitter Minnesotan winter winds. Now, I have come to appreciate hot water on a new level. If you want a hot shower here you have to first turn on the hot water heater. And then you wait. In thirty minutes, if you’re lucky, you will have a nice warm shower. But don’t dally – there is only enough warm water for one short shower. Sometimes you aren’t so lucky. Electricity is only slightly more reliable than water. If the power is off, you’re stuck with a cold shower. If the water is off, you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow.

When is the last time you bought bottled water? Why did you do that? You just paid a dollar for something that comes out of your tap for free. In the States, the water that comes out of the faucet is totally safe. Here, it is not. Whereas in the States it is frivolous to buy bottled, in Tanzania it is a necessity. Water that comes out of the faucet here is not treated. If you want a glass of water or to brush your teeth, you have to purchase bottled water or boil your own. Fortunately, bottled water costs much less in Tanzania. One and a half liters of purified water costs only 50¢. Unfortunately, even this trivial cost adds up over time. Your other alternative is to boil water. Boiling water is not a difficult task by any means. Except when you don’t have electricity. Or water. Then its a challenge. For the most part, its a manageable job. But when you have to boil two pots a day, it does get a bit tiresome. And when you have to boil your water, water conservation is a no brainer. I find myself carefully rationing water when I brush my teeth and rinsing dishes with the absolute minimum. (When you wash dishes, you can’t just rinse from the tap. The water must first be boiled. This creates an art of rinsing dishes with the least amount of water possible so you don’t have to boil another pot.)

So consider that next time you take a shower, grab for bottled water, or wash the dishes. If you’re feeling adventuresome, take the water challenge. Try rinsing your dishes with a pot of boiled water or shut off the water for the day. And remember, water is a commodity – don’t take it for granted.

Odds and Ends

Greetings dear readers! I hope the reading over the past month has been interesting and tolerable enough to bear for eight more months. When no one bothers to leave comments, it can be difficult to judge reader interest. So listen up all you freeloaders - yes, I’m talking to you - don’t be afraid to leave comments. I don’t bite (and your computer won’t either). I’m surprised no one has said anything about my new occupation. I don’t care what you comment about (you can talk about penguins if you like) or if you decide to be anonymous. Thank you.

Now that that’s done, on to other business. As we are here under a Fulbright scholarship, I have to write a disclaimer. Here goes…

The views and opinions expressed on this website are mine and mine alone. The Fulbright institution, Mweka Wildlife College or any other organization may not share the same opinions. I hold full responsibility for all content on this blog site.

How was that lawyers?

Continuing with the house cleaning, I wish to offer you a trip of a lifetime. With the holiday season right around the corner, what could be better than a gift of an unforgettable trip? I am offering up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for any who wish to participate. Fly on down this Christmas break for a Tanzanian vacation. We will be hosting a safari and beach trip over the holidays and if anyone is interested, let us know. Escape the bitter northern winds and come relax on the warm Indian Ocean, and watch lions, giraffes and zebras on the plains of East Africa. Can you think of a better way to spend the end of the year?

Now that we’ve swept up the cobwebs and cleaned the bathrooms, here are some odds and ends pictures.

Ahh – a gigantic snail! Run for your lives! Not quite. This little feller is the size of a grown man’s fist. But I doubt it would do anything more than leave a slimy trail on you if you were too slow to get out of its way.

Kathryn, this one is for you. I’d have to say this is the biggest, baddest bug I’ve ever seen. It’s nearly as big as the snail but it can fly. . . .

And here is the ever-amazing chameleon. It really is camouflaged!

Check out this crazy fruit - it’s orange and spiky. Evidently its related to a cucumber.

That’s all for now folks! I hope to be hearing from you! (I’m leaving on safari tomorrow, but when I get back I expect some commentary.)