Watoto Watatu

One of the first things that struck me about Iringa were all of the children that seemed to be out on the town without any adult around.  There are many that look no older than two, with backpacks twice their size, navigating the kamikaze downtown market scene.  There are children playing, children making their way to school and children hanging out in just about every corner of Iringa.

My friend Madeline even told me a story about staying in Makambako. She awoke one morning to see a couple of children, who appeared to be under the age of five,  lighting the back yard on fire.   Alarmed, she quickly called her boyfriend before the house went up in flames.  But she was reassured that they had come to cultivate the land.

On the way home from the market one afternoon, I heard three little babies trapped in a rain gutter next to our apartment.  They had some how climbed down there to play, but then couldn't get out.  I had to drop my bounty of tomatoes in order to bend down and scoop them out.  Their arms stretched out over their heads even though they looked a little doubting about who I was.

A road sign in Port St. John's, South Africa

There are quite possibly many very sad circumstances that contribute to the ever present watato (child) population.  But it also beautiful to see everyone has a genuine concern for one another, and children that are cared for beyond the confines of their own home.  Perhaps  the idea of home in Tanzania stretches far beyond they way I traditionally think of it.

Chief Mkwawa... Hopefully Here to Stay.

One of our first journeys out of Iringa was to Chief Mkwawa's museum just a short jaunt down a bumpy road.  I am still learning loads about Tanzania and African history.  Sadly, I had no knowledge of Chief Mkwawa before we came to Tanzania, but was excited to see the museum because it was touted as one of the 'must see' things to do around Iringa.

Chief Mkwawa was the He He tribal leader that opposed the German colonization of Tanzania.  In a small one room museum, there are a few relics of Chief Mkwawa, including his skull.  The story goes that Cheif Mkwawa put up a formidable fight against German occupations, but his warriors eventually lost in the battle and Cheif Mkwawa took his own life rather than subcomb to the Germans.  The Germans did manage to capture Chief Mkwawa's head and it was held captive in Germany until the Treaty of Versailles demanded that Germany return it to Tanzania in 1919.  Finally,  Chief Mkwawa's remains returned to his homeland in 1954. 

When we visited the museum, the curator was first concerned that we might be Germans.  He was wary of any tourist from Germany because they might attempt to take the skull back.  After the reassurance that we were not German, the curator proceeded to show us the hiding place for Chief Mkwawa's skull under a trap door in the floor just in case their was an invasion.  I tried to imagine the anxiety that a bus load of German tourists might cause our cheerful museum guide.  But hopefully Cheif Mkwawa is in Tanzania to stay.

Karibu! Habari! Haribu???

One of the things that I love about Tanzania and Tanzanians is the long extended greetings that everyone gives to each other.  You ask about one's health, family, household... you name it.  It is really sweet and wonderful, and I really appreciate the care and joy that goes into each greeting.

I was anxious to figure this out upon arrival in Tanzania.  Although we had been proud owners of the Rosetta Stone Swahili for months... I sadly only could remember the word for "woman" in Swahili.  I also later figured out I was also pronouncing that wrong too.

I have been the jack of all trades master of none when it comes to languages.  I have halfway learned how to speak Mandarin and Spanish, and I am perhaps the only one in the world who has a tendency to get the two confused.   Now throw Swahili in the mix, and the language side of my brain is completely muddled.

However, one advantage that I do have with language is that I am not afraid to make a complete ass out of myself.  I have proven this numerous times before; one particularly memorable mix up was my ability to confuse the word for "sex" and "banana" in Mandarin.  I am still sheepish about saying either of them... because after so many mix-ups, I just have it permanently confused.

So, here I am in the market in Iringa, Tanzania.  Simple hellos should not be a problem, and I wanted so desperately to participate in the beautiful greetings.   In Swahili, "Karibu" means 'Welcome" and "Habari" is more or less "How are you?"  Both are easy enough.  Except I managed to mix both Karibu and Habari together to make "Haribu"... which essentially means-- destruction.  So for two weeks I went around telling everyone I was going to destroy them.  At least I did it with a big smile.

These are just a few that I promised to destroy...

Arriving in Iringa

"Iringa." Wikipedia. Web. 11 Sep 2010.  .

What will Iringa be like? We really had no idea. It is funny when you move to a place cold turkey. I had one picture on wikipedia, and a small blurb in the Lonely Planet which was my reference point for Iringa.  Luckily, Iringa turned out to be even BETTER than expected!

Beautiful flowering Jacaranda trees line the streets. There is a bustling food market in the center of town where women wearing colorful kangas sit atop mountains of vegetables.   The city is surrounded by beautiful hills and incredible rock formations.  It is home to extremely kind people.  And perhaps best of all, it is not super hot and humid.

Karibu Tanizania!

Upon arrival in Tanzania we were picked up by a very soft spoken, gentle man holding a sign with our names neatly printed in marker.   We were overjoyed to finally make it to Tanzania, but also excited that we weren't going to have to navigate Dar in the middle of the night with all of our luggage.  We had been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

Immediately after stepping out of the airport, we saw a large mob of people chasing a Land Rover down.  They eventually caught up with it as I wheeled my bag up to the car.   We asked our driver what was happening and he said in a very casual voice "He has stolen a car, maybe they will kill him."   Surely he must be making some kind of joke lost in translation right?

Turns out, thievery is not taken lightly in Tanzania.  I hope that is not the way that it ended in this story.  Fortunately, were were not around long enough to find out.

The helpful museum guide pointing out the murder of a thief in a mural at the Chief Mkwara museum

Capetown Photo Extravaganza!

Tempting Hammocks Swallow Tourists in the Transeki

We made a run for it. We broke out of the Garden Route and braved the long road to the wild coast of Africa. The east coast of Africa had a completely different feel. Although we were still on the beach (Micah and I hung close to the coast the entire time in S. Africa) we felt that the wild coast of S. Africa was just what we were looking for-- completely laid-back, incredibly friendly and exceptionally beautiful. We only planned to stay 2 days which stretched into 3...4...5 & finally six days.  We would have stayed even longer if we didn't have such a long trek back.  I think we both hit our hammock time quota for the year and enjoyed some great hikes with an exceptional guide.

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Optimistically Oprah

Although S. Africa is completely blessed with natural beauty, we still got the sense that there are a lot of challenges that lay ahead after apartheid. Much of my knowledge of S. Africa came form the book A Long Walk to Freedom which I embarrassingly called A Long Walk of Reading when I read it many years ago. With my very limited knowledge, I don't want to assume that I am a sage when it comes to the world of politics and social structure of S. Africa. Although it doesn't take a brilliant mind to recognize that S. Africa still has some formidable challenges in the way of equity. While traveling along the Garden Route I got the feeling that everything was not as the ideological S. African constitution lays out.

One night several beaches into our coastal tour, I got to have one of those snippets of conversation that makes the experience of traveling just that much richer. While sitting around a campfire, I got to talk to a man about his experience before apartheid ended. He talked about his experiences openly and freely, so after a glass of wine I decided to broach the subject on something that is near and dear to my heart.

Now that apartheid has ended, do all students have the opportunity to go to school together?

I know that even in the US after decades after the civil rights movement, we still face challenges with the resegregation of our schools long after Brown vs. The Board of Education. This issue is something that has had a deep impact on me for quite some time. I've worked with various organizations trying to gain a better grasp of the issue and possible solutions throughout my career.

I was extremely fortuitous when I interviewed for a school a little over six years ago and had the amazing opportunity to be a part of the founding faculty of an incredible school in Colorado that promised to buck this trend of resegregation. Previous to this job, my brief stint in teaching almost pushed me out of the profession. However, my experience at DSST changed my perception about what was possible in education, and quite honestly is why I am still in the profession today.

So what was the answer to my question asked around the campfire? Simply put, theoretically children could go to school together, but in reality putting black and white students in the same school, in his mind, only Oprah could accomplish such a feat.

Beautiful South Africa

Finally... Africa! We arrived in Capetown after a long circuitous journey that involved enough time to passingly observe that Qatar is a really dusty place.

Capetown, S. Africa is a place that I always dreamed of visiting, and it proved to not disappoint. The dramatic backdrop of table mountain and the eclectic mix of buildings was fascinating. Although after some considerable time in big cities, both Micah and I were itching to get a smaller, quiet beach town.

And beaches we did see. We took a bus along the absolutely gorgeous garden route and spent day after day at the beach. Although I did nothing but dip my toes into the water (it's winter!), it was a really amazing place to see.

Feast or Famine

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

-Ernest Hemingway

About six months ago, I admitted to Micah over dinner that "I hate Paris." Hate might be too strong of a word, but I definitely would never describe it as a 'movable feast.' My dislike was sparked by an unfortunate incident in the Parisian subway many moons ago.

After my freshman year of college, my dear friend Julie and I decided we would backpack through Europe. We didn't exactly know the ins and outs of traveling through Europe, but were brave enough to give it a go. I would like to say that we were dramatically robbed in the Parisian subway when we lost a small fortune, but instead we naively handed over a large sum to a man who we assumed in good faith was buying us a three day subway pass.

Shockingly he pocketed the money, and we got a very expensive one way ride back to the lonely Aloha Hostel. Mourning the loss of several hundred dollars, we decided to forgo more jamon y fromage and high tail it out of there to the greener pastures of Budapest, Hungary.

Micah convinced me to give it another go with tales of good food and wine. We decided to make both Amsterdam and Paris a stop on the way to Tanzania. Luckily, the second time around was much nicer. Having some one to hold hands with while strolling through Paris definitely helped. So did drinking good wine under the Eiffel Tower, and the numerous delicious lemon sorbets and crepes! I have to say now that I have had a change of heart.

Directionally Challenged: Africa via Iceland?

When Micah and I decided to embark on our African adventure a world of possibilities opened up in the route that we would take there. A favorite winter time pass time soon became looking up the various airline fares to destinations that would eventually deposit us on the great continent of Africa. We didn't pay too much attention to distances or to the fact that we didn't have an infinite amount of time. Wanderlust took over, and we embarked on a journey that took us as far north as Reykjavik to the tip of South Africa-- not exactly the most logical way to Tanzania!I had an inkling to go to Iceland ever since I read a NY times article about the Icelandic belief in Huldufólk, or Hidden People. I loved the idea of grown men not exactly denying the existence of elves, gnomes and fairies. Iceland soon became a place that I knew that I must one day go.

We were lucky to get a 'free' layover in Iceland for almost a week, and the opportunity to go on one of the most memorable backpacking trips I've ever been on. The out of this world landscapes of Iceland were literally eye popping. I was amazed at beautiful rhyolite mountains that rolled off into the horizon in every color of the rainbow, the way that the ground steamed and bubbled, and the velvety green of the valleys was really too beautiful for words. So without further ado the land of the gnomes...