Eleven years ago my dad started a tradition of documenting our travels through ‘ramblings’. It started when was 10 years old and knew nothing of Africa.
It wasn’t until I was 14 that I declared – mostly out of hormonal melodrama – that this continent was the place I would call home. I still knew nothing about the how, where, when or why of it.
In those 8 years I’ve done many things that had little to do with Africa and I’d be lying if I said I was never distracted by the fun of living in the ‘West’.
But eventually, spurred on by a 6-week trip to the small town of Songea in southern Tanzania, I committed to a degree designed to get me there – or at least a step closer.
Admittedly I’ve changed plans again – call it a personality trait – and here I am, one year ahead of schedule and with a year of uni waiting for me at home.
For the past year I’ve worked – and come to be slightly obsessed by – an Aussie NGO called FoodWaterShelter (FWS); first as Public Fundraising Manager, now as Tanzania Communications Manager. That’s the how.
The where is the ‘vollage’ (volunteer village) in a rural area 4kms from Arusha, Tanzania. It’s green, at the moment slightly chilly and has a beautiful view of Mt Meru from the kitchen.
The when was Friday August 13, 2010.
The why? I still don’t know how to answer that one.
And so, long story short, this is beginning of my ramblings.
I won’t bore you with all the details all the time but I know that I like to get an idea of how things work and what the days look like so I guess I should start there.
Arusha is bigger, or at least more equipped, than I’d expected and getting there is much easier and faster than I thought. Of course it helps that, being an election year, the government has leveled the road out a little. It used to take nearly an hour I’m told – now it’s closer to half that and yes it is only 4kms.
The vollage is where the ‘mzungu’ volunteers live. In other words – the white people without the offensive side of racial stereotyping.
Kesho Leo, the children’s village built over the past 5 years by FWS is a picturesque 25 minute stroll through fields of corn and maize, past endless jolly neighbours all too willing to see how abysmally I’m grasping the three thousand different ways of saying hello. If I haven’t regaled you with the details of FWS in the lead-up to my trip, fear not – I’ll get there soon enough.
As communications manager my role is new but perfect for what I love. I get the delightful task of taking photos – but that also means I get the less than delightful task of actually getting the internet to cooperate for long enough to let them loose in cyberspace.
I get to know the mamma's and kids by helping out with the sewing (if you know me at all you know this is risky but I’ll get to that another day), writing stories for the bi-monthly newsletter and website, making promo videos and generally trying to make the communication between the overseas management teams and the ‘on-the-ground’ folk just that little bit easier. If you take sheer volume as any indicator, then communicating has never been my weak-point - so I think I’ll do ok.
I arrived remarkably fresh and hyperactive after 44 hours of travel and zero hours of sleep. I did get just a tad emotional during landing but whether that was the joy of finally getting here or the relief and having made it alive on an African rubber band airline on Friday 13th I’m not sure. But by the time we traveled the hour of dirt roads I’d quickly switched into my very annoying ‘never shut up’ mode. I don’t think I made a bad first impression on my new family but if I was them, I would definitely have been concerned that a lunatic had moved in. And that didn’t take long, the moving in part. Turns out I brought the smallest luggage on record and may have grossly underestimated the quantity of clothing needed to support oneself for a year. I may have to get over my fear of colour sooner than I thought and invest in one of those spectacular, brightly patterned numbers you see in the windows of travel agents. Oh oh.
But back to painting you a picture of life here.
The vollage is made up of an office, three accommodation buildings, each with 2 – 4 rooms, and an outdoor kitchen/living area that doubles as meeting office, dining table and sitting room. All with a spectacular view of Mt Meru. And lots of green, open space. I’ll keep the compost loos and bucket showers for another day – they warrant a lot of space. My room has a bed, a comfy one at that, a shelf unit and a window overlooking the back, slightly overgrown, garden. The cement floor means my sheets are perpetually dusty but number one on my ‘to-do’ list this week is to source a rug. Good luck – I should be grateful it’s not a dirt floor. I have Jaimee’s beautiful drawings in prime position – and Pinky they’re admired by all the other vols – alongside my map of the world to complete the ‘adventurer’ look.
For those of you who sway more to the neurotic side of life – yes it’s safe. We have 24 hour a day Iscari (security guards) and an electric fence. It’s not a dangerous area as such but at the end of the day it’s still Africa and there are certain things you’re better off not ignoring. The fence is not imposing so it doesn’t feel like a compound and we have enough greenery to still feel like we’re in Africa. Mt Meru cloaked in blue sky and the occasional cloud certainly doesn’t hurt atmosphere-wise.
The other volunteers.
Well, for starters this changes very frequently. With both long and short-term roles there’s a regular stream of people coming and going so it’s putting my proficiency with names to the test. For now at least, I’m the newbie. Sarah is our Manager, Craig is Mr Finance – both fellow Aussies and late in their 20’s. Hannah – English/Irish but lived in Aus - is Education Manager and Don – American - takes charge of our organic farms. Dear Jen has been our Nurse for nearly 4 months but is moving on shortly to a hospital in Uganda. For now she’s my neighbour and a loud, vibrant Californian who brings some spark to the vollage. Glen and Ruth, a lovely adventurous couple from Queensland who’ve been infrastructure and social welfare managers respectively, left this morning for a very brave motorbike adventure around Africa. It started with a homemade trailer that would make any engineer proud and took months to build from scratch. Unfortunately that only lasted an hour on these roads before metal tore and the executive decision was made to abandon Plan A. Plan B was much quicker to build, not to mention cheaper – but put some serious restrictions on luggage. Into two small, again homemade, panniers fit enough supplies (fingers crossed) for multiple months on the road. And in between them was wedged dear Ruth in her supped-up Power Rangers-esque bicker jacket. I was sad to see them go. They did shout us the next crate of beer, which I thought was nice. I might have to start drinking beer.
Then there are the dogs.
Maggie is a shit-for-brains but happy-go-lucky something or other that has an obsession with chasing rocks. For hours. Relentlessly. And only rocks – she has no interest in the rope Glen bought the other day – in fact she may have digested it by now.
Knuckle is calmer and affectionate and just yesterday had a nap on my lap, which I appreciated until I remembered the fleas. He’s also a penis cancer survivor. Oddly enough in a city where you can’t get chemo for humans, you can for dogs.
They also double as added security, which is great for scaring off thieves but not so great for my sleep.
Oh and there’s Nudgy the kitten who only a couple of months ago decided, uninvited, to make this place home. We’ve quickly developed a love-hate relationship and I don’t think I’m alone in that. I’m not one for cats but so long as she’s not making god-awful noises trying to get in my room or frantically trying to cause me some sort of physical pain we get along quite well. There’s talk of a goat but given that Craig and I are the only ones willing to eat it after living with it for a few months that may take time. I shot gunned calling it Luigi.
My first week and a half have been much more social than I anticipated and it’s been a lovely way to see the sights. Although it’s a lot harder to get your bearings when you’re watching everything from a perch on the back of the Ute, wedged between bags of sawdust and shovels.
It started with a fancy dinner, way above everyone’s budget at $20 inc. wine, for a farewell. We see some other mzungos, mostly aussies, from Edmund Rice, a Christian Brothers school down the road, a fair bit – which is great for a change of scene and faces but not so wonderful for putting my culinary talents to the test. In fact tonight I’ve vowed to stay home. Hardly what you’d expect out bush but when in Rome…
Given that lunch is covered by the lovely Aggie and Maswai for a whopping $15 a week there’s no need to worry there and for brekkie I’ve sourced some weetbix and honey – with a banana from our garden.
So that leaves dinner, which has – so far - included three curries, one roadside chicken feast (by day a diesel injection mechanic, by night an eat-your-heart-out BBQ joint), a pizza, a trip to the local Japanese (not bad…) and tapas of all things (with a decidedly African flavour). Then there’s Tuesday night Chipsi Mayai after our team meetings. Basically an omelette with fries in it. Very good and all for an economical $1.50.
So as my fresh veggies get not so fresh in the cupboard I’m becoming more of a social butterfly than I was at home. Blame it on being the newbie and taking every opportunity to hang out with my new roomies. Things are quietening down though – well kind of. It seems that every social outing here is a farewell - a side effect of living in a community of mzungos where no one stays for more than a year. Soon enough I’ll be one of the ‘old crew’.
It wasn’t until I was 14 that I declared – mostly out of hormonal melodrama – that this continent was the place I would call home. I still knew nothing about the how, where, when or why of it.
In those 8 years I’ve done many things that had little to do with Africa and I’d be lying if I said I was never distracted by the fun of living in the ‘West’.
But eventually, spurred on by a 6-week trip to the small town of Songea in southern Tanzania, I committed to a degree designed to get me there – or at least a step closer.
Admittedly I’ve changed plans again – call it a personality trait – and here I am, one year ahead of schedule and with a year of uni waiting for me at home.
For the past year I’ve worked – and come to be slightly obsessed by – an Aussie NGO called FoodWaterShelter (FWS); first as Public Fundraising Manager, now as Tanzania Communications Manager. That’s the how.
The where is the ‘vollage’ (volunteer village) in a rural area 4kms from Arusha, Tanzania. It’s green, at the moment slightly chilly and has a beautiful view of Mt Meru from the kitchen.
The when was Friday August 13, 2010.
The why? I still don’t know how to answer that one.
And so, long story short, this is beginning of my ramblings.
I won’t bore you with all the details all the time but I know that I like to get an idea of how things work and what the days look like so I guess I should start there.
Arusha is bigger, or at least more equipped, than I’d expected and getting there is much easier and faster than I thought. Of course it helps that, being an election year, the government has leveled the road out a little. It used to take nearly an hour I’m told – now it’s closer to half that and yes it is only 4kms.
The vollage is where the ‘mzungu’ volunteers live. In other words – the white people without the offensive side of racial stereotyping.
Kesho Leo, the children’s village built over the past 5 years by FWS is a picturesque 25 minute stroll through fields of corn and maize, past endless jolly neighbours all too willing to see how abysmally I’m grasping the three thousand different ways of saying hello. If I haven’t regaled you with the details of FWS in the lead-up to my trip, fear not – I’ll get there soon enough.
As communications manager my role is new but perfect for what I love. I get the delightful task of taking photos – but that also means I get the less than delightful task of actually getting the internet to cooperate for long enough to let them loose in cyberspace.
I get to know the mamma's and kids by helping out with the sewing (if you know me at all you know this is risky but I’ll get to that another day), writing stories for the bi-monthly newsletter and website, making promo videos and generally trying to make the communication between the overseas management teams and the ‘on-the-ground’ folk just that little bit easier. If you take sheer volume as any indicator, then communicating has never been my weak-point - so I think I’ll do ok.
I arrived remarkably fresh and hyperactive after 44 hours of travel and zero hours of sleep. I did get just a tad emotional during landing but whether that was the joy of finally getting here or the relief and having made it alive on an African rubber band airline on Friday 13th I’m not sure. But by the time we traveled the hour of dirt roads I’d quickly switched into my very annoying ‘never shut up’ mode. I don’t think I made a bad first impression on my new family but if I was them, I would definitely have been concerned that a lunatic had moved in. And that didn’t take long, the moving in part. Turns out I brought the smallest luggage on record and may have grossly underestimated the quantity of clothing needed to support oneself for a year. I may have to get over my fear of colour sooner than I thought and invest in one of those spectacular, brightly patterned numbers you see in the windows of travel agents. Oh oh.
But back to painting you a picture of life here.
The vollage is made up of an office, three accommodation buildings, each with 2 – 4 rooms, and an outdoor kitchen/living area that doubles as meeting office, dining table and sitting room. All with a spectacular view of Mt Meru. And lots of green, open space. I’ll keep the compost loos and bucket showers for another day – they warrant a lot of space. My room has a bed, a comfy one at that, a shelf unit and a window overlooking the back, slightly overgrown, garden. The cement floor means my sheets are perpetually dusty but number one on my ‘to-do’ list this week is to source a rug. Good luck – I should be grateful it’s not a dirt floor. I have Jaimee’s beautiful drawings in prime position – and Pinky they’re admired by all the other vols – alongside my map of the world to complete the ‘adventurer’ look.
For those of you who sway more to the neurotic side of life – yes it’s safe. We have 24 hour a day Iscari (security guards) and an electric fence. It’s not a dangerous area as such but at the end of the day it’s still Africa and there are certain things you’re better off not ignoring. The fence is not imposing so it doesn’t feel like a compound and we have enough greenery to still feel like we’re in Africa. Mt Meru cloaked in blue sky and the occasional cloud certainly doesn’t hurt atmosphere-wise.
The other volunteers.
Well, for starters this changes very frequently. With both long and short-term roles there’s a regular stream of people coming and going so it’s putting my proficiency with names to the test. For now at least, I’m the newbie. Sarah is our Manager, Craig is Mr Finance – both fellow Aussies and late in their 20’s. Hannah – English/Irish but lived in Aus - is Education Manager and Don – American - takes charge of our organic farms. Dear Jen has been our Nurse for nearly 4 months but is moving on shortly to a hospital in Uganda. For now she’s my neighbour and a loud, vibrant Californian who brings some spark to the vollage. Glen and Ruth, a lovely adventurous couple from Queensland who’ve been infrastructure and social welfare managers respectively, left this morning for a very brave motorbike adventure around Africa. It started with a homemade trailer that would make any engineer proud and took months to build from scratch. Unfortunately that only lasted an hour on these roads before metal tore and the executive decision was made to abandon Plan A. Plan B was much quicker to build, not to mention cheaper – but put some serious restrictions on luggage. Into two small, again homemade, panniers fit enough supplies (fingers crossed) for multiple months on the road. And in between them was wedged dear Ruth in her supped-up Power Rangers-esque bicker jacket. I was sad to see them go. They did shout us the next crate of beer, which I thought was nice. I might have to start drinking beer.
Then there are the dogs.
Maggie is a shit-for-brains but happy-go-lucky something or other that has an obsession with chasing rocks. For hours. Relentlessly. And only rocks – she has no interest in the rope Glen bought the other day – in fact she may have digested it by now.
Knuckle is calmer and affectionate and just yesterday had a nap on my lap, which I appreciated until I remembered the fleas. He’s also a penis cancer survivor. Oddly enough in a city where you can’t get chemo for humans, you can for dogs.
They also double as added security, which is great for scaring off thieves but not so great for my sleep.
Oh and there’s Nudgy the kitten who only a couple of months ago decided, uninvited, to make this place home. We’ve quickly developed a love-hate relationship and I don’t think I’m alone in that. I’m not one for cats but so long as she’s not making god-awful noises trying to get in my room or frantically trying to cause me some sort of physical pain we get along quite well. There’s talk of a goat but given that Craig and I are the only ones willing to eat it after living with it for a few months that may take time. I shot gunned calling it Luigi.
My first week and a half have been much more social than I anticipated and it’s been a lovely way to see the sights. Although it’s a lot harder to get your bearings when you’re watching everything from a perch on the back of the Ute, wedged between bags of sawdust and shovels.
It started with a fancy dinner, way above everyone’s budget at $20 inc. wine, for a farewell. We see some other mzungos, mostly aussies, from Edmund Rice, a Christian Brothers school down the road, a fair bit – which is great for a change of scene and faces but not so wonderful for putting my culinary talents to the test. In fact tonight I’ve vowed to stay home. Hardly what you’d expect out bush but when in Rome…
Given that lunch is covered by the lovely Aggie and Maswai for a whopping $15 a week there’s no need to worry there and for brekkie I’ve sourced some weetbix and honey – with a banana from our garden.
So that leaves dinner, which has – so far - included three curries, one roadside chicken feast (by day a diesel injection mechanic, by night an eat-your-heart-out BBQ joint), a pizza, a trip to the local Japanese (not bad…) and tapas of all things (with a decidedly African flavour). Then there’s Tuesday night Chipsi Mayai after our team meetings. Basically an omelette with fries in it. Very good and all for an economical $1.50.
So as my fresh veggies get not so fresh in the cupboard I’m becoming more of a social butterfly than I was at home. Blame it on being the newbie and taking every opportunity to hang out with my new roomies. Things are quietening down though – well kind of. It seems that every social outing here is a farewell - a side effect of living in a community of mzungos where no one stays for more than a year. Soon enough I’ll be one of the ‘old crew’.
In a sentence - this feels like home every minute of every day. Maybe that’s the why.
Badai.
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