Part I: It’s Malaria!

Posted on 7 March 2013 by potholesandpilipili

If you’ve ever traveled anywhere in the world where it is present, you will find that malaria is a common topic of conversation among tourists, ex-pats, and foreigners of all stripes.

“Are you on medication for prevention?”

“What kind?”

“Which one is that?”

“Is that daily/weekly?”

“Are you using anything homeopathic?”

“Mosquito spray too?”

“Will you take meds the whole time?”

“What side effects have you had?”

And so on. Really, next to diarrhea, it is the single most discussed health subject among ex-pats in tropical places (and nothing makes you feel closer to people you just met than swapping diarrhea stories). Each person has their own tales to share, their own tricks to pass on. You hear stories of terrible side effects from the medication and even worse infections. Even the Tanzanians themselves get in on this. If you’re an mzungu in Tanzania and you feel even slightly under the weather, they tell you, “You should be tested for malaria, just to be safe.” A cold coming on? “You should be tested for malaria.” Sneeze or feel slightly chilled? “You should be tested for malaria.” Stub your toe on a rock? “You should be tested for malaria.”

And truthfully, they’re right to be concerned. Malaria can and does kill people, not to mention cause serious illness. An incredibly sad event happened soon after I arrived in Tanzania. Two of the toddlers, twins, that my friend Shantelle had grown extremely attached to at the orphanage came down with malaria. The little boy recovered. The little girl, despite desperate attempts to get her medical care in town, did not. It was truly heart-breaking. I’ve since gotten to spend time with the little boy and am so sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet his sister.

Most Tanzanians, by the time they are adults, have built up a certain degree of tolerance for the disease after repeated infections, though they are not immune. Those of us who are not from areas where malaria is prevalent are highly at risk, though prophylactics can reduce the chances of contracting malaria. But medication itself can have pretty unpleasant and sometimes down-right scary side effects; it is also expensive. As a result, many people who are here for the long-term choose to go without and take their chances.

My very first positive malaria test.

I made the decision to take prophylactic medication at least for the first few months; Malarone to be specific. I had had bad experiences with Doxycycline and Mefloquine during past trips to Tanzania and Ecuador, so even though it was more expensive, it seemed like the right choice. Therefore, when I started feeling on Tuesday like a sinus infection was coming on, I first brushed off attempts to get me to go to the clinic for testing. But then I thought, “Better safe than sorry.” I went in on yesterday for the blood test. Four hours later, I had my diagnosis: Malaria. Awesome. Good news is after a three day course of pills I should be on my way to recovery.

So far, it hasn’t been so bad. I think I may have one of the mildest cases ever. Just a bad headache and feeling a bit dehydrated. BUT, I just woke up. Lots of hours still left in the day.

A Night Out

Posted on 2 March 2013 by potholesandpilipili

Unfortunately I don’t have much time this week so this will be short, but I wanted to give this organization a plug. There is a local group here in town, Ngoma Afrika Performing Arts Co. (www.ngomaafrika.blogspot.com), who holds monthly cultural events in town. A couple of representatives came out to the school the other day to invite us to attend and explain the mission of their organization, part of which is to teach traditional East African music and dance styles to local young people so that the knowledge is not forgotten. Once a month, they hold a community event that includes not only traditional music and dance but also Afro Jazz and fusion styles.

The venue

When we first arrived, I have to admit that my heart sank a little bit. I’ve traveled enough to have experienced my share of hokey re-enactments of “traditional” activities put on for tourists. And this venue was empty. Only the language school students were there, along with a few former students, and as the drummers set up I was afraid that was what we were in for. But in the end, we had just arrived too early. As the music got going and more people came in, the atmosphere livened up. Soon Tanzanians and wazungus alike were up dancing.

Once the event really got going and people were spilling out onto the lawn, a dance troupe came in to perform a series of traditional dances and delicious smells started to waft in from outside, where a small canteen had been set up. I wandered out among the food tables and art exhibition that had been set up, enjoying myself immensely. Most of the teachers from the language school came, and it was the first real chance we’d had to just hang out socially without textbooks looming over our heads. It was like a block party under the stars. If you’re ever in Morogoro, I recommend checking this group and their events out!

Puppies Make Everything Better

Posted on 27 February 2013 by potholesandpilipili

I’ve been incredibly lucky to meet a wonderful group of ex-pats here in Morogoro. Through a crazy coincidence, an old friend from high school saw on Facebook that I was heading to Tanzania and put me in touch with friends of hers who were missionaries in Tanzania and just happened to be living in the same town I planned to study in. Shantelle and the Boone family (Aaron, Stephanie, and their three girls) studied at same the language school as me and were finishing up their lessons when I arrived, although they live in town rather than on campus. It has been great to meet some of their friends and find a little community here.

So far, it has been a little bit of a rough month, between frustrations with getting the permits I need for my research and feeling a bit under the weather. I haven’t posted much, both of because of these issues and because my Swahili studies take up a lot of time. Classes go on most of the day, and the homework and review I need to do at night have gotten more time-consuming. I haven’t had a lot of new and interesting things to share. I don’t claim this entry will be all that interesting, but hey, come on. Who doesn’t like puppies? As YouTube viral videos have definitively proven over the past few years, we are genetically programmed to coo and giggle over them.

The Boone family’s two dogs had puppies last month and today I had a chance to go over and see them again. Their house has a pool, an added bonus in the unbelievably hot weather we’ve been having. After a quick dip and playing with the kiddos, we decided to give the puppies a bath. Other than nursing, they also eat ugi, a porridge-like substance. And at this point, eating is not a terribly coordinated activity for them, so of course they were covered with dried chunks of food. The only thing cuter than puppies, are puppies undergoing their first bath.

Shantelle and Stephanie often go to the local orphanage to spend time with the kids there. I’ve been hoping to join them, but so far the timing with my classes hasn’t worked out. Today, they brought three of the older boys over to join in on the swimming fun, which was a blast. The boys were balls of energy, and quickly took an interest in the puppies as well.

We finished up the day by all going out to a local restaurant, Dragonaire’s, famed for their pizza. It has a playground and little zoo (birds and turtles) for the kids, who still somehow had tons of energy to burn after the pool. I played tag with the kids (which really consisted of me as the permanent “It” and them all shrieking whenever I ran near) before dinner for a while. But, when the restaurant saw all of the kids, they brought out a Bouncy-House type thing to blow up. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen a group of kids go from running around crazy-like to quietly sitting and watching intently faster than tonight! It caused a lot of excitement.

So that’s all for now. I’m getting close to the end of my time here in Morogoro, and have started thinking about making plans for moving on to Ifakara. I really love it here and hate to leave, but the dissertation calls!

A Tough Week

Posted on 20 February 2013 by potholesandpilipili

This week was an off week. Nothing particularly bad happened; sometimes a dozen little frustrations just come together to tell you, “Nope, it’s not gonna be your finest. You might as well go back to bed and start over next week.”

The big thing is just language-learning growing pains. I took Spanish for five years, so I’m familiar with the ecstasy of feeling one day like everything is clicking and you’re finally making progress (“Haha, now I will understand what the market ladies are saying and can barter on my own! No more paying a 150% markup on bananas for me!”) and then another day having it all crumble around you as you gape helplessly at the person spouting foreign sounds at you; as though furrowing your brow and staring hard enough will somehow activate the Babel fish in your ear and a pristine translation will pop into your brain. But this process spread out over five years is quite different from the incredibly condensed process we’re undergoing here, a day-to-day roller-coaster of emotion where one goes from “TRIUMPH! I am a Swahili prodigy!” to “Why am I such a failure at everything!?!?” in less than 12 hours. This week has felt like one steady, long fall towards the latter. But the thing about roller coasters is that the really big drop is usually followed by the best loop-de-loops of the ride, and so I’m hoping things will perk up soon.

I’ve had a few frustrations with my research process as well. I’ve been a little under the weather, so I feel a bit behind in general. I had been hoping to take a few days and travel to Ifakara just to touch base with people at my field site in person, but that hasn’t been possible yet. I also am still struggling with getting through the research permit process, which requires more trips to Dar es Salaam than I had planned on. I have been doing a lot of reading, catching up on current literature, etc. But I can’t help feeling that I am not where I wanted to be at this point.

And while I am starting to really love it here, there are many little day-to-day things that, while not huge hardships, kind of wear on you after a bit. No hot water. Constant insect bites. Power outages. Lack of fitted sheets (sounds ridiculous to mention, I know, but you’d be surprised what you miss). The bare fact is that daily life is just easier in the United States. Not better, necessarily, but from an infrastructure and supplies perspective, definitely easier. This week it actually was a bit more serious. We had torrential rain for two days and a pipe broke, so mud was washed into the water system. As a result, for several days now all that has come out of our faucets has been muddy water. It’s finally starting to run a bit clearer, but as you can see from the picture, we have a little ways to go.

But enough negativity. I realize how lucky I am to be here. I’m just in a slump and I know I’ll be out of it again soon. To that end, a couple of pictures of campus I haven’t posted yet!

Lemongrass Tea and an Artist at His Craft

Posted on 27 January 2013 by potholesandpilipili

Today, I was lucky.

Ingrid, a German woman working in Tanzania that I have become friends with, had been telling me off and on about a group of artists she was working with. We stopped one day at a small hut next to the bus station, to see the work of Hillary, a local woodworker she knew. Another day she mentioned that the paintings in her house were by the same artist whose work was sold at the language school. Yet another day, that her bag was made by a local fundi. So when I asked her earlier this week if she would be going into town this morning and she mentioned needing to meet up with this same painter about a commission, I agreed to go with her. Actually, I jumped at the chance. It can get a little confining here at the language school since we are outside of town and I am always eager to go off campus.

We met Deo, the artist, in town and he directed us to his home, a small duplex in a neighborhood I had never been in before. Showing us inside to the small cozy living room, he invited us to take a seat and then, with obvious pleasure, introduced us to his two children. The smallest, a boy with a huge smile, was eager to try out a little of his English on us; bouncing up and down on the arm of the easy chair while he did so. His daughter, a young teen, was a little quieter but after a shy smile welcomed us by quickly bringing out tea.

Deo was clearly proud of his children; their photos, along with a couple of his works, were the main decorations on the walls. He was also visibly happy to have us there, taking tea with him. A note about the tea… it was delicious. Actually, I always enjoy tea here. Chai is typical, though I usually drink mine straight. His daughter brought out tea flavored with lemongrass, a first for me and absolutely lovely.

He and Ingrid conversed for quite some time in Swahili about a commission she wanted done- a series of paintings with a religious theme for a primary school. This might sound boring for me, a Swahili beginner. But I have noticed a steady trend in the past week with my Swahili comprehension. If I don’t have to talk, but can just listen to two other people converse, I am actually often able to get quite a bit. Perhaps not the details, but at least the general flow of conversation. While frustrated that this doesn’t seem to translate into an improvement in my own speaking ability, it is nonetheless encouraging. I also have not been invited into Tanzanian residences very often. Given my research interests, I have spent most of previous trips on hospital or clinic grounds, making my way from one office to another. But, as an anthropologist, I have a natural curiosity about how people live. I feel so fortunate when I am traveling and someone invites me into their home. When I get to share a drink or a meal, meet their family, or just experience a little piece of their world. So despite sitting silently while the other two spoke, I was enjoying myself immensely.

The conversation turned towards specifics and Deo pulled out two albums filled with photos of his work so that Ingrid could look at samples. He also began hauling out many of the paintings he had in storage, piling them up on the dining room table, a Technicolor mountain of canvas. Most of his work was wax batik, although he had pictures of murals he had done too. You see that a lot here; black silhouettes of safari animals against a bright explosion of sunset reds and yellows or moody blues and purples. They are often marketed to tourists and can sometimes look a little mass-produced. But Deo was clearly a more gifted painter than many of the more cookie-cutter artists I had seen hawking their wares. He used a much wider variety of colors, played with light and shadow, and embraced a broader style and subject matter, in addition to the usual scenes. I wanted to support his work, particularly since he and a group of other artists are trying to get together the money to start a co-op in town where they can share a rented space to sell their goods. I bought two small paintings of more traditional scenes, but the one I really liked was more abstract and unusual. He offered to paint me a large work in the abstract style that I could pick up in a couple of weeks …my very first commissioned work!

Towards the end of our visit, Deo took us out to his work area on the porch and walked us through the first few steps of creating a wax batik painting. Each painting, depending on the design of course, requires multiple rounds of laying down wax and paint to create the final scene. Because each layer has to dry completely before the next round can be applied, we were only able to watch him begin his next work. Which was probably just was well because his son was quickly becoming bored with all of the grown-up talk and began to repeatedly bounce a ball “accidently” against the bucket I was sitting on. Clearly this was a not-so-subtle invitation, so while Ingrid and Deo talked a few last details, his son and I kicked the ball back and forth while I dazzled him with the few Swahili sentences I knew and he giggled appreciatively. Sometimes the little interactions are the best.

On the ride home, Ingrid apologized for the visit being such a long one and said she hoped I wasn’t too bored. I told her, truthfully, that it was one of the best days I’d ever had in Tanzania