Ugh. F%@#*$g Roosters. =(
I had gone to bed on our last night in Chipole feeling a little less than awesome, and woke up feeling even worse. Food was now going through me pretty much immediately, and I couldn’t always tell if I was queasy or hungry. I had to force myself to eat. Otherwise the trip had been amazing up till now, and i still felt good enough to walk around, so I wasn’t going to let it stop me.
We had our final breakfast with the Sisters and girls of Chipole with a little more dancing and ceremony. More sweet words were exchanged, and the girls bestowed a lasso (traditional wrap for women) to each of us to give to mothers or wives. It was a very nice gesture, and the ones they chose were tasteful.
A few more photos, and we headed out. We left via that same dirt pile road we came in on, this time in the daylight. It was still ridiculous, with the bus tipping to unsafe angles, and everyone we passed staring at us.
Oh, yeah. The staring, I forgot to mention that. I’ve had to get used to people staring at me. Not only because I’m whiter than their rice, but because they do that. If a vehicle travels down a dirt road that is normally used only by pedestrians and bicycles 90% of the time. They stand up and stare. And they rarely smile. Almost never, unless you do it first. It’s a cultural thing I guess.
That made me feel very uneasy, and indeed unsafe. Think about it. If a white guy found himself in America in a poor, all black neighborhood where everyone stared and no one smiled- isn't that generally an unsafe environment? I’m walking around feeling like I’m in Camden, or Cherry Hill or someplace.
But it's not like that here. Here, they’re staring because that’s just what they do. With eye contact. Extended eye contact.
Especially if you’re a parade of white dudes in the middle of rural Tanzania.
If you say hello though, people immediately perk up and grin from ear to ear. And then they want to engage you. It tuned out that despite the weird stare, they typically love white folk. They realize that if a bunch of white guys are prancing around this far into the country among the poorest people, they’re usually there to help. The locals also love the chance to practice their English, and to ask questions about America, and perhaps most importantly, they assume you've got a fat wallet and they want to sell you stuff.
As we drove through the rural roads and passed people digging around in the dirt, they all stared. And we waved. And they pretty much always broke into a smile and waved back. Especially little kids. They really love a mzungu. They often sprint towards the road and wave frantically, yelling, “Jambo teacha!” (hi teacher!)
But yeah, the digging thing. As we drive through the countryside, everyone appears to be digging in the dirt. I don’t know what they’re doing. Kids, babies, parents, old men, goats, pigs, everyone. Digging in the dirt. What they hell are they looking for? I’m sure that’s not what’s going on. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation why they all appear to just be randomly digging in the dirt, but I have no idea what it is. I am reminded of the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, when King Arthur comes upon Dennis digging in the filth outside a vacant castle.
By mid-afternoon, I was getting a little worried about the boys. They seemed to be more than just a little worn out- They were quiet and lethargic, and even a little despondent. I talked with Brian about it. He said this happens every year about this time in the trip, and that they would come out of it within a day or two of being at Hanga (which turned out to be true). Apparently, the order of events was planned specifically to go to Hanga after Chipole for this reason, since the Hanga Abbey has more western amenities than we had previously experiences, and the time spent there would be more chill than it had been in Chipole.
Anyway, we finally got back out to a decent Chinese road –there’s an ongoing joke that good roads are Chinese, and bad roads are Tanzanian)- and in an hour we were in Chipole town. We took a walking tour with Cassian and the drivers, and saw a normal day in the market place. We also saw the second of the two major stadiums in Tanzania. The first one being in Dar Es Salam, and this one in Chipole, called Maji Maji Staduim. But this one we got to go inside. the place is totally wide open, and anyone can waltz in there anytime and play a round of soccer. Pretty cool. Anyway, when we went in, the place was in use by some school kids who appeared to be having a track meet of some kind. We watched for a while and cheered them on, which I'm pretty sure freaked them out. Then feeling pleased with ourselves, we left.
The rest of the walk through the market was fascinating. I walked with Samson (the primary bus driver), who had grown up there, so I got a very detailed guided tour around town, and even got meet his brother. A splendid chap. As we walked into the centerpiece of the market – a large covered area where people had stands selling grain and vegetables, the mood changed. People had been staring all day, but now there were many people in tight quarters staring. But here, instead of going on about their business after a moment, they broke into big smiles after a few seconds. And then they started yelling to us. Pretty much all of them. They yelled things in English like, “Hello!”, and “Welcome!”, and “How are you?!”, excited for a chance to test their English on real westerners. It was heart-warming and encouraging, and I think it was just what the boys needed to perk them up a little. I tried to respond as best I could to as many people as possible in both English and my slightly improved but still terrible Swahili. It must have been good enough for them, because they were absolutely delighted with it. Everyone wanted to touch us or shake our hands, or high-five. You would think that at least for a moment it would be scary, but it wasn't. It was truly one of my favorite moments of the trip.
Eventually we made our way back to the bus, and had another hour-long bus ride to Hanga abbey. With that, our traveling was done for the day by about 3:30. Besides, at this point, an hour was a joke. We could have done it standing on our heads.
Ah, but Hanga Abbey was a site for sore eyes. A big, clean building with western toilets, lots of food and friendly monks, and running water. We were excited, but slightly disappointed because someone told us the showers had hot water, and that turned out not to be true. still, the shower was nice after 4 nights of bathing in a bucket. They also had electricity, which was great- I needed to charge my camera battery and phone. Although, it turned out that they turn the power off at 10:00pm, and leave it off until around lunch time each day.
We settled in happily, and had a brief tour where we met Fr. Angelo, the principal of the secondary school.
While walking back from our tour, we heard a little girl being bludgeoned to death. Her screams were terrifying! Noticing our faces, Fr. Angelo informed us that the sound was actually a kind of cockroach. That screams. I still think he was lying.
About this time, I really began to really feel sick to my stomach. Very sick. It was bad enough now that I needed to skip out on the remainder of the tour and head back to my room and lie down. I was shivering and had cold sweats. I took some Advil and slept for 40 minutes, forced myself to go to dinner and get down a little food, and then headed back to bed again, still shivering.
When we had originally arrived in Dar Es Salam, we had met a German woman in her 50’s traveling with her son, a mechanical engineer in his late 20’s. In the city, we had talked for a while, sharing travel experiences. It turns out, they were now in Hanga too, and I sat with them at dinner. They were also giving charitable monies and work to Hanga Abbey. Specifically, they were helping to fund the trade school that brother Patrick ran. Seeing the Germans again and day dreaming of delicious beers with them made my otherwise very uncomfortable dinner a little more bearable.
After dinner I went straight back to bed. As I lie there, I heard the kids having a great time, engaged in another heated card game with the bus drivers who are apparently insufferable cheaters. It sounded like they were really having fun, and I was glad to hear the kids sounding in better spirits.
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