Let's bounce!

Time's up for me on Pemba.  Goodbyes, goodbyes, and more goodbyes.  It doesn't feel real; I don't feel at all like I'm leaving this country.  I can't bring myself to stop learning Kiswahili; I ask about new words even though there's a sense of futility about it.  But I got a good one a few days ago, a bit of slang: Tujikatae!  Let's bounce!  I'll be thinking that when I get on the plane.

I've been imagining what it will like to come home; I know I'll get a lot of questions about the place I lived and what it was like.  I'm not sure what I'll say; it's hard to condense this place into a few sentences.  So I decided to ask my friends.  I had a couple of going away parties at my house, with a mix of Pembans and foreigners who are working here.  I asked them all the question "What would you like me to tell people about Pemba?"  I recorded the answers and have some to share:

Bifatma Mgeni Haji, a District Education Officer
"Tell people that they shouldn't be afraid of coming to Pemba.  People here are very generous, they are very peaceful, they can go around in the middle of the night with no tensions.  They will see we have a very green island.  And if they like to swim, we are surrounded by the sea!  When you come back, you are not going to be a stranger here, you are coming home."

Helen Paul, a VSO education volunteer who's been to Pemba many times
"If I get the image of Pemba, I think of a daladala.  Overcrowded, with maybe a goat on the roof, and chickens inside, and it's full.  27 people, but the conductor says there is more room inside.  And then, someone gets on with a baby.  The men stand up, and offer the woman their chairs.  And if someone needs to get off, they help them to get their luggage off.  People help each other.  You see both sides of Pemba in that:  people being pushy, danger as the daldala is driving too fast, but on the other hand, you see people living with their hearts and helping other people."

Annelies, a Dutch VSO education volunteer
"You have to tell Americans that the people here are very very helpful.  For example, we went for a bike ride and someone forgot their bag.  They brought it back to us.  If we forget our lock, someone will bring the lock.  We forgot a birthday cake for somebody in a daladala, and the daladala comes after us to bring us the cake.  They are very very helpful."

Michael Trichler, a former Peace Corps Volunteer who now lives on Pemba
"I think it's best if I try to explain what I hope my son will take away from living here.  There are some aspects of Pemba that I really want deeply engrained in my son.  One of them being the respect for elders.  I can't say it's been lost in the US, but there are definitely times when it seems it has been.  For example, the elderly are often put away into homes and are not taken care of by their children.  So that's one thing that I want my son to take away, that respect for elders.

"Another is: although people here are very poor, they are definitely very giving.  You go to someone's house, they might not have a lot of money, but if they invite you over you're gonna have some really nice food.  Those are the things that really stick out to me: that sense of sharing and community that's so deeply engrained in the culture here, as well as the respect for elders."

Khamis Rajab, my neighbor
"When you arrive in America, tell people that in this island, we live peacefully.  Also tell them that our cloves are first grade (laughter).  The best cloves come from here."

Maulid, an English teacher at the youth center
"It is not cloves which are our best thing - Kiswahili is what we have to offer the world!"

Sjoerd va Setten, a Dutch VSO doctor
"One of the major differences between the States and here, or between the Netherlands and here, is the pace of life.  In Holland and the States we really live and work by the clock.  Everything is divided into 10s of minutes or quarter hours and you have a very tight schedule and there's not a lot of free time for family and friends."

Hadia Othman, an American who has decided to retire in Pemba
"Being in Pemba has brought out the best in me.  There are things and qualities about me that I didn't even know existed.  And coming here and slowing down and using the facial muscles that are required to make you smile..... my face hurt for the first couple of months because I was smiling so much.  The people here are absolutely wonderful, and I love being around them.  It may seem that people here are poor.  But in my opinion, they live in wealth and royalty, because the things that they have, no money can buy."

Hamid Haji, a member of my community English club
"There is space for visitors to come from abroad to our island to see some of our traditions, or some of our important things like animals and forests.  We have a lot of things like this.  We have a lot of lessons; if they want to come here, they are welcome.  Tell them "Oh!  Welcome to Pemba!"  It is a good place, there are good people, even if you come from some other place, or a different tribe, or a different religion.  If you visit some places in the world, people will dislike you because you are different, but in Pemba we don't have this thing. 

"When guests come to visit our island, they should feel free to be together with us.  Because I saw a lot of people when they come here to visit our island, they don't give anyone a chance to talk to them.  They don't have conversation with us.  They just say "hello" and keep walking.  Talk to them, tell them they can talk to us, don't run away!"


That's all for now.  Tujikatae!

Friends at a going away party

My wonderful neighbors Biramla, Khamis, and their daughter Khadija.  Some of the best friends I've had over the last two years.

Dis-integration

Two years ago I arrived in Tanzania, and since then I've been making friends, learning language, eating new foods, adopting new behavior..... "integration," in a word.  And it's not over.  I still find myself trying to increase my vocabulary, deepen friendships, and better understand the culture here.  I'm not quite ready to leave; I like my life here and it's hard to let go.  But the day is coming.  A month from today I will sign some papers in Dar Es Salaam and I will no longer be a Peace Corps volunteer.  So even as I deepen my relationship with this place, I find myself beginning to pull up my roots. 

My life on Pemba is beginning to unravel; little pieces seem to be breaking off and dissolving.  One day a few books disappear from my shelf, the next some clothes are given away, and eventually I'll have to give in and start taking down the maps, pictures, and cards that have been hanging on my walls.  A third of my students left my school last month to take their exit examinations.  My lessons with them already seem to be a distant memory.  Another third of my students are having their last day at school today, leaving me with only a few students and a handfull of lessons to teach over the next few weeks.  It seems there will be no explicit, this-is-goodbye moment at my school; rather my participation there is fading away.

Goodbyes are happening at the same slow, steady pace.  For the last month, each time I've met up with another volunteer, it's ended with "see you.... someday.... maybe!"  Likewise, farewells to my Pemban friends are already beginning.  I had a few free days last week, so I went to Unguja (the bigger island) to see some friends who are studying there.  I'm starting to compile full names, addresses, and phone numbers in an address book.  Who knows when I'll be back, but whether it's 5 years or 15, I'll want to be able to track down old friends. 

I'm feeling resistance towards leaving, but I think as the next few weeks pass, the process will snowball.  Hopefully I'll fall in with that acceleration, and when the day comes, it will feel like the right time to go.

VSO friends Annelies, Sarah, and Juanito.  Sarah and Juanito recently finished their volunteer projects on Pemba.  Juanito lived on Pemba for over 3 years, and was one of the first people to welcome me when I arrived.

In May I went to a close of service conference in Dar.  It was a reunion of all the volunteers who came to Tanzania in June 2011.  Tyler, Marielle, Brie, and Becca were my neighbors and language classmates for the first 3 months in country.

The staff of my school at last month's graduation.

Hassan on his graduation day.  He was one of my best students and is an all around positive and friendly guy.  I'll miss him.

One of my English classes on their last day of school.

On the right is Mchanga, my neighbors' daughter.  She's a nursing student on Unguja.  I was lucky enough to have free time to go visit her before I leave.

Mussa and Khamis, two of the original members of my community English club. 

Home Stretch

COS.  The sacred acronym of the Peace Corps Volunteer.  Close Of Service.  The End.  It's been a topic that I've tried to avoid thinking about; it was always too far away to tease myself with.  But suddenly it seems right around the corner.  It's 4 months away, which is a hefty chunk of time, but everywhere I look something reminds me of the finish line.....

-This week is the beginning of my last term of teaching.  It's a mixed blessing to have COS on my mind; on the one hand I really want to sink my teeth into teaching and help my students as much as possible before they sit for their national exams, but at the same time it's hard to be distracted by "the end" when I'm just at the beginning of a term. 

-I'm reminded of leaving whenever I buy anything long lasting.  "Don't buy that giant bottle of honey!  That lasts 10 months!  Most of it will go to waste!"

-I just wrote a request to leave 2 weeks earlier than expected, so that I can leave before Ramadan starts.  The "official" wheels of my departure are starting to turn....

-The Big Dipper is up in the night sky.  One of the things I really enjoy about living near the equator is that the constellations cycle throughout the year.  The Big Dipper disappears for about 6 months.  It's coming into view for the third time since I've been in Tanzania, which means I've been here for a while!

-The first patters of the rainy season are falling.  This is another turning-of-the-year marker that I notice, reminding me that I'm entering my second and last season of heavy rains on Pemba.

-My mom and brother's visit is over.  This means no more visits from people in America to look forward to.  Another aspect of my experience completed.

-My friends around town often ask how much more time I have left.  Only recently they began exclaiming "Oh! 4 months?  That's not very long at all!"  I can't seem to escape the reminders....

-I'm starting to get wedding invitations for dates just after I return to the US.  How am I supposed to ignore my excitement for my friends??  Can't help but daydream about travel plans and celebrations....

-When I walk around may house I start making lists of my possessions.  "Take that back to the US, give this to a friend, sell that, sell this, throw that away......" 

It's still a long way to go, but I can't help it!  Thoughts of leaving are invading my brain!  I'm trying to stay focused on today and this week.  I still have a lot of work to do.  Returning to the US always felt like a far off dream; today it's a reality.  Exciting!

Family Visit!

Sheesh!  Back in November I told myself I was going to go on a blogging spree..... and now it's March. 

There's good inclination to post something now; my mom and my brother just came for their visit!  My mom arrived at Kilimanjaro's airport and we spent a week on the mainland before going collect Neale on Zanzibar.  It was really everything I hoped it would be.

I invited my brother Neale to contribute something to the blog; he's written some very vivid impressions.  My mom has also given me a poem that she wrote while we were high in the Usambara Mountains, overlooking miles of savannah.  I hope you enjoy!  And there are some pictures at the end for you to see something more of our travels

From Neale:

Some impressions   

    After 40 hours of travel:
    Despite my fears, Dave finds me easily in the tiny airport. He is a new color – somehow the sun has made him more earthy. We find Mom near the bathroom. We are all together, an improbable meeting, surprising and happy.
    Dave furnishes me with a coconut from which to drink.

    Stonetown, the heat:
    The equatorial sun is intense. To say it beats down isn’t quite right though; it lays upon you, it has weight. The shafts of it stack against the alley walls like atomized bars of gold.

    Bread:
    Juanito calls the blocky bread gold bars or gold bricks, I can’t remember which. They lie in stacks on the wooden sill outside the soot-stained cavern of the bakery, as if they have been unearthed. Or in the glass cases of vendors in Stonetown, a horde bought for 300 shillings.

    Home:
    The homes are built of brick, cinder or rough-hewn stone, the as-yet-unused in ramping piles by the road. The mortar naked in the walls, shaded by rusting corrugated roofs. These side-by-side with mud huts capped in thatching. These brown walls, these long stems and fronds, they’re beautiful. The twisting branches that stand as frame, the mud and stone that compact around the square space, the thatching brown and dry, they are beautiful, organic, part of the land.

    The West:
    The mud-walled hut is the epitome of poverty in the Western mind.

    Going on:
    The sublimely adult. Doing, day after day, what is necessary, to eat, to care for one’s children. Laughter and welcome, warmth in the heart. Enforced simplicity. Making the best of this fraught life.
    In this frame, aid work seems the reverse of the paternalistic paradigm – more like children coming home to aid their parents.

    Mother:
    On the road by the harbor we saw a chicken without a beak. How did she lose it, or had she ever had one? Around her a brood of tiny chicks peeping. She raised her head and eyed us as we passed. Then she went back to eating in the roadside weeds with her hardened lips.

    Help:
    Dave told me that if the young men could find good work they would almost certainly stay on Pemba. He also said that if they had a good education system and good health care, he thought no aid would be required.

    I remember to pay attention:
    Banana leaves that sound like rain in the night breeze. A rooster that crows the chorus to a sea shanty. Great bats that fly like night birds from the trees; they have the faces of foxes, feed only on fruit. Beach sand as fine as flour. Coconut meat as white and rubbery as squid. The scratch of a grass broom on the stoop like the scrabble of a chicken. A cell tower that seems to fall and fall as clouds race over it. The song of the prayer call, subjected to pop-song autotune by the loud speaker. Fishing boats of rough-hewn planks, tree trunk for spar, iron rivets gone to rust, yellowing cotton in the chinks – they ought to sink but glide elegant on their way, triangular sails the color of parchment and trimmed full.

    What is real? :
    Life here seems earthy, quotidian, real. The filling of baskets with fruit, the sorting of beans. The steadiness of the calls to prayer. Ancillary concerns seem rarely heeded or mulled. Something simple as meeting is an event. Now we eat, now we drink, now walk, now laugh.
    A sense of the surreal still hangs on. My other lives hover about my head, at the corners of my vision, disregarded ghosts, tiny and insubstantial.

    Where is my home:
    Finally, we say goodbye. Dave bequeaths us to the system of air travel. After several take-offs and landings, Mom and I part in Addis Ababa. I sleep nervously, eat a bowl of noodles, board my next flight at 1 AM.
    I doze, flying at a speed only possible in dreams, through dark and cold. -80 degrees outside the window. We are higher than the Himalaya.
    The day dawns and sets at an alarming rate – we are traveling against the sun. I have lost any feeling for what time it ought to be. When we bank I see China’s snow-dusted peaks and brown valleys, winter-bare.
    We touch down in Beijing. The sun glowers like molten iron. Airplanes disappear in the smog just after take-off. What nightmare of cityscapes am I traveling through?
    Another late flight. At last I see the lights of Incheon beside the dark western sea. A final chirp of the wheels on the tarmac. The airport ghostly at this hour. I shiver at the taxi stand.
    I wake in my hotel in the morning and look out the window at the frozen river. Below me, muddy yards, refuse, metal roofs, grey cement walls. An old woman sweeps her step with a bamboo broom. I imagine it must sound much like the scratching of a chicken in dry leaves under a banana tree. 


From my mom, Robyn:

Mile high in the Usambara mountains, staying on a ridgetop overlooking the northern Tanzanian plains, several hours spent watching the changing light and shadows ... a poem arises:

The Sweetness of Red Dirt

The sweetness of red dirt
Rising
Swelling with the updraft
A child herding calves
In the late afternoon sun,
The shadows shift
With the shading clouds
And angles define
With the setting day
How Earth and Sky reflect

Shadows stretch long
Revealing
What a painter knows
That colors are a continuum
And the horizon
Joins the whole

Mango juice with mom in Moshi

Kilimanjaro at dawn from our hotel room

Mom and I went to a lodge in the Usambara Mountains, close to Kenya.  The mountains rise suddenly out of the savannah.  On the top right you can see one of the lodge's rooms, looking out over a one mile drop down to the plains.

The view from our tent's terrace.  Nice way to wake up in the morning.  =)

Collecting Neale!  Stop #1 outside the airport: coconut water, my new favorite remedy for all traveling aches and pains.

A street vendor preparing dafu: young coconut with water and soft meat inside.

Together!

Sauti Za Busara (Sounds of Wisdom), the annual African music festival in Stonetown

Out for a bike ride on Pemba!

Neale checks out a dhow (wooden fishing boat) at low tide.

More dafu!  I love the look on Neale's face - the dafu meat is delicious....

Weird Things are Normal

It's a calm Sunday morning and I'm feeling at home.  I'm basking in the glow of a magnificent coincidence: A few weeks ago some departing friends gave me their french press, then several days later some visitors gave me the gift of Rwandan coffee grounds.  This is a huge step up from the instant coffee available in town.  Delicious!

As I mentioned in my last post, recently I've been taking stock of the good things in life here.  I've developed a lot of little habits and behaviors which at one point would have seemed very strange to me, but they've become second nature, and I'll actually miss many of them when I come back to the States.   I think a list is in order: 

-Food Phobias, Lack of.  There's not much sanitation of knives/cutting surfaces/serving plates here, but I'll pretty much eat anything sold on the street.  I don't get sick, so I keep eating....

-Handshakes.  They last for a long time, often with a lot of grip variations.  I'm probably gonna weird people out at home when I try shake hands for minutes at a time.

-Cooking.  I've learned to bake using a charcoal dutch oven, and now when I use a regular oven I invariably burn things.

Cookies in the Dutch oven

-Bugs in the Flour.  I remember last year I threw out a kilo of flour because it had bugs multiplying in it.  I was so wasteful!  Fact of life: When there's no refrigeration, there are gonna be a few bugs.  Nowadays the method is "pick out the ones you can, the rest are good protein!"

-Air Conditioning, A Once In A Month Experience.  It weirds me out.  It's so unnaturally cold.  And it dries my eyes out.  And worst of all, it makes me dislike the outdoors.  One minute I'm walking around happy as a clam in the midday sun, then I walk into an air conditioned office, and when I leave I find the weather oppressive and muggy, and I'm hating being outside.  I didn't feel that way before I went in the office; damn you AC, why do you mess with my comfort zone?!?

-Cow Poo Radar.  Pack animals leave messes around on the streets, but somehow my feet have learned to avoid it, no matter where my eyes are.  As I walk I could be staring off into the banks of shops next to the road, and when I look back I see that I've unconsciously navigated a minefield.

There's a super secret oxen conspiracy to ruin your sandals.

-Bathrooms.  It's all squat toilets here.  And I've found I prefer them.  When you're in a dirty public bathroom, you don't have that awkward dilemma of whether to put your butt on the seat!  And without getting too graphic, squatting is just more..... let's say..... anatomically correct.

My squat toilet.  Surrounded by clouds of happy.

-Prayer Time.  I expect to hear the 5-times-daily call to prayer.  It helps me time my day.  5:30 am prayers?  "Almost time to get up!  Enjoy your last little snuggle time in bed!"  3:30 pm prayers?  "Damn, everything's closed for the day, anything I forgot to buy is gonna wait for tomorrow."  6:30 prayers:  "It's 6:30, make yourself some dinner!"  7:30 prayers:  "No really, make yourself some dinner!"

-No Shoes Inside.  Shoes are seen as dirty here, and they come off as soon as you're in the house.  When I get back to America I think walking inside with shoes on will feel like walking on eggshells.

-Man Skirts.  A lot of men here wear a skirt-like wrap called a Kikoi.  I'm a convert.  Super comfortable.  Will not want to give it up at home.  Will risk ridicule by wearing it all the time.

Rockin' the Kikoi, like only a man can.

All that being said, there are a lot of things I miss about life in America.  Namely:

-Public Transport.  Cushioned seats.  Reliable schedules.  Enough room in a bus to put both your feet flat on the floor.  Reclining seats on trains.  Alcohol and snacks brought to your seat in airplanes.  Not this:

The innards of a daladala.  There's always room for one (or 5) more.

-Food.  Burgers.  Mexican food.  Beer.  All the cheese.

-Anonymity.  Not being stared at while walking down the street.  Riding a bicycle without everyone I pass shouting "Look!  A white guy on a bicycle!"

-Beds.  Firm beds.  Long beds.  Level beds.  Beds without weird lumps and sink points.  Fitted sheets.

-Gas Stoves.  OMG.  Gas Stoves.

-Live Music.  Church organs, jazz clubs, symphonies, rock concerts, friends playing in the living room.  I miss all the musics!

-Hugs.  They just don't do them here.  Hugs are the best, and I miss them.

-The Co-op.  Men and women living together, unmarried?  Stimulating conversation in a language I'm fluent in.  Community in your home.  Always something fun happening.  Smoothie ingredients and food processor available 24/7.

Laying Down the Law: No Cats Allowed!

It's been a long time since I've posted.  I've had a lot buzzing around in my head about my work here, but every time I try to write about it, I get discouraged.  I've learned a lot about the myriad of challenges facing both students and teachers here, as well as the limits on my ability to help with these problems.  I'd like to write about all this in a meaningful/informative way, but I haven't quite found a way to put it all down in words.  I think this time I'll stick with a more personal update.

I'm moving into the second year of my service.  It's nice to have been here long enough to know what to expect from the turning of the year.  I recognize the seasons, I know more about how the Muslim holidays are celebrated, and I know what to expect day to day at my school.  Many volunteers feel that their second year is more productive than their first.  The stereotype is that you get your feet under you in the first year, and after that you really begin to take strides.  Sometimes this worries me; my second year has not seemed to be off to a shining start.  A lot of my secondary projects seem to be imploding, and I haven't found any resounding ways to combat the difficulties I face at my school.  All this together can get quite discouraging. 

But I've found some consolation in how things are going in my personal life.  It's good to remind myself that the home/community/cultural side of my experience has been going really well in my second year.  I've got really good relationships with my neighbors.  My Kiswahili improves, slowly but surely.  I've formed some genuine friendships.  My house feels like home.  I've got everything I need to feel comfortable, and I can cook tasty and healthy meals on hotplates and charcoal stoves.  I host a lot of people who pass through Pemba (mostly from the volunteer community), and I feel like a good host- I know enough about the island to give good advice, and can provide a comfortable place for them to stay.  All these things are good to remind myself of when work gets me down.

And since home is where things are going well, I believe pictures of home are in order!

My living room feels like home, thanks to all the people who have gifted maps, pictures, calendars, khangas....

The other side of the living room, looking towards my bedroom.  On the right is the blackboard I use when my community English club visits.  My National Geographic map on the left is one of my most prized possessions, and really useful for my English club as well.

My friend Kombo stopped by to say hello one afternoon.... coincidentally wearing a shirt with my and Jack's names on it.

Kitten invasion!  A couple of stray kittens, after being tormented by some neighborhood kids, decided my house was safe haven, and would stop at nothing to get inside.  After climbing up to the top of my screen door, one was able to slip into the house through a small hole.  I stayed strong and resisted an adoption urge.

It was time to expel the kittens before they did more damage to my mosquito netting.  Pole sana (very sorry) cats, this guy's leaving in 9 months and he won't be your daddy!

Hold the Horses, Stop The Train, and Simamisha the Daladala

We interrupt our normal blog services to bring you this special post!  I'm deep into the "lost months" of my service: All the Pemba schools are closed from mid-July to mid-September (first for Ramadan, then for the national census, which is staffed by schoolteachers).  Not much work to be done these days.  What's a volunteer to do in times like these?  Start a new and ambitious community project?  Hit the books and master Kiswahili?  Drink copious amounts of bucket wine?  None of the above!  Instead, I've been enjoying a much anticipated visit from my fiance Katie (Did I tell you I'm engaged?  Oops, sorry!  I'm engaged.  There.).  We've been living it up here in the land of cheap and delicious octopus and white sand beaches. 

What am I going to write about on this special occasion?  Absolutely nothing!  I'm too busy soaking up the rays of awesome.  Instead, let me introduce my guest writer and better-half-to-be, K-"os" Mann, who I'm sure will you give you a fresh perspective on the joys of the Tanzanian bus system, pit toilets, and washing clothes by hand. 



Hi there blog readers, this is your special guest speaking.  I think Dave will soon be uploading some actual snapshots, but I'd like to give you some literary snapshots of my time here. 

1. Dala dala dala dala dala
Hey look, here's an old japanese-made minibus chock-full of people!  Kids, babies, parents, merchants with their wares, women with live chickens in their handbags, grandpas, grandmas, you name it, and on top of all that there's the daladala konda (conductor) hollering and hanging half-way out the door for lack of space.  Let's get in!  Now we're bumping along the road in Dar Es Salaam or Njombe or Iringa or anywhere really and I'm standing on someone's foot but that's okay because someone is standing on my foot while I'm trying not to fall on Dave who's sitting with a stranger's baby in his lap.  That's public transit.  Whew!

2. Ugali
As far as I can tell, volunteers here talk about three things when they get together.  The first is food, the second is poop.  [more on this later].  Let me tackle food the Tanzanian way. 
Part a) Eating at home. 
First, no matter what the meal, you make ugali -- a white, firm-yet-sticky- yet suprisingly pasty corn flour mash that acts as a vessel for picking up your other food.  And is utterly tasteless.  But oh the wonders you can smash into it by the fingerfull: maharaga (beans), samaki (fish), boiled greens that I forget the name of, savory red sauce with hidden bits of meat, mmmmmm. 
Part b) Eating at home when you're sick of Tanzanian food. 
Volunteers here get creative.  Man oh man, the things I have seen concocted in kitchens with no running water, no electricity (that means no fridge), and the closest market a 50 minute walk away.  And the closest source of wazungu food (e.g. margarine) a 2 hour daladala ride away. But no matter!  cinnamon rolls, whey bread, ricotta cheese, pierogies, tortillas and guacamole, home-made mango wine, oatmeal cookies...  And that's all done over a charcoal stove, folks.
Part c) City Streets
If you live in a happenin' town, you've got options.  Walk down the street at night and sample chipsi mayai (french fries in egg with spicy sauce), orojo (everything-soup), pweza (grilled octopus), sugar cane juice, skewers of gristly beef, hot milk, turkish coffee, oranges and maybe if you're really lucky you can even find mystery-flavour soft serve ice cream. 

3. Poop
Typically, one squats over a pit toilet.  And cleans with water instead of using toilet paper.  The worst smelling choo (toilet) in all of Tanzania is at the bar in Njombe town near the bus stand.  Recent excitement: a volunteer here fell neck-deep into a pit choo in the dark late at night and had to be pulled out.  Apparently she laughed.
Also, don't eat the shawarma in Stonetown unless you like spending lots of time on the choo.  That is all. 

4. Vacation time!
Travel to Zanzibar and find what are supposed to be the best coral reefs in all of Africa.  Take your snorkel or don't even take your snorkel just dive into the water off Misali island and you're swimming inside one of those "mysteries of the sea" educational underwater life imax films, face to face with a beautiful landscape of multicoloured broccoli forest coral.  You're diving deep enough that your ears ache, but it doesn't matter because you're in the middle of the tropical fish tank at the aquarium.  Clown fish, angel fish of various kinds, schools of little fishies, tropical coloured bigger fish, giant clams that suck themselves in when you approach... And the tidepools are populated with hermit crabs, funny looking green coloured crabs, and all manner of starfish and sea slugs.  Accidentally step on a sea urchin and you're in terrible pain BUT you've got a permanent souvenir of sea urchin bits embedded in your foot.  They're not coming out. 

5. Volunteer culture
They speak in acronyms and kiswahilized English.  They speak of food, poop, and whatever juicy internal volunteer gossip is going around.  Sometimes they speak of hardships at their site (conflicts on the job, trouble integrating, "is what I'm doing really helping anyone?", life before getting the solar cell and single lightbulb, africafe coffee) or what they miss of america ("did you hear that xxxx just got a care package with RANCH SALAD DRESSING mix?!?!?!") but mostly they speak of their everyday life in a very different culture.  Not to mention food. And poop. 

Tromping through the bush in the Njombe Region with our hosts Sara and Jon

Out for a walk with the dog in Ron and Katie's "backyard"

Sunset at the waterfront in Stonetown, Zanzibar

Giant Tropical Avocado Attack!!!  [notice the avocado is approximately the same size as the plate]

Walking the Ngezi forest in search of monkeys

Monkey!!!  We saw a family of at least 20, some came right up to us!

The new Pemba volunteers, Jack and Zack, goofin' off on Misali Island

New Pet!

Katie-imitating-starfish impostor tries to win Dave's affection