Colobus Monkeys in the Land of Spices

Oh yes, two blog posts in less than 24 hours. I am on it.

I find myself with a bit of spare time and some excess energy, having just finished up my Swahili oral exam, waiting for all the rest to finish. I forget to grab my camera on the way out today -- I have an excellent picture (indeed, many, truth be told) to post up here -- so hopefully I'll remember it tomorrow. The computers here seem to be fast enough to actually be able to upload.

So, field trips to go see a family of Zanzibarian Colobus monkeys (who are endemic to the island) in their native habitat? I'm down. And then walking through a mangrove marsh on the mangrove roots themselves? Even more so. And then going to tour a spire farm where they grow essentially everything that the Western world uses for baking? Heck yes indeed.

Today was an early day, entailing getting up at an ungodly seven o'clock and leaving the hotel at eight to head out to the Ngozi(?) forest for a few hours of monkey spotting before the suns heat drove them into sleepy recluse. I can't shake the feeling when we all board these buses that this is just one massive high school field trip that goes on for three months. Which makes it all the more awesome, because it's like field trips and dorm life together.

Stepping back into a forest never stops being able to lower any ambient level of stress; simply the susenence of thousands of unseen insects and the shushed shimmering of the trees around you is enough to make you feel, somehow, like you're at home.

Hiking through the woods with half a group of biology and environmental studies students (and many other majors too), is endlessly endlessly entertaining. Names of plants, exclamations of excitement; it's great to be around so many people who are interested in what is around them. Plus the fact that our teacher knows everything about this place -- well, you can't go wrong.

We found the Colobus Monkeys and descended on them like some sort of Nature Channel paparazzi, to which they have been pretty acclimated to over the many years of their life with tourists abounding. But still, they were incredible. So unbelievably human. I'll post a picture next go around.

We then were able to walk around on the actual roots of the mangroves by the coast, and feel what it must have been like for locals years and years ago as they explored the island without the handy boardwalk that we had access to.

So, enough touristy things.

We headed off next to a spice farm where they grew everything fragrant and wonderful in baking, and we simply could not get enough of it. Cloves (only able to grow on Zanzibar & Pemba, believe it or not), nutmeg ( which is actually a nut with a beautifully decorated shell - red streatks running down it), mace (which is the outside of the nutmeg shell), cocoa! (AHH!), coffee, starfruit, passionfruit, vanilla bean, black pepper (which is just a measly looking, non-descript vine), coconut, curry powder (made from a bright yellow root), ginger, massala, and cinnamon. Mmmm.

Did you know that menthol -- the stuff in cough drops -- is from the same tree as cinnamon? All that menthol is is the root of the cinnamon tree, which is unbelievable. Also, cocoa beans grow right out of the side of the tree itself, and look quite goofy. The leaves of all these plants smell like the spice itself. Starfruit grows off the side of the tree, like actually right off of the bark, and not in bunches in the leaves. And on, and on. SO AMAZING.

The family also wove us some baskets out of palm fronds, which they let us keep. And their hospitality also included some tasty coconut milk, which we drank straight from the fruit itself. We actually saw one of the local boys climb up the tree -- a 35 to 40 foot tree, mind you -- without a harness, to go and pick more. He did some acrobatics on the way down.

In return, we looted the supply of spices that they had bagged up for sale, and gave them quite a bit of business for the day, which we felt great about. Sustainable harvesting going on, right there. I got what must have been 50 dollars worth of spices for 7000 Tanzanian Shillings (about 5 or 6 dollars), and the guy even threw in a bag of saffron for free. Super, super cool. Our hands all still smell of a cocktail of exotic hand rubs by way of the many leaves that passed through our fingers today. I'd be okay if it didn't go away.

Alright, pictures tomorrow to add on to the post. I will try my hardest to make it happen! But if it doesn't, well... hakuna matata (which is indeed a true swahili phrtase, though the locals think it's hilarious when we use it).

With that, tutaonana badaaye, and you'll hear more from me soon. Last little bit before I disappear!

Love,

Zach

Marriage Proposals & The Sick Ward

Greetings from the sultry, humid, Omani-infused island of Zanzibar!

(Zanzibar... just say it... it's something about the twos 'z's...)

Situated here in the center of what used to be the location of one of the largest trading empires of the Indian Ocean, and also the site of the Indian Ocean Slave Trade which supplied the Arabian Peninsula with any number of concubines and other forced labor throughout the years. It is also now one of the largest tourist sites in East Africa, so the streets are flooded with white people from all over, who, we must say, are pretty funny to watch.

So, it's been a, well, intense couple of days, to say the least. And that's for all involved.

Last time I wrote we were still in coastal Mombasa, gearing up to cross the border into Tanzania and then for our island expeditions.

We left Mombasa in a sauna of a bus (30 people breathing at 8AM in humid Mombasa with a boatload of gear -- understandable, but perhaps not so much desirable) headed down for Dar Es Salaam, stopping off in Tanga which is where we were slated to catch our plane off the mainland later in the day.

Mombasa is encased by two inlets/bays, one to the north of the city and one to the south. The one in the north is the older, and historic, of the two, as it is shallow and boats are easily able to dock there right in the heart of the trading center. Mombasa is unique along the coast because it offers an access point from the reefs that surround the entire East African coastline where the reefs disappear for a short bit and open up, allowing ships to easily get to land. This, of course, is why it has been the powerhouse of the Swahili culture and trade exchange for over a thousand years -- they quite literally have a monopoly on the docking points. The other bay of Mombasa is a deep, deep water one that the Americans during the Gulf War paid to have deepened even more so that they could store their ships there, as it was the only friendly port from that point on north. Consequently, there is no bridge across that bay, even though it is the only way to get to Tanzania from Mombasa. As we started down the ramp to the bay, the bus driver kicked us off of the bus (with all our stuff on it), and we walked down to the dock where a huge ferry chugs along all day, moving throngs of working people and huge buses, motorcycles and commuter cars back and forth. We went across on one of the earlier ones, and then waited for a long, hot thirty minutes for our bus to come meet us again. Good fun, all around.

After getting back on, we sped along through the coastal countryside -- staggering amounts of coconut trees, women in beautiful, vibrant kangas and head coverings hauling bunches of bananas at their sides, mud huts with palm thatched roofs -- windows wide, hair flying (at least mine, the Jesus hair as it is well known now), thick air flowing through us. It took about three hours to reach the Tanzanian border on nice paved road.

Once we got to the border though, conditions changed, noticeably. First off, everything became Swahili. And gramatically correct, fast Swahili. Polepole, tafadhali became a phrase we used frequently over the next week.

The border crossing felt like a rip off. Visas go for 100 USD each, so since half of the group had already gotten theirs, we only had a $1,300 reciept. Could have been $2,500. Yikes. Make a lot of money off of American tourists, and I'm skeptical as to where it actually goes. Especially regarding the fact that the customs building had a room that was simply marked "Interrogation Room." Nice.

The road after the border turned into what would pass for a one lane unpaved backroad back in the states. However, it was actually the main way through to Dar Es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania. And our bus was hurtling on it at what was easily 60 mphs. Super glad I was not in the front seat...

We got to Tanga and bid goodbye to most of our stuff as it was sent to where we'll be next week. What we were left with was a less than 15 kilo (33 pound) daypack with all of the stuff we needed for Pemba and Zanzibar (10 days). The airport at Tanga was wonderful and nearly laughable. Small planes only, bag scanning consisting of the main guy asking, "sir, do you have an weapons in the bag?" and then tossing it into the pile to be stowed, and security was passed through by literally the waving of a wand (a wand with special metal sensing powers, of course).

We got on the plane giddy with excitement -- for it was a small Cesna 200 (or something like that) that only seats 14 people. Though I'd been in a plane that small before, the excitement never ceases to grab you. I can't believe how small this is! We're going to be flying over the ocean! I might vomit on you! Stuff like that.

The flight to the Emerald Island of Pemba was beautiful. We were only at 3500 feet up, so far below the clouds, and we could see the crstaline blue waters of the coral atolls and white sand beaches of the equatorial islands of the Zanzibar Archipelago. Many shutters snapping, many gasps of excitement, much nose grease pressed ontop the hermetically sealed windows.

We touched down on in the main village of Chake-Chake on Pemba at around 5PM, and thewn headed off to our beautiful guest house for the night, with a huge rooftop balcony where we all ate a wonderful dinner of fresh tuna and all sorts of fruit.

There is a species of bat that is endemic to the island of Pemba (meaning it exists there and only there) called the Pemba Flying Fox that flies out in droves right at dusk. At first, we jumped in excitement at seeing one, beating its wings just over the balcony and flying inbetween us and the Indian Ocean. Silent passing by. And then, quite literally without any notice, the sky filled with their elegant forms flapping above us as they came out to eat their allotment of fruit and insects for the night. Completely and utterly surreal. They were so close -- remember, these are massive bats -- and we couldn't hear a single sound from them. They glided above us by the thousands. Quite incredible.

Then began the entertainment for the night.

Quite a few people had been feeling the effects of foreign microscopic creatures in their stomach over the past few days, and it was only a matter of time before it spread to more people. I started feeling it right before dinner, so I was only able to eat a little bit of tuna, and I retired early that night. There were four of us in the room -- Sam, Miles, Anton and I -- and no one else was sick but me. By the time I woke up the next morning after a measly two or three hours of sleep, we got to talking and found our that none of us had really slept and that over the course of a few hours, we all had gotten whatever it was that floating around, meaning that the toilet received quite a workout that night. As we lay in bed in what we then dubbed "The Sick Ward," groaning over the fact that we seemed to have nothing left in our bodies, we thought about the fact that we were supposed to start our Pemba homestays that morning, and that it already sounded like a bad idea.

By the time the bus came to pick us up, Anton was feeling much better, and I was feeling passable enough to give the experience a try. We crammed into two "dalla-dallas" -- the pick-up converted to taxi vehicles (check out the picture to the right... we were crammed in there) -- on the island, and headed off to the remote village of Tumbe on the northern tip of the island.

I felt pretty marginal the whole ride up, bouncing around, sucking in dust and exhaust, but once we got there I was sort of stuck and decided that I best go for it. We were all gathered together in our Muslim garb, patiently and quite nervously waiting for our families to pick us up.

I was the first to be called. With a note of embarassment, as I had no idea what my host brother was saying, I picked up my stuff and headed out, sweating like no other, to my house for the next two days.

I'm usually alright with going out of my cultural comfort zone, but this was an experience that pushed the envelope at all corners. As soon as I got back to the house, I dropped my stuff off and sat outside with my host brother, and before I had even sat down, a swarm of people -- probably close to 30 of them -- had gathered around me, staring staring staring at me. I tried to say something in Swahili and they all threw their heads back and laughed. They then proceeded to ask me questions in rapid, dialectic Swahili to which I could only stare and say "sifahamu (I don't understand), tena polepole (repeat slowly)," to which they laughed at again. For the entirety of the few hours I was there, I was like a circus act -- stares followed me wherever I went.

Our student leader hunted me down after a few hours -- she knew I was sick -- and said that she really wanted me to go back to the hotel, to which I gladly agreed. I spent the rest of the day sleeping, trying to break whatever it was that was in me, hoping to feel better the next day.

I should just let myself rest....

But this is such an experience that one of ever gets to do....

So I went back to the village the next morning and stayed at Alex (our student leader)'s house, socializing with her sisters for most of the afternoon. I was still lightheaded, and really did not feel like being stared at more. Instead, there were a bunch a kids around me most of the day, most of them sixth grade girls who were really eager to learn English, and to ask me questions. They were so nice, and I had a great time exchanging words on animal names, food names, names of eyes, ears nose, mouth, and basic swahili.

One of Alex's host sisters though (who is 20), decided to sit with me a little bit later, and at that point my learning sort of ceased as I became markedly more self-concious of my poor swahili. What can I say? -- She was incredibly pretty and speaking to me in a language I spoke like a two-year old. As conversation progressed at its laughable pace, with a whole bunch of good mannered jokes in there, she asked me, with a bat of the eyelids, if I wanted to marry her and take her back to the states with me. "Bila shaka!" (Of course!) And then we arranged that she would come back with me at some point and that we would be "wapenzi" -- lovers. She took a ring from her finger (forget the fact that she slid it off first...), gave it to me, and with a flourish I slid it back on to her finger and we celebrated with a good-hearted laugh and twingling of eyes. (Picture of her on the side! Though she's not looking at the camera...)

I left later that night to sleep one more day in the hotel -- still feeling off -- and came back to the village the final morning to pick up the rest of the group. Moza (that's her name) and I shouted to each other that "sitasahau wewe!" (I will not forget you!), and that someday we would be together. I'll miss her.

But.... I did give her my phone number back in the states, so you never know....

Other's experiences with Tumbe were not so pleasant, and if I were a white female, neither would have mine. Since the village is dominated by these groups of young men, checks on sexual advnacves are pretty non-existent, so the females of our group got incessant marriage proposals (ones that were not lighthearted, like mine), and even had demands for them to sleep in the same bed as some of the host brothers. Completely unexpected variables in this experience that no one on the trip -- even the leaders -- has anticipated, and which we are trying to rememdy for future years. Needless to say, everyone was glad to bid Tumbe goodbye and move on to Zanzibar.

And now I find myself running out of internet time and nearing dinner, so with that, I bid you adieu, and send much love to everyone back in the States! Had the most incredible gelato today at this Italian Restaurant right on the Indian Ocean, and pizza with real mozarello cheese. Oh man... living the life.

Learning much, as always, and living in the light of the ceaseless amazement afforded by human culture.

More from me soon before I head off into the bush! Leaving Zanzibar on Friday, so I'm sure I'll be back to the internet at some point before then. Love the comments!

Salaam,

Zach

Aleku Salaam

Hello to all from the dripping humidity of the East African Coast,



(I'm used to it of course, so no big :P)



It is impossibly hard to remember that we are indeed still in Kenya, much less Africa. I feel like I have been transported to some paradisical port on the Arabian Penisula, where the palms sway and the Indian Ocean rolls in and the people speak straight coastal Swahili, which has much more of an Arabic twinge to it (the greeting to the post is the greeting that we have been getting by everyone here on the coast -- it literaly means, peace be with you, though I may have spelled the first word wrong). People here are beautiful -- I mean that in all ways. Men and women both look "smart" (as the people will tell us) at all times, and they have a sense of life where you take things as they come, which is even more pronounced here than in Nairobi.



As unfamiliar as I still am with Islam, I already like it much more than the strange breed of Christianity in Nairobi. Somehow, it just feels better here. That may have something to do with the fact that the Swahili Coast has had contact with the Muslims of Arabia for over a Millenium now, so their depth of faith, tradition, and culture is astounding. Mosques are stunning buildings, and I feel so peaceful walking past them. And there is certainly something about the lilt of the calls to prayer that echo through the skinny, wandering roads of the beautiful Old Town (it reminds me very much of the old parts of cities in Europe, where cars were not even a consideration) that makes me want to go and partake even more so in the culture.



Before we go too far, it is worth mentioning the 10 hour adventure on the bumpy roads of the central highlands. We saw our first: giraffe! ostrich! wildebeast! elephants! olive baboons! thomson's gazelles! kudus! all of which were within sight from the road. My first thoughts when I saw the family of baboons looking up at us from the road was the incredible connection we have to all primates -- they made eye contact with us, and I am almost certain I saw a little glint of humor in their eyes as they saw a bus-full of wazungu (whote people) pass by them. I think we even stand out to them.



We sped through some beautiful, desolate land, and saw some rather sobering facts about living in the dry plains between Nairobi and Mombasa. Huts made of plastic bags, squatters in quite seriously the middle of nowhere. But I bet if you talked to them they would still have a spark of life that I have been able to classify as distinctly African.



As soon as we got to the 1000 year old city of Mombasa, there was an immidiate difference from the land that we had just driven through. Palms swayed on the road, and we saw people decked out in their Ramadhan best, as the fast was breaking when we drove in. Colors everywhere, markets, people, and old architechture, which is such a contrast from Nairobi which in my mind still feels like it doesn't belong (kind of in the middle of dry, dry land).



We went to a little carnival the night we got here, which involved some sketchy swings that were handpushed, but looking incredibly fun, lots of Swahili, lots of kids running around, and some loud music. Brought me back to the greasy carnivals of New Windsor, Maryland. Mmm.



The next day we woke up and headed out as a group to buy our Muslim wear for the next week and a half. The guys went into one shop, led around by, believe it or not, the most esteemed Swahili Poet in the world right now, an older Swahili Man by the name of Ahmed Shiekh. He read us some of his poems today, which was pretty neat to hear.



The guys all bought what are called kanzu, which essentially are light cloth (usually polyester, though I imagine they were real silk back before plastics) robes that go all the way down to just above your ankles. In all reality, I think they are quite beautiful. We also bought some Muslim caps, which I believe are called kafa, that complete our outfit.



The girls went to a different shop to purchase bui-bui's, if I have spelled that right, which are the traditional black robes and black head coverings that the people of Islam are known to wear. Some were not looking forward to it, but they grew on just about everyone. And I must say, there is a certainly hidden grace and beauty that is evoked by the women when they are wearing these clothes; I can see how to the tradition is not so much repression of women as it is a more subtle sense of beauty than we perhaps are used to in the Western world. Very cool, all around.



As we walked the streets with our new garb, we were treated completely differently than we were before. People could not stop holding us up on the road to tell us how absolutely beautiful we looked, and how much they loved our choice. Rather than being passive observers of the culture, we now entered into actually experiencing it full out. Some people asked us if we were Muslim, but most just greeted us with warm smiles and an "aleku salaam." I am not kidding you when I say that we legitimately walked away from some absolutely horrible, abnoxious Americans walking down the street: huge brightly colored tanks tops, tattoos down the arms, shorts, sneakers, arrogant sunglasses. Yikes, man. They didn't even give us a second look. I'm convinced that we blend in. And I really think this experience has made me acutely feel what a different traveling experience people could have if they tried a little harder topush beyond their comfort zones and embrace more fully a culture that is foreign to them. You risk the potential of seeming like you are impersonating them, and perhaps mocking them, but as long as you approach it with a respect for the way of life, my suspicion is that people will welcome you into their restaurants and places like you have been living there your whole life.

Last night, our teacher Dave treated us to a spectacular five-star dining experience in an old Colonial British Club, that he is a member of of course (Dave knows everone, seriously. And is the nicest guy ever....), right on the water of the bay and Ocean. The accomodations were stunning: lime juice on the balcony, a huge patio to eat on, the plam trees fanning us as they blew in the late evening breeze, the stars shining, and the incredible experience of eating with what has become a tightly-knit group.

Afterwards, we headed back to the hotel to have a drink with our teachers Ken and Dave, which is always a good time.

We have the rest of today off, and Anton and I are planning on finding some good eats, exploring Old Town Mombasa, and going out later tonight with the whole group to a local watering hole. And using up our stipend money for the day in the process, of course....

Tomorrow we head off to cross the Tanzania border, and then to hop on a small plane (which is going to be super cool) over to the island of Pemba, where we will spend one more night in a hotel prior to meeting our new families in a little town on the north of the island. Pemba has no internet, as far as we know, and the town we are in has absolutely no electricity, so you won't hear from me for the next five days or so. But you can be sure I'm thinking of you! :)

Alright, time to explore and eat more good food than is humanly possible.

Salaam,

Zach

Leaving the Highlands

Hello hello!

So, today is my final day in Nairobi, and while the prospect of leaving our host families and leaving this city that we have become pretty comfortable in is a bit of a bummer, we all can barely hold back the excitement that we have for the days ahead of us.

The schedule, as far as I know it, looks roughly like this:

Leave Nairobi on the 20th at 8AM to travel by bus to the coastal city of Mombasa. Mombasa is a heavily Muslim city, given the constant cultural exchange with the Middle East and the Indian Ocean from the 7th century on, and what is really exciting is the fact that Ramadhan is predicted to end the night that we arrive there, so the city will be ablaze with celebration of the breaking of the fast, and with all sorts of music and people and culture surrounding us. Will be really neat. For all you don't know, Ramadhan is based on the lunar months, as is the Muslim Calendar, so we can never really predict when the fast will break.

We'll be in Mombasa for three days, from the 20th to the 23rd, and we'll be back in a hotel again (which means a reunion with western showers...). We'll be led around by a Muslim Scholar and Poet (I believe his name is Ahmed Sheikh), and we'll be decked out in Muslim garb while we stroll the city. We'll also get to participate in a Muslim prayer of some sort within a mosque there, which will be an experience few westerners get to do. Very cool indeed. We'll also see Ft. Jesus, a huge Portuguese fort built by those Iberian Peninsulars back in the 16th century. History! Sweet deal.

From there, we will cross the Tanzanian border on the 23rd, and leave most of our stuff in the city of Tanga while we bring a 15 kilo bag for the next tens days with us aboard a tiny little pond skipping plane over to the island of Pemba. Pemba is a super remote island off the coast of Tanzania, and as far as I know, they still do not have electricity. Of course, it is heavily Muslim like the coast, and this is where we will commence our second homestay. Whoa. We'll be in a culture that is subsistence, day-to-day based, and one that speaks little to no English. My swahili is certainly not up to par yet, but we'll see how I fare when I am there. My guess is that it will be pretty challenging, with lots of gestures, awkward laughs, and other funny cultural quips. And the waters of Pemba look outrageous -- take a look at google images to see what I mean.

We'll be there until the 26th, and then we'll take a little ferry over to Zanzibar, which is one of the most historically entranched islands on the Indian Ocean. You guessed it, heavily Muslim again, but it has the strange dynamic of having a very touristy aspect too it, which many of the locals are not all that fond of. Once we are dressed in our Muslim garb though, we are not even seen as tourists; we are seen as quite beautiful.

The Zanzibar journey will end on the first of October, and at that point we will be almost a third of the way through our structured trip already. So hard to believe.

I will probably have internet until I leave Zanzibar (but not in Pemba), and then a little bit in Arusha in mainland Tanzania, but after that, it's time for intense safari and homestay with Maasai and all manner of other ridiculous experiences. But you can be sure that I am keeping a journal, and that I'll type it all up once I get back in.

Alright, that's all for now. Anton, our friend Rachel and I enjoyed a bustling night downtown, where we met with someone Rachel, who is super involved in the youth climate change movement back at home, knows from over the internet. She's the main coordinator of the youth climate change movement in Kenya, which is super cool. So awesome to see people mobilized all the way over here -- and the way that Rachel and her talked with overflowing enthusiam gave me great hope. It seems that above all the youth of Kenya want a fair climate agreement coming out of Copenhagen (which is where the succesor to Kyoto will be finalized in December), and they aren't seeking vengeance against the west for what they have caused. The West should be held to high standards, for sure, but the developing world needs to as well, she said. The world is gearing up for this Copenhagen conference (where both Rachel and the girl we met, Grace, are going), so pay attention to it as the year progresses on, and try to make sure that Obama makes it there. His presense would be huge.

Attracted by the thumping subwoofers that we heard from across the street, we wandered into "Betty's Klub" last night, and like our last bar experience, were the only non-locals. Which was awesome. And the blacklights were on, which made us feel like even our skin was radiating whiteness. As always, good fun. People dancing right next to their tables, singing along to Reggae, bartenders rushing around through the crowds to serve people, and not being able to hold a conversation without yelling.

My host mother gave me an awesome touristy looking "traditional" African shirt and shorts, which contrary to the fact that I stand out even more, I really like them. Earth tones, and it I were to go and lay in the sand, I would be sure to blend in completely.

Sun and Sand, here we come. Hopefully more from me in the upcoming days.

Love,

Zach

Hilly Ramblings

Hello hello hello,

So, today the temperatures have gone up significantly, and coinciding with that, we all are starting to feel the minor exhaustion of being out of one's own country for two weeks. The looks from people as you pass (and the fact that everyone -- literally, everyone -- is staring at you as you walk by), the little "how are yous" from the children starting to be a bit annoying, and the hawkers in the market -- at least in downtown Nairobi -- starting to wear on your patience.

But ... don't think that that gets to me on more than a surface level! Of course not! Hapana bila shaka. Every little hardship or annoyance here is adding to my experience, and I seriously do always feel like I am learning something.

Anyway, that was your liberal arts disclaimer. Now onto the stuff you actually read this blog for.

This weekend in Nairobi has finally made me feel like I am not just a tourist here. After a week of swahili (and a little not too hard test to go along with it), and a week of history and homestays, the weekend of adventures have been premium.

We started it off with a trip on the public busses -- an experience in and of itself -- into downtown on Friday night. Our trip leader, Alex, who was here on the 2007 trip, led a group of twelve of us down to the inner part of the urban metroplex for some dining that was not African food (as much as we all love it.... our system needed something other than rice, chapati, ugali, spinach, and beans), so after wandering around for a while, we found a medium sized place with good ambience and went on in. They separated the group, which was odd, and put three of us, me included, at a random table with two other local women who were sitting on the other side. Again, I love the communal sense of everything here -- in the States, that would never happen. Could you imagine an uptight little WASP family sitting at a restaurant and having two foreigners placed at their table, and then be expected to have a "normal dining out experience" with them there too. I laugh at visualizing how that situation would play itself out.

The first place we stopped at was listed in our guidebook, and we found it nestled snuggly in this super posh hotel, with prices more expensive than the states. We promptly decided that we would go elsewhere. Seeing other white people here weirds me out, even though the entire group is one too. However, and we don't hold it against them, we know that they are tourists, and that we really aren't (though of course we are to a certain extent), so the dynamic is weird. I seriously could not imagine living in this city as an expat. Even if you have been here for thirty years, like our history teacher has been, you will still -- and will always -- get stared at. Having some Swahili at your command is always good, but it only goes so far. People appreciate it, but sometimes they just laugh too as we struggle.

The three of us that sat at the table with the two locals (Hillary, Lila and I), had a really great conversation with them about what life is like here in the thrum and hustle of East Africa's largest, and for all intents only, metropolitan area. They loved our Swahili, and said that we definitely sounded like white people, and graciously decided to teach us some slang so that we could gain some more street cred. Tough to do here, for sure. They also told us that in Nairobi, you party from sun up to sun down, and then move from club to club all night. Pretty funny, as that wasn't any of the people in our group's vibe. The level of education here in Kenya is very high, and it's served us for our stay very well, allowing us to move around fairly easily with our patched swahili and American English (because, of course, they speak British English here, which has its inherent complications when we're misunderstood in both Swahili and English. Gestures are always enjoyable -- universal language pulling us through).

Ah - and a side note. I could drink mango juice all day. Oh my. It is so incredible here. Nzuri sana. Pretty cheap, and so fresh. It wouldn't surprise me to open up the door to the kitchen of the restaurant and see the people back there squeezing the mangoes themselves.

After a good meal of a mozarello (which I'm pretty sure was a mild cheddar, truth be told), tomato, basil and pesto sandwich, and some of the aforementioned drink of the gods, we headed out to an African bar. Oh yes.

Only white peope in there? Easily. And to make the journey even better, and even more culturally exciting, we were a group of ten girls and one guy. That one guy being, of course, curly haired, non-macho me. But man did the Africans treat me with respect. Before we headed out, some of the girls decided that it would probably be best if we designated me as the one husband and the rest of them as my harem. Yikes. That even feels weird to type. But polygamy is fairly common here, and its sway made the young African men I passed eye me with envy. I think I should soak that up while I'm here, because I'd say back in the states, the women rule the social scene.

Many of us ordered the "beer of East Africa", i.e. Tusker, which is a light 4% lager. Being from Portland, most of the students were accustomed to the mainy microbrewed beers of the city, so the African one wasn't all that great, but still -- was good to get a taste of the locals, and they view that beer with quite some pride too. Spirits here are sketchy to buy -- extremely so, actually -- and some people have recently died in Nairobi because of drinking locally made ones that are actually laced with poisons, and made in some pretty suspect ways (think the moonshiners of Tennesee during prohibition). Still, it was nice to be legally allowed to purchase alcohol here, and show that not all teenages do stupid things when they drink.

After about half an hour at a little table tucked away under the TV, where I was asked by a guy if I had any "secrets" -- mistakenly misinterpretting him with his accent when he really meant "cigarettes" -- we decided to go out onto the dance floor, where a mash of African swahili hip hop and American gansta swelled out over the tile and table amidst the swirling mists of the fog machine. Hilariously, we were the only ones out there for a while. Not only the only white people, but the only ones in a sea of locals. I can't even imagine what they were thinking. And to top off the absurdity of it all, the TVs were playing some discovery channel Safari program that involved lions eating antelope. So we danced to the urban bump of hip hop, and to the views of the Serengheti. Most excellent. It was a premium night. (Any of my Everything is Illuminated fans?)

As we were walking out of the bar, I was stopped by both of the guards that stood ourside of tthe place, and they pulled me in with hushed voices, hands on my back, saying, "Hey hey hey, let us buy you drink here, just three of us. You come in and we talk a bit." Nice gesture? Hahaha. It was nice, but you all know what they were getting at. As soon as they would have sat me down, they would have asked, "so, how much for one of your attractive American women?" I'm sure I would have demanded at least 200 cows. Probably more. Nairobi is a sketchy place to be if you have only X chromosomes, and I'm personally really glad that simply my male presence -- which wouldn't get me far in the States -- is enough to keep everyone from being hassled.

We all then tried to hail a taxi, and fit all eight of us in one single car (four people from the group had split off earlier, and took their own cab back). Alex haggled with the drivers in Swahili, driving the price down to where it should have been, while her and I watched all the others pile into the back seat. Can you picture six people in a the three person bench in a back on a civic? The windows were flesh color, with speckles where I believe I saw hair, shirts, and maybe even a shoe. Alex sat on my lap in the front seat. However, they made us get out -- the car was riding down on the wheels they said -- and we had to hunt down another one. Sadness. That would have been an awesome ride.

We finally found two that would work for us, and heading up to our little section of town, which is about half and hour out. The taxi driver got lost, drove us into some creepy area of town, and then had to consult with his other driver as to where we were. Figures that we got the drivers that had just moved to Nairobi too. But, after some time, we made it, all safely back to their own house.

I made it back to mine, and the outside gate was locked up, even though I made sure to tell my family I would be back at 11 or so, so with no options left, and me stnading for longer and longer in a dark alley, I decided to hop the ten foot wall. Great success, other than the tricky and strategically planted thorn bush next to the wall that decided to maul my right arm. For the next day, people kept asking, did you get into a fight with a cat? And then I had to explain the emvarrasing story of how, no, it was a bush. So it goes...

The next day was nothing short of incredible. A group of thirteen of us went up hiking in the Ngong Hills (see picture on the side), which is south of Nairobi up in the hills where many of the old British farms were (and where a huge expat community still lives), and where now the Massai herders that come into the city herd their increasingly gauntly looking cattle around. We went with three host siblings of some of my fellow students, and they were incredible guides and very very funny. They were originally scared of what we might think -- if we would be exhausted and angry at having to do so much hiking -- but soon found out that it's what our group wanted to do best.

We started our jouney with rides on matatus, the crazy decked out vans that roam the city, and the one that we ended up in was the uber Jesus-loving red and green vinyl decked-out machine that decided to grace us with a wonderful song about how "abortion is a crime." Needless to say, the song made all of us very uncomfortable. The religiousness of the area is started to weird us out just a little bit, especially when we get, "do you love God" questions asked to us all along the steets. For the most part, people aren't obnoxious about it, but it still just feels so weird here. I can't get over that fact. And no matter how much cultural immersion I get myself into, I don't think I'll ever understand Jehovah Witnesses. My host mother was trying to tell me why they don't delebrate holidays, and while I really really appreciated her willingness to talk to me about it all, and her openness to my own beliefs, I still just don't understand why they would abstain from celebratory occasions. But I'm rambling now....

The Ngong hills were spectacular, and the views from the tops of the hills -- which are sort of captured in the picture I've posted on the side -- were so uplifting and made all of us so excited to get out on safari and on the road. Jagged mountains, plains strecthing into more ranges, green undulating hills, ooohhh man. And, we saw a colubus monkey too. Pretty sweet.

We played some frisbee on top, and then a fun little game involving chucking a hacky-sack ball with all your might at other people. Ate good food, got some nice sun burn (though my New Mexico tan is holding out for me), and enjoyed a day outside of the city, which we all really needed.

Anton and I had plans to go down to a nightclub later in the evening, but unfortunately I had to bail on him. Super tired, and the idea of heading on down there when it was so late and when I had no energy just sounded like trouble. We were going to go down with his host brother and some of his host brother's friends, who we all met, but at the last minute we decided against it. Funny side note again -- Edward, Anton's host brother, took the water bottle that I was holding (I sadly had to buy a bottled one...) after I had finished it and said, "here, let me take care of that." He then dropped the bottle on the ground and said that there's no law in Kenya against that, so the streets are littered with garbage. Most of it is burned, but a lot of it isn't. Anton and I had to hold back our natural instinct to pick up the bottle, and both felt bad afterwards. It's no fault of Edwards, just a cultural norm that we are not used too. By the way, for more accounts of these stories, check out Anton's blog at: antongabrielson.wordpress.com.

Today, Anton and I went down into town, ate some greasy food (which we were sorry for), then went on a search for yogurt because we thought it would help our greaded up stomachs (it didn't, by any means), and then decided that we should take the bumpy bus ride back up. The bus didn't drop us off where it was supposed to, so we had to navigate our way back to where we were staying on our own, which was good fun. Lots of dust and exhaust in the eyes as we wandered back. Also, I failed to mention that I was called Jesus yesterday by a passerby, which I thought I should share :) We also went to the market today, and were heckled like crazy to buy touristy trinkets. It was bad news. People sadly just don't seem to realize that white travelers are much more likely to buy good if they are given just a little bit of breathing room. It's one "cultural experience" that I really just can't appreciate. Sadly, I see the desperation behind some of their eyes, and I realize we must reek of money, but still. It's unfortunate for everyone involved.

More class tomorrow -- one more week -- and then we are off to Mombassa! So very excited to get to the coast, see beautiful water, and get a change of scenery. I know that two weeks will be about all of Nairobi that we'll be able to handle. Snorkeling, learning about Islam, getting to wear man skirts -- good times for all.

That's all for now! As always, thanks for reading, and I'm sure you'll hear again from me soon.

Peace, love and happiness,

Zach

Cows in the Streets

Hamjambo warafiki na jamaa,

Two blog posts in three days? Quite a luxury to be so close to an internet cafe, and this time.... I don't have a sticky keyboard, like all of the other ones in these cafes are. So you may very well be granted with my characteristic long windedness. Huzzah!

I just watched through the open windows of the cafe as a herd of Massai cows passed by in the busy Kabira Street outside. As I was typing, I heard a "moo", and being from Carroll County, the sound was quickly dismissed in my mind. But then I thought about it and wondered, why am I hearing a cow in the middle of a city?

Quite the same story all around the city. I hear that the drought here is so bad in the highlands that some of the Massai have had to abandon their traditional routes and stake their claim in Nairobi, where they presumed the conditions were better. Unfortunately, they are not. The herds that walk around are like ghosts of cows. Ribs stare at you through tightly pressed skin, and their eyes are not the glass-like balls we are accustomed to laughing at as we make eye contact with the cattle of home. Distant eyes, languid movements, dust kicked up behind them. The lack of water is indeed killing many things, and not only people.

I am already feeling bad for those showers I took in our very Western hotel at the beginning of the trip. And I am now quite content with the warm pail of water that I have in the morning, and my Dr. Bronners and camp towel that I use for bathing. I don't think I'll be able to look at water the same way ever again after this experience.

Speaking of Dr. Bronners, I lost my small tube of toothpaste yesterday (I have since found it), so to brush my teeth this morning, I decided to try to use the Magic, All-Purpose, 42-Uses-In-One Soap on my teeth. Eucalyptus flavor, just so you can imagine it better. Just because something says it can be used for a certain purpose, doesn't mean it should. At least I was attractive to the pandas (though unfortunately, there are none here....)

Ah, one more thing on cows. One of my friends today was offered a cow for 500 shillings (which is about 7 dollars) by someone on the street. Very skinny cow, I can only presume, but still, I laugh to think of one of our students coming back to houst family bearing an entire cow. Humor aside, this is indicative of a much larger issue that I mentioned before: people are being driven from poverty into desperation very quickly, and if the rains don't come soon, Nairobi is in deep trouble.

Yesterday I played a legitimate game of soccer with some locals. Well, it wasn't quite legitimate.... the goal was a rock and a shoe, and the field was ridden with potholes and wandering goats, but nonetheless.... still was a beautiful game. The real field was in use by some intense, super talented Kenyans, so the group of us four wazungu (plural white people) and a group of about eight or so friendly Kenyans set up our own little impromtu field. One, I had forgotten how much I absolutely love that game, and two, I had not realized how my only slightly developed futball skills are no match whatsoever to these players with no training whatsoever. The craze with soka (the swahili word) or football (they call it the right thing! Yes!) is incredible, as I have mentioned before. I returned home with my feet the color of the red soil (I played in my Keens), feeling great. My next goal is to teach some of the locals how to play frisbee -- no one here has any idea what they are supposed to do with that flying disk of plastic.

Class continues to be fascinating. Our history class is covering nearly every one of the topics that I am intrigued by from an environmental perspective. "Development" (or we have no decided to call it "well-being"; who is going to tell an African that they are "under-developed, or "developing when all they want to do is continue their traditional way of life?), traditional vs. modern takes on what should be valued (Nairobi is the center of this, and East Africa is in a state of extreme flux right now regarding what is actually going on with their culutre. Still reeling from the effects of colonialism and trying to establish their own sense of "national identity" even though the borders of the countries themselves were shaped by the colonizers. Super interesting time to be over here), environmental ethos, water use/preservation, and on. Our class is also tying in very closely with the thesis of a book I recently read, Ishmael, on the clash between the "Takers" -- western society, agricultural, settled, and essentially a society that is hurtling towards the ground in it's ever present attempt to supress the forces of the environment -- and the "Leavers" -- the people who did not follow the agricultural revolution, and kept to their own pastoral lifestyles, ones in which the thread of thought on how to live -- "ancient knowledge", as we might call it -- is unbroken from the creation of their kin. Intriguing book, and one that certainly left me with chills. I've been thinking about it the whole time I've been here. Anton also read it over the summer, and we're both really excited to come into contact with one of the few remaining Leaver peoples -- the Hadzu (if I have spelled it correctly) -- later in the trip. Check the book out if you want a deeply thought-provoking take on population explosion, and what it all may entail for cultures and peoples around the world.

Swahili is proving to be more and more difficult, and we all left our four hour session this morning feeling thoroughly saturated -- to the point of over-saturation -- with verb constructions and all manner of foreign sounding words. The think with learning, say... Spanish, is that it is still very close to our language, being based on a Romantic lexicon. Here, nothing sounds the same, and their are no cognates to go off of -- it's all new. So at first, it seems doable, but as the time has gone on, and the verb list has grown to 70 some verbs in less than a week, I'm feeling a bit overwhelemed. Not to mention a significant test on Friday. Welcome back to college!

I've been taking very few pictures, mainly because I look so so so white when I take my camera out. We're not in a touristy area of the town at all; it is right in the middle of a well established section of Nairobi. So I need to be very covert with my picture taking, which makes me all the more suspect. 'Tis a dilemna. Hopefully I'll get some pictures in soon, and will try to upload them if I am able to. If not, I hear that Ken, our professor, has been uploading some pictures to our trip website (lclark.edu/~clifton/EA09/). It doesn't look like there are many up there now, but I know he'll put some more up soon.

So, for all my avocado lover back home, think back to what you paid for the last one you bought. Here, they're 10 shillings, which is about 15 cents. A bit absurd, eh?

Also, in Swahili today, we learned that there is no word for the adverb "late". For example, you cannot say "I woke up late." Instead, you have to say "it was late when I woke up." This nuance takes all possesion of being late off of the person, which I had to laugh about. So incredibly indicative of the culture ... everything in its own time.

Enough for now, eh? Glad to see that everyone is enjoying what I'm writing; keep up the comments! I love hearing from you.

Kwa herini sasa (goodbye for now). Amani.

Love,

Zach

Africa Time

Hamjambo rafiki wangu!

(Which means "Hello my friend!")

As the title of this post states, I am now on "Africa Time" -- which is extremely laid back and one where things come to you as they do. Thus my lull in posting over the weekend. Apologies.

I'm now in a section of Nairobi called Satellite/Riruta, where the people of my class are truly the only "mzungu" -- humorous local name for white people -- around. We have reached Africa proper, where the roads are dusty, the matatus belch black diesel, and stray goats, dogs, and cats linger on the sides of streets. Where little schoolchildren follow you around with the persistent stream of words "hello, how are you?" (and no matter how many time you answer "good" or "nzuri", they keep asking with huge smiles on their faces, running after you), where Maasai fleeing the drought of their homelands herd their cattle through the streets, where people welcome you into their house at any time with "karibu!" and there is always movement.

I have SO MUCH to say! Where to even begin...

Families here absolutely love hearing about where you are from, and your family in particular. They could care less about what the place actually looks like, but they will study a picture of family intensely, saying, "Oh! You look like both of these grandparents! And like your mom! And sister!" Of course, we probably look like a massive family of mzungus to them, but I really think they enjoy seeing the family line, and are very curious about how close you live to everyone and what your relationship with everyone is. My host mother in particular found it intriguing that nearly all mothers in the states hold a job. Here, they are still emerging from the clutches of a very patriarchial society, and the incredibly rapid urbanization of Nairobi has also presented some interesting obstacles for women to overcome (chiefly, the stigma that all independent women who carry themselves fine on their own are looking for sex and are prostitutes).

American/Western culture is clearly in vogue with the young of the city, and to them, is viewed as superior. They follow European -- particularly British, their former oppressor, oddly enough -- football (the REAL kind, i.e. soccer) with a verge that rivals our obsession with pigskin. American television is funneled into the home via the TV that is seemingly on at all hours of the day (it is background to many of them), and it's the first time in years that I have viewed an American show. The first thing I watched was "Remember the Titans" with my host brother, and it's so interesting how little they know of the South, and how much they simply laughed at the silly predjudiced white men in the movie. All that I could do was shake my head and say, "yes, that was my country." The African-Americans in the movie though do not strike any sort of emotive connection with them though; of course, they see them as simply American too. Very interesting.

I have also had nonstop chai. Seriously. The host mothers here cannot understand how we are so skinny, and take it as their raison de etere to feed us to the African standard (where oldness is revered and respected, and least by those who still followed the more traditional mindsets, and a little bit of skin is entirely healthy). "Chai" means "tea" in swahili, so I can't help but laugh when I think of in the states how we ask for "chai tea", which is essentially saying "tea tea." They like lots of sugar in their drink, and stir in lots of milk as well. Nzuri sana (so good).

Nairobi is in a serious, serious water drought right now. My host father works with Nairobi Water, and they are constantly scrambling to find different ways to weather this spell. Because so much of Nairobi's electricity is generated by hydro power, and since the rivers that used to generate it are running completely dry, not only do they have little water, there is also electricity rationing, where entire sections of the city are shut off from their electricity for a few hours daily. Intense times, for sure.

I set out a bag of Dove chocolate (from mom!) to share with some of my host family, and I only got one piece before the whole thing was gone. Sharing here is taken seriously -- they don't hold back. If you offer, they take. Really funny to notice the difference in mannerisms.

Also, believe it or not, I went to a church service. Jehovah Witness of all things (egad!). My host mother and brother went, so why not? I want to experience as much of this culture as I can. And truth be told, it was pretty standard. All english too. However, Anton's family, who is also Jehovah Witness, ventured off to a HUGE service a little ways from the house that was literaly 1,000 people (official count of 1003), and went on for seven hours. Yeah. Seven hours. I don't know.... that might have been too much culture for me....

Bathing here is hot water, a washcloth, and good ole Daktari Bronner's. With the water shortage, a western shower would be downright offensive, and I don't think I could go about my day with the knowledge that the water I used could have been the only water some people got for a day. I get the feeling that I will have to get used to feeling of somewhat greasy hair...

I also am going to try to persuade one of my host relatives to corn-row my hair. Can you say awesome? Heck yes.

My swahili is gradually getting there. I still say ridiculous things and end up having my host family laugh at me for them, but it is still quite an experience to walk the streets actually being able to speak the language and not look like an absurd tourist. I've been having to resist taking out my camera all the time though... people already stare at you, and with a camera out too... not good for the street credibility.

I was given a Maasai kanga (a traditional cloth dress worn by the tribe) by my family, so I hope to be able to pull it off at some point. You only wear your birthday suit underneath, so I feel it will be fitting for Lewis & Clark. Awesome way to introduce myself to all the new freshman when I get back? Oh yes. I will be know as Rafiki Zach the Swahili Mystic.

Alright, alright, alright (I am saying this to my computer, which is now saying I owe my money for the internet)

More soon, as always! And please comment on this post with any questions you might have of life over here -- I would love to have more of an interactive blog going on.

Love to everyone!

Zach

Very Short...

I have only five minutes to write this before my internet time runs out, but I just wanted to put up another post to say that I'm doing wonderfully, learning lots and lots of Kiswahili, and picking up more and more on the African way of life.

I had lunch today at a little shack for 50 shillings -- 75 cents, essentially -- and was so full. It is again amazing how far money goes, and how frugal people can be.

Tomorrow we begin our Nairobi homestays! Very very excited for beginning them.

Will put up more soon.

Zach

Kiswahili!

Hamjambo!

My classmates and I have just finished 7 hours of Swahili training, and though I would love to show you all what I have learned, my mind is so crammed with new sounds and meanings that I think my native tongue, one in which I don't have to consciously think about what I am saying, is the only one I will be able to use for the rest of the day. Other than perhaps the standard phrases of Hujambo and Sijambo, Asante sana (which is what rafiki sing in his squash banana song... which means "thank you"...), and habari gani (what's up, roughly), and nzuri (good) which I am using routinely with people. It's incredible though to be stepping out into the streets today, after our lessons in the Guest House we are staying in, and be able to pick up on some of what people are saying, and are a bit able to join in. I am really looking forward to speaking it more conversationally in the days to come.

Feeling very jet-lagged, and most of us were in bed by 7pm last night. Dinner was dining with zombies.

Waking up this morning was spectaclar thogh; the realization that I am halfway around the world, in a completely foreign culture and place, is damn exciting.

I think I mentioned it in my blog post from yesterday, but the traffic here is out of control. I'd say the thing that most endangers my life everyday are the street crossings. No stop signs. Anywhere. No signs to speak other, other than some standard intersection street signs. Right of way, yielding... ha! Doesn't exist. You have to have some serious gusto to brave these streets in a car. And there are these huge vans, decked out with decals and handpainted mantras and logos, that cruise up and down the streets with a guy hanging out of the side yelling in loud swahili, stopping occasionally to pick up someone that hails them from the side. If I'm ever in dire straights, I think I'll reclaim the totaled mini-van from home and convert it into one of these (can't remember the swahili name for them right now...) and make a little side income. Would certainly be a ride to tell stories about.

It's a cool feeling to have converted some of my US dollars into Kenyan Shillings (exchange is about 75 Ksh to 1 USD), and to now be walking around with them. When I pull them out of my pocket, I have to think about how much they are worth, and it's strange to not immidiately know what you could buy with that money. Just reaffrims the fact that currency is indeed simply paper, and it's the cultural context in which you are in that actually gives that paper any leverage or meaning. Plus, like all other currency, Kenyan shillings are infinitely cooler to look at that bland American dollars. The 1000 Ksh note has elephants on the back. Always a sweet deal. We should have mountain lions on the back of ours. Or bears. Yeah. Something to think about.

I must start my walk back to the guest house -- our group is headed out to an Indian dinner tonight, which will be amazing, no doubt, and then off to do Swahili homework. Heck yes.

More soon from the plains of Africa.

Love,

Zach

JAMBO!
After a solid one and a half days of flying, beginning at 9:15 PM on the 30th at Dulles and ending at 6:00 AM of the 1st in Nairobi, our trip has officially started! The entire group is gathed at the "Methodist Guest Huose" -- a rather upscale hotel in a suburb of Nairobi -- and we have the day to settle in, get our clocks readjusted, wander the streets around our area, sample some local food, and soak in -- unadulterated -- the vibes and street culture of this incredible city.
My dearest roommate, Anton, and I have been ambling around the streets in awe of the fact that ohmygoshyes we actually are in Africa.
First off, the flight on Virgin Airline here was out of control -- not only did every stewardess have the most endearing British accent I have ever heard, the plane food was magnificent. Dark chocolate pudding with rasberry compote, white wine, cup of tea after cup of tea.... splendid, to say the least. Anton and I spent the flight playing a silly (and incredibly difficult) British version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" on our in-seat screen monitors, and talking about what we thought Nairobi would be like, what our first raw, visceral, non-politically correct thoughts would be as we stepped off the plane into a continent that we have only dreamed about.
Some questions:
- What would eating with our host families be like? What sort of intimate conventions would we become privy to as we shared food in this new world?
- How will the Africans percieve us? With scorn, contempt? Or with open arms and smiles?
- What sort of cars would there be, and how would people drive?
- And what will the standard of living look like?

We landed, got through customs (I became an honorary Kenyan citizen for a day, according to one of the customs officials who placed me in the "Kenyan Citizens Only" line), successfully found ALL of our bags, and met up with Ken, our trip leader, right outside of security.

Our drive to the Guest House took about an hour, and we got to witness what a Nairobi Rush Hour looks like. Absolutely insane. You have to have a lot of confidence to drive here, and not care if your car gets hit by someone else. And some people, many people actually, who do not have cars, have walk upwards of 7 miles to work everyday. Much to think abut already.

As we travelled in our white-skinned fishbowl of a bus, we were looked upon with a mixture of stares -- some were comic and slightly sardonic, some with disdainful, some were apathetic, and some were just curious. The whiteness of our group stands out here like no other. On our entire drive in I did not see a single white person on the streets. And as Anton and I have been walking around, we've found that we haven't even wanted to associate ourselves with the other white people we occasionally see walking around. Our goal is as best an assimilation as possible, and hopefully Swahili training will help with that. Without a doubt though, our skin color speaks wealth, no matter what we may do to try and hide that.

On another topic, the craze for Obama here is absolute. I see stickers everywhere, and many storefronts have huge poster-size pictures of him. What an incredible time to be over here, and I am eager to talk with some of the locals as to what they think of our president. To see firsthand that meaningful connection initiated by Obama between Africa and America gives me such hope, such great great hope. We're getting there.

It looks like I will hopefully have pretty solid internet for the next three weeks, so keep looking for more blog posts as the days go on. They will gradually contain more and more Swahili.

Here's to everyone back at Lewis & Clark starting classes, and to all other friends and family reading this blog. Thanks for giving me the encouragement and love that has allowed me to make this amazing expedition.

Love from Africa!

Zach