tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17329707668815565922024-03-14T10:08:43.963-07:00Stacey & Sanjay's JourneyThe ongoing saga of our journey to Africastaceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-30718045193282222172007-02-20T23:34:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:18.145-08:00Da Plane, Da Plane!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn2ZLEt-jxs_MZm0hxMXN7bI88sGoq7D89TLo_U_cDaDZyIVpQTDkrPYY1H2cE_-g8ytenTZHFbMzUab-GLAb-V-mztopDbaAtRexAA87DeS5_6H8myIbFUpVszZpK4iOcoIsOEpCXLXA/s1600-h/P2220351.JPG"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033889239073666226" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn2ZLEt-jxs_MZm0hxMXN7bI88sGoq7D89TLo_U_cDaDZyIVpQTDkrPYY1H2cE_-g8ytenTZHFbMzUab-GLAb-V-mztopDbaAtRexAA87DeS5_6H8myIbFUpVszZpK4iOcoIsOEpCXLXA/s320/P2220351.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ffffff;">We are on Fantasy Island - seaplane and all. Ricardo Montalban hasn't yet appeared to grant us our wish, but I'm pretty sure I heard Tatoo heralding our arrival.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:#ff9900;">We've finally made it to our final destination...and what a destination it is! Holy Moses this place is incredible! I can't even begin to describe how amazingly magnificent the Maldives are but let's just say that our spa water villa, which sits on stilts with our own staircase into the water, has nightly visits from huge rays, sharks, large fish and giant fruit bats. We were upgraded into the water villa at the very end of the island which means we can't even see the other villas from our balcony; all we see is the open ocean which is only around five feet deep around us, perfect temperature and clearer than any swimming pool I have ever been in.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgtcCNEIfmF1_qHXMCvTFEcTD94JGbum4FcXx4UWl0sOPxRG5Qh2M4LKUHdpb7c4x9JhdRwukYcFVuX26ro0pck8TsWr1sutT6JQrpV2a-lgLkk8sBkDbrEj6FbPOnNoln1uDzRfkJOPY/s1600-h/P2220363.JPG"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033888753742361762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="166" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgtcCNEIfmF1_qHXMCvTFEcTD94JGbum4FcXx4UWl0sOPxRG5Qh2M4LKUHdpb7c4x9JhdRwukYcFVuX26ro0pck8TsWr1sutT6JQrpV2a-lgLkk8sBkDbrEj6FbPOnNoln1uDzRfkJOPY/s320/P2220363.JPG" width="268" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:100%;">We'll fill you in on more details later but we just wanted to let you know we made it to paradise safely and are now going to enjoy it, so we're probably not going to post again until we leave Paradise.<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:#ff9900;">Now signing off to snorkel, dine at the world's only glass, underwater restaurant, go deep-sea fishing on our own private charter, and explore a deserted island - just a few of the activities planned this week.</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-69045092109838026562007-02-20T21:44:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:19.911-08:00Smoking the Sheesha<span style="font-family:arial;">It was clear from the outset that we'd make few friends on our cruise. (Actually, the word cruise seems a misnomer - I think our boat may have actually sailed 4 hours a day. The rest of the time we were moored in the midst of about a million other stationary boats obscuring our view of anything but the cabin on the ship next door.) </span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">On the plane ride to Abu Simbel, our starting point on the Sunboat IV, I could identify only one couple - Mike and Loretta - with whom we might possibly relate. It would become painfully apparent later (as Sanjay, I admit, predicted from the beginning) that these two freaks would only serve to make our cruise more entertaining, perhaps, but certainly not more enjoyable. (Near the end of the cruise, Loretta lost her camera and blamed everyone on board except herself. She cried and skipped our tour of THE VALLEY OF THE KINGS!!!! while she pouted, bitched and, in all likelihood, drove her poor husband Mike and the entire crew to the brink of insanity. Loretta and Mike work as contractors in Iraq, so Mike has enough stress without having his own personal drama queen demand to file a police report in Egypt due to what was most likely her own misplacing of an utterly replacable Casio digital camera.)<br /><br />Anywho . . . . On the day of our departure, we caught a flight from Cairo to Abu Simbel at 2:30am - yes, you read that right. We hadn't slept, but managed to catch about an hour on the plane. Upon our arrival, we were immediately rushed to visit the Abu Simbel temples of Ramses II and his queen, Nefertari. They were enormous and sat on the banks of the Nile (they were actually moved back a little bit from their former position by a team of engineers to avoid damage - I'm not certain, given their magnitude, how that's even physically possible). While they were incredibly beautiful, the crowds made the experience somewhat painful, especially in our sleep-deprived state. Actually, at every monument we visited, we experienced insane hoards of people which seems right, I suppose, now that our guide has informed us that 65% of Egypt's economy is based on tourism.<br /><br />That afternoon, after we were swept to our boat for a quick white-girl-boring-ass-catered-food lunch (rich old white peopl<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkUD7Jkf95kLJgbAnpIyDW5IPz6uvK6UZ5e3U3_wzp3EueN-Db7Bj7H37NXtVV2LlZTlbPR1hyWSFhf6FTuzJodeYa9qyMpE07OlO2wj5aMBvwzX2y7l04fwnbQJcL94sF1yPmfkpY-Mq/s1600-h/Felluca.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033897717339108610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkUD7Jkf95kLJgbAnpIyDW5IPz6uvK6UZ5e3U3_wzp3EueN-Db7Bj7H37NXtVV2LlZTlbPR1hyWSFhf6FTuzJodeYa9qyMpE07OlO2wj5aMBvwzX2y7l04fwnbQJcL94sF1yPmfkpY-Mq/s200/Felluca.JPG" border="0" /></a>e seem to demand only plain fare that doesn't challenge their taste buds or their digestive systems), we (still with zero rest) boarded a traditional Egyptian sailboat called a felucca and took a brief sail on the Nile with about 10 of our co-tourists from the boat. It was actually quite beautiful but sleep deprivation, by this time, was really taking its toll. Our sailor was really a pro and, as he gracefully guided us narrowly through the passage between our own Scylla and Charybdis on the Nile, my brain randomly shuffled through and found the most appropriate song to be stuck in my head for the next several days - today's:<br /><strong><em>Song of the Day:</em></strong> <em>Wrapped around your Finger</em> by The Police<br /><br />For those of you whose brains do not store such useless trivia as all of the lyrics to every Police song, this song includes both the Scylla and Charybdis reference, as well as a reference to alabaster, which was appropriate given the fact that Luxor, Egypt produces some of the finest alabaster in the world. Sanjay actually ended up purchasing the most gorgeous green alabaster vase as a souvenir and birthday gift to himself on Friday.<br /><br />Of course, with cheesy simplicity, the other song stuck in my head all week was our other<br /><br /><strong><em>Song of the Day:</em></strong> <em>Walk Like an Egyptian</em> by the Bangles<br /><br />On the felucca ride, we met the three freak-o-teers with whom we'd be spending all of our meals after Loretta and Mike opted out of eating at our shared table to wallow in their own self-pity and misery at a two-top. We had the pleasure of sharing three meals a day - and every excursion - with Karen, a pastor with her Masters in Divinity from Princeton, John, who's retired from automobile manufacturing and their daughter Kristen, who Sanjay originally predicted was afflicted with Down's syndrome. We later tamed our diagnosis to some simple, severe form of social dysfunction. Actually, the trio was nice enough, just not quite who we might normally choose to have over for supper, let alone spend 12 hours a day with.<br /><br />We also had the pleasure of meeting Hassan, our Egyptologist and guide for the duration of the cruise. Thank Allah for him. (Actually, one of the most endearing attributes of Hassan and every Egyptian was their constant use of the phrase enshallah, which means "God willing". We'll meet at 8:00, enshallah. We'll go out for sheesha, enshallah. We'll eat at Felfella, enshallah. Someday I'll visit America, enshallah. And it's not really just a throwaway phrase - they mean it. In their faith, everything is dependent on destiny or God's will. It's really interesting.) Anyway, Hassan is a chubby little man who says he has knees like a goat and therefore never shows his legs - even though it gets up to 130F! Hassan single-handedly saved the cruise for us by taking us to see the most incredible sites and monuments ever and, more importantly, aiding our nightly escape from the ship and its inhabitants to take us out to local coffee shops each night where we drank hibiscus tea, smoked the sheesha (hooka), and had fascinating conversations about local politics. More about those later.<br /><br />Admittedly, that first night, we were too tired for sheesha or intelligent conversation, although we did manage to stay up for the performances of a whirling dervish and the worst man-girl belly-dancer ever. Actually, Sanjay and I, and all of the passengers who managed to keep their weary eyes open, actually did more belly dancing than she did, as she kept inviting each of us up to make complete asses of ourselves. That said, the dervish was fantastic and Sanjay's eyes throughout his entire performance were the size of saucers.<br /><br />The next day was Valentine's Day - and today we visited Aswan. First, we stopped at a quarry to visit the unfinished obelisk. While it was enormous, it was laying on the ground, uncarved, so given all of the other sites we visited, this one was fairly unimpressive. I suppose the most fun thing about this site was the fact that Loretta and Mike spent 400 Egyptian pounds (the equivalent of about $70 USD) for 4 t-shirts that they should have probably gotten for about 80-100 pounds. I thought our guide was going to have a stroke. Negotiation is a critical art when purchasing anything as a tourist in Egypt. Generally, the initial asking price is at least double the normal purchase price and, if you look especially rich or infuriating, they'll charge you ten times the going rate. (I'll let you decide which category Ms. Loretta fell into.)<br /><br />After we finished at the pile of rocks, we boarded a notably unseaworthy motorboat-like vessel and headed to the Temple of Philae. This site was an incredibly beautiful island with and Egyptian temple as well as a Roman one built by Trajan. On our boat ride over, I bought two bracelets made from sandalwood which smell so good. With our trusty guide Hassan as our lead negotiator, they each cost less than $1. He rocks.<br /><br />After visiting these incredibly beautiful temples, we took a quick bus ride to the Aswan High Dam. While it's definitely impressive that this contraption has harnessed the energy of the mighty Nile (likely, though I've not researched it, much to the degradation of the local environment and wildlife), it's a dam. Not quite as cool as the Hoover Dam - and not nearly as cool as all of the temples and monuments we'd see on the Nile, so thankfully, it was time to move on. After our morning tour, we ate lunch and sailed to the location we'd vist that afternoon - Kom Ombo, the site of a unique Greco-Roman temple dedicated to two gods: Sobek, the crocodile god, and Haroeris, the sun god. The two are like yin and yang - sobek is evil and Haroeris is good. The temple was immense and beautiful. That evening after dinner, Sanjay did the sweetest thing ever. Knowing that every girl has a love-hate relationship with Valentine's Day, he sought to make mine special (especially since the divorce and all) and placed a small red velvet pouch on my dessert plate innocuously. In it was a necklace with a small, white gold and diamond ankh pendant with a silver necklace. I'd seen it in the window of a store in Cairo, and somehow it mysteriously appeared on our cruise. I'm not positive - maybe he's really just the nicest, most charming man in the world but, I think he likes me ;) </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW629viTMNMtlc_jnZCzra7cWffjhdasulmwSUi7DBPb0pL1ceGqKUVM7Us34cykgzgTfxT0KetJkWw3w18w5DYI5d8IsT-9HfvYJ_3aL5DVsS0A-zvcis6RiSUiHE48eJDFxJpVMNOkt/s1600-h/Shesha.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033904383128352114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="184" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW629viTMNMtlc_jnZCzra7cWffjhdasulmwSUi7DBPb0pL1ceGqKUVM7Us34cykgzgTfxT0KetJkWw3w18w5DYI5d8IsT-9HfvYJ_3aL5DVsS0A-zvcis6RiSUiHE48eJDFxJpVMNOkt/s320/Shesha.JPG" width="228" border="0" /></a>That night would unfold to be the best of our cruise, as we begged Hassan for some way to escape our boat and he escorted us to a local coffeeshop (where neither a single tourist, nor woman could be found) where we smoked sheesha & had an incredibly interesting conversation about Egyptian politics. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">In particular, we learned that Hassan and many Egyptians in the last election had voted for a candidate from the Future party - I believe he was a professor who actually campaigned village to village and talked directly to the people. He was a normal guy who earned alot of respect during the election, and likely a number of votes. He's now in prison, along with Mubarak's other leading competitor. While I don't fully recall the charges, it was clear that they were trumped up. It seems that the Future party candidate is now ill and is likely to die in prison. Hassan said that with all of America's election problems, we had nothing on Egypt where no one is certain that Mubarak was actually elected by the people. I asked about protests by the people - explaining that these are how America has undergone its most significant transformations in the past - and he explained that Egyptians do have the right of free speech - for instance, a group called Kifaya or "Enough!", protests the government consistently - the voices of such organizations are loud but rarely inspire the government to make any change. Hassan predicted that Mubarak's death would lead to dramatic civil unrest in Egypt, as his son is being groomed to lead, the people don't want that, and it's not clear that any election would be run fairly. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">He also mentioned that because the government is so little respected and does so little for the people, that religion and religious leaders hold the real power with the people of Egypt. Even though the laws in Egypt prohibit a religious party from forming, many people would prefer that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Obviously we also talked about the war - who'd pass up that opportunity? He mentioned that the Islamic world watches a channel broadcast from the perspective of the Iraqi people, that shows the damage being done there and interviews the locals to find out how many have been killed. He says it's actually incredibly sad - and that he and his friends watch CNN, the BBC, Al-Jazeera and this channel - apparently a subnetwork of Al-Jazeera - to form the real truth of the matter for themselves. (As an aside, we actually watched Al-Jazeera and the coverage was definitely interesting, erudite and not any more one-sided than CNN or, certainly, Fox.) Hassan also mentioned that the Islamic world is furious about the fact that Saddam was executed on a religious feast day, and believes that America did this purposefully to "rub it in". (I know, I know, we thought the Iraqi government was in charge of this, but Hassan was firm that no Islamic government would execute anyone, certainly not by hanging - he believes it should have been a firing squad, on a religious holy day.) </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Our final topic for the evening was Egypt's lack of involvement in resolving conflict or giving aid to Sudan. Comparatively, I'd bet that Egypt is one of the two richest countries in Africa (again, I don't have the stats, but suffice it to say that, compared to Sudan, their bajillionaires). He said he doesn't understand why Egypt is not intervening diplomatically or militarily because they're neighbors and brothers and have the resources, nor to assist refugees and the people affected by the conflict.I know, I know, too much detail - but it's so interesting. Anyway, I'm now writing hurriedly from the Maldives, so the rest of this post will be detail-free.<br /><br />On Thursday, we visited temples at Edfu (The Temple of Horus) and Esna, both huge and beautiful although I think it was Esna that had the most aggressive salesmen ever at the local shops. The temple there is actually just sitting in the middle of a little village, where the locals hope no other discoveries are made for fear of losing their homes. Apparently, the Egyptian government seizes property all the time for such things, without appropriately compensating those affected.<br /><br />We had lunch with one of the most arrogant, aggravating couples of all time - Robbie, a former Hollywood entertainment CEO turned sacred essence portrait artist (whatever that means), her husband what's-his-face, a paper baron, and their daughter, Allie, a nice girl whom they sent off to boarding school in England, likely so they could make googly eyes at one another and make out all the time, which they did at the lunch table. Mmm . . . . delicious. </span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDBLyouTXUKD5XIrhr16EC-9Bds9wQMlHWDvvErn4nKcJcAS6Mx0S6-g6yEoJeo2YS2tuTRTbJciclXFc1S0pEPhYco-GZqvJd-5H2lNqWQDs0Z23K1s_0msi7UyIywLWgDL5-eAxkncC/s1600-h/Galabeya.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033897253482640626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDBLyouTXUKD5XIrhr16EC-9Bds9wQMlHWDvvErn4nKcJcAS6Mx0S6-g6yEoJeo2YS2tuTRTbJciclXFc1S0pEPhYco-GZqvJd-5H2lNqWQDs0Z23K1s_0msi7UyIywLWgDL5-eAxkncC/s200/Galabeya.JPG" border="0" /></a>That night, we ate Egyptian food and dressed in traditional Egyptian galabeyyas - Sanjay said mine was the prettiest of all. I think he was right. </span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Later, we again shared sheesha and hibiscus tea with Hassan at a locals-only coffeehouse, where we watched women pull bread in baskets from the deliveryboy by pulley to their second-floor apartments and listened to Hassan explain his love and respect for all of the various cultures with whom he interacts on the cruise. He is emphatic that politicians and the media breed fear and hate for power and ratings - and that once he actually meets and talks with people from anywhere - that there is understanding and mutual respect. He mentioned that one of his clients had shared with him a book <strong><em>The History of the World</em></strong> that apparently describes people from many cultures objectively - literature which is apparently not taught quite so fairly in local schools. You could tell he was incredibly grateful and he's passed the book to his son - whom he wants to teach to love and respect all the different people of the world - as all of us are creatures of Allah, God, the One - whatever the language, it's all the same.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div><div><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12LTToL12oczkRUbT5ER_qjkToIe6OnaPiz0awZBoRcNoZVvZinUz5E38hyvDyng9GP0My3rOqy8920N3Tv2k5_Gdy7YHTJi2BDOKD2c1af58hjrVAvtf8kRnCIvUoQDyCZ16Kz0bUmF7/s1600-h/DSC_0010.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBmcIPTOAXUiceq6ngrOTR6pKm-kR0YX-pqWCQSlsS_3bp7_3O3cH9ehIAti8JLptKQsxTl442XBsKl8P_8ay8Soo24bmvxX7rYFeteV0IaKsd5542F1WL1JYGPl0IELlLVBKYybQoqxAX/s1600-h/DSC_0016.JPG"></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbAtcq5mbqk7Xngmpnl6t5hae9jxsGmKvsG6GbB5033j5HIAtkUVxnDZnCvr-nH7C-KNbaGee_jcD41jNl5-tADXk-jb8NvqQQmJlAvXBVDqpuAz_V8qU0uty-xfZAVsz6H8GOjdUmxfZ/s1600-h/Valley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033901226327389522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbAtcq5mbqk7Xngmpnl6t5hae9jxsGmKvsG6GbB5033j5HIAtkUVxnDZnCvr-nH7C-KNbaGee_jcD41jNl5-tADXk-jb8NvqQQmJlAvXBVDqpuAz_V8qU0uty-xfZAVsz6H8GOjdUmxfZ/s200/Valley.jpg" border="0" /></a>Friday, for Sanjay's birthday, we visited the finest sites we've seen in all of Egypt at Luxor. While Sanjay was disappointed to not be staying with his friends in the Luxor at Las Vegas, I think he got over it as we visited:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_N7mCr8Vmc1Ymd1QI0UQVMYLriQZjiNlCeegtuncQ9xlAvdU78ULwlLKT0UBToSYG4oVjmoDmSeUvoxhOzYlE-g_I_qS00FxVCkTt8_ysy-u7draVQ1HY6oKYnzSPaxkz4yYmtZA9ow6B/s1600-h/Hiero.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033902235644704098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_N7mCr8Vmc1Ymd1QI0UQVMYLriQZjiNlCeegtuncQ9xlAvdU78ULwlLKT0UBToSYG4oVjmoDmSeUvoxhOzYlE-g_I_qS00FxVCkTt8_ysy-u7draVQ1HY6oKYnzSPaxkz4yYmtZA9ow6B/s200/Hiero.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>The Valley of the Kings</strong> - where we entered three tombs, including Ramses IV, which had the most incredibly beautifully preserved hieroglyphics and artwork (Of course, Loretta was throwing a fit and missed it!)<br /></li><li><strong>The Valley of the Queens</strong> - where we entered the tomb of a prince</li><li></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Temple of Hatshepsut -</strong> the temple of Egypt's only female pharaoh, who is dressed as a man in all her artwork and usurped power from her own son ( I think his name was Tutmosis III), who would later destroy most everything that bore her name and likeness. Luckily, he didn't destroy her temple, because it is carved into the side of a cliff and is architecturally the most beautiful site we saw in Egypt.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Temple of Luxor</strong> - This was interesting for its avenue of what seemed like hundreds of sphinxes and the Christian artwork that appears in the temple since it was later used for Christian worship by the Romans.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Temple of Karnak</strong> - my favorite site in Egypt, because of it's sheer size. It's incredible - there's a hypostyle hall there that has 134 columns that were each probably at least 10 feet in diameter), as well as a sacred pool where worshippers used to bathe before religious ceremonies. There's also a lucky scarab (beetle) that's said to bring you good luck if you walk around it three times. We did.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Luxor Museum</strong> - This museum held the most beautiful and well preserved sculpture we saw in all of Egypt - a statue of Tutmosis III made in a gray stone. The man was beautiful with soft eyes and incredible muscles. He really seemed to smile at you. Of course, none of the pieces in Egypt were ever signed, so who know who this incredible artist was. The museum also held the Luxor cachet - a group of statues that were buried under the temple to save the idols from destruction by the Christians. At least, I think that's what they said.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;"><div><br /></div><p>We also stopped to smoke sheesha (which Hassan called ahead to arrange, given our love of the sheesha) and buy Sanjay's birthday gift, a very rare green alabaster vase that is carved out of a single stone. That night after dinner, Sanjay discovered that the crew had baked him a birthday cake and hidden it in our room.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4wwI39ipiHhsvnVix0DXEpqSArdKSHjC9y8OT1HGrez2HKFtsac2pW7QcZ4rB0-FD86S0AVjJm80K2kOqBitLLk1GtiHkITtQp6BFP-tNHoBFzkTEtqI-P-VknYX_1_chCkxv_LnnWX1/s1600-h/DSC_0234.JPG"></a> </p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">T<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDo0pzPCQfH_OiGOWHIetF8eZKJTpgKwAfBoRetapbLwCdQ_myRxOdLJaNSsNmTQYDwJWUsDwNCcXxfB7NpKjE-8rWWcQYGVyEjQGFOZvzMElWA14ge3mtr4VNL_JpHxQoOSf3sJNJti4/s1600-h/Candle.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033895818963563730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDo0pzPCQfH_OiGOWHIetF8eZKJTpgKwAfBoRetapbLwCdQ_myRxOdLJaNSsNmTQYDwJWUsDwNCcXxfB7NpKjE-8rWWcQYGVyEjQGFOZvzMElWA14ge3mtr4VNL_JpHxQoOSf3sJNJti4/s200/Candle.jpg" border="0" /></a>he next day, we arrived back in Cairo and toured both Coptic and Islamic temples in Cairo, as well as one synagogue (there are only about 40 Jews left in Cairo, so no services are held at any of the 8 remaining temples, which are now only tourist sites). My favorite the Hanging Church, which dates to the seventh century, which is Coptic - an orthodox Christian religion that most Egyptians were before Islam. Even the word Egypt (gypt is like copt) is derived from their formerly Coptic faith. While I was there, I left a donation and lit a candle for my family - and Sanjay, like any good Hindu, lit one for his as well. (Check out the photo - it was cold in Egypt!)</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8TG_0N3TfpwD9nXggDjI-Bo_i7pwzrOZHbppKJ0kI5Fv3E461agamqexFrV4ocU0HYatHJXb0dNrVrMs6HIJTGmVAzLrHiIRrXThL6nFYvPZZwlI6CyyWGKOCE2_u-qmt3thhETkK-xv/s1600-h/DSC_0249.JPG"></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p><div><br /></div><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5v47hBQKWgls1Yn08a41uIddmm65UdSkc3COJaKmoNEaBYKJYeRJKqBe9oh6xm6tqLqg8SniAzWg8Zw3RIAnRGgE2hEpIuDVh3VA8hlRjDeWqqp7qFMqXoaWW0-dvyf0CMu1WXWumXR2y/s1600-h/Mosque.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033898254210020626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5v47hBQKWgls1Yn08a41uIddmm65UdSkc3COJaKmoNEaBYKJYeRJKqBe9oh6xm6tqLqg8SniAzWg8Zw3RIAnRGgE2hEpIuDVh3VA8hlRjDeWqqp7qFMqXoaWW0-dvyf0CMu1WXWumXR2y/s200/Mosque.JPG" border="0" /></a>We also visited two fabulous mosques. The one in this photo is the alabaster mosque of Mohammed Ali at the Citadel in Cairo. While we were there, in my ignorance, I asked the meaning of the feast of Ramadan. I learned that it's a month meant to remind people of where they came from, to teach them humility and remind them of their poverty. That's why they eat so little (i.e., fast until sundown) during this time. (Actually, because everyone's so hungry from fasting all day, Egyptians actually consume 4 times more during the month of Ramadan than in any other month of the year - a lesson to all you dieters out there!) Additionally, if one can't fast for health or work reasons, the alternative is to prepare a meal just like the one you'll be eating (i.e., of very good quality) and serve it to a poor person at a charity table set up on the street. During Ramadan, you'll apparently find many people eating at these tables. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"></p><p>On our drive away from the mosque, our guide Abeer talked to us a little about how fundamentalism is really beginning to be on the rise in Egypt, and how Islamic fundamentalists are luring teenagers and college-age students away from their parents who have become more liberal and, in her words, modern (Abeer, for example, doesn't wear a scarf on her head) - they seem to recruit the young like a cult, and many are taken away to training centers and militant schools in other parts of the Arab world like Afghanistan and Iran. She said that she, like many modern Egyptians, fears the rise in the population and influence of these groups among the youth as they seem to be turning Egypt backward, and are turning the young against their parents, whose modernism they consider to be sinful and against God.</p><p>What struck me most about all of the churches we visited was how similar all of the symbolism, artwork and architecture was at all of them - and even at the ancient Egyptian temples. Halos on Christian saints were formerly suns above the head of the ancient Egyptian god Ra. The virgin mother holding the baby Jesus looks just like the ancient goddess Isis suckling her baby (Horus?). Many pictures of Jesus show him holding a scroll - just like every statue we saw of the pharoahs, and like the Torah scrolls in the holy of holies at the synagogue. No icons were visible in either the synagogue nor the mosques, but the symbol of the star was everywhere in Christian, Islamic and Jewish churches.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCV8OeHT4fgJEtJmCZV108nhjlfVpKnvE9-HRo9gjL2Szd7vTSofBJZCBAXMamUvkyFcUyWnZlQiYVwpsdsjtcwGaaw_Hc1v4Y6sPAbT-AvTheJDQEX45938AY8hUv2op60Jf85NvDlwy/s1600-h/Fishawy.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033899053073937698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCV8OeHT4fgJEtJmCZV108nhjlfVpKnvE9-HRo9gjL2Szd7vTSofBJZCBAXMamUvkyFcUyWnZlQiYVwpsdsjtcwGaaw_Hc1v4Y6sPAbT-AvTheJDQEX45938AY8hUv2op60Jf85NvDlwy/s200/Fishawy.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />That afternoon, we shopped at my favorite place in all of Cairo - the Khan el-Kalili bazaar, and ate takeout tameyya and smoked sheesha at El Fashawi coffeehouse there. That night, we ate at a yummy Egyptian restaurant - though not as good as Felfella in terms of food and service - where the atmosphere was divine. Since we woke up at 4am to catch our flight, and didn't even stop at our hotel before our day-long tour of the churches, we went to bed directly afterward and missed the belly-dancing show we'd reserved.</p><p>The next day, we slept in, ate an amazing breakfast of honeycomb and fruit at the Four Seasons, and spent the day again at the bazaar eating local food and buying souvenirs. It was my favorite spot in Cairo - so incredibly full of life - no streets are that vibrant in the States. On our way to catch our car to the airport, we made our cab driver stop once more at Felfella to get one<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilau_DkxInicoAckQeUxJwR7X7jd9UnkqWHzNmXDcPFGqxc5yBscV7YgxFlhhrTMhnpRnxmknm3ap1-Ow6mETAzls3KW-F5nYrraH_D9mkuAggKyqzLEyMcjNexXYLwQDhpVzK6vEiDNm8/s1600-h/Ahmed+Mr+Satisfaction.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033895316452390082" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilau_DkxInicoAckQeUxJwR7X7jd9UnkqWHzNmXDcPFGqxc5yBscV7YgxFlhhrTMhnpRnxmknm3ap1-Ow6mETAzls3KW-F5nYrraH_D9mkuAggKyqzLEyMcjNexXYLwQDhpVzK6vEiDNm8/s200/Ahmed+Mr+Satisfaction.JPG" border="0" /></a> last taste of Egypt - we devoured 5 takeout taameya (Egyptian falafel) sandwiches in the taxi at a cost of 6.25 pounds (or about $1.25) for all of them. </p><div>Then our guide Ahmed and driver - whose Egyptian name literally means Mr. Satisfaction - drove us to the airport. It was sad to say goodbye, because they took such good care of us, but we knew we were on to even better things . . </span></div></div></div></div></div>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-76132551808463887322007-02-18T01:45:00.000-08:002007-02-18T02:02:00.775-08:00The Queen of the Nile ReturnsJust a quick check-in to let you know we're both alive and well. We want to savor our last day here in Cairo, so we'll be blogging during transit to the Maldives, as we should have plenty of time in an airport to catch up.<br /><br />For now, suffice it to say that I have smoked more sheesha than is probably legal (especially for a girl in Cairo!) - and being trapped on a boat with a bunch of rich white people who cannot dance but choose to anyhow could well be a form of torture. That said, it was made more than bearable by our Egyptian guide, Hassan, and all of the amazing things we've seen -<br /><br />We'll catch you up soon on our adventures, I promise . . . .staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-14706135188286990692007-02-12T13:19:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:20.984-08:00Moo Milkshakes and Camel ToesCamels have huge feet. You see, we would know because tod<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_CA_d-IC0ww1crc7wvnUiG7sdKtdzsGqMTWs-G3Rb7y_erszuKmMk6qEBqZXiYLzkfnKgR4rRBF4iXtRuKccmriDwFCfDcb73oR_qyUmB8VNPEBsSndh9ai5mnQVYw71qtjHjeCZfvcj/s1600-h/Camels.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030767159033637026" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_CA_d-IC0ww1crc7wvnUiG7sdKtdzsGqMTWs-G3Rb7y_erszuKmMk6qEBqZXiYLzkfnKgR4rRBF4iXtRuKccmriDwFCfDcb73oR_qyUmB8VNPEBsSndh9ai5mnQVYw71qtjHjeCZfvcj/s320/Camels.JPG" border="0" /></a>ay we rode on camels through the Egyptian desert near the pyramids and sphinx at Giza . So there. My camel was named Mickey Mouse and Sanjay rode on Michael Jackson. Our cute little guide was Kushi . . . he was 13 and no longer in school. Michael Jackson was evil and tried to bite Mickey.<br /><br />Fortunately, Michael was neither as evil nor as lucky as the little Egyptian man who copped a feel when he forcibly grabbed me to take a photo with him and his camel while we were visiting the earlier pyramids at Memphis and Saqqara . I was manhandled but learned an important lesson about totally ignoring the harassment of strangers. My friend Diane would be proud.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQP6ovGXpZcjW5WPYmnc9FxKLkgKGfTA4D1uJFRdH2fBzMezoSUt2nn2AOtSHu7qq0_x-H-VatBopzN34hLKX58uWpE-nL_eFn_MMH-XK08B6glU9yN6iyahDNYVire78YoSyNaq-5Uvn/s1600-h/Step+Pyramid.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030767644364941586" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQP6ovGXpZcjW5WPYmnc9FxKLkgKGfTA4D1uJFRdH2fBzMezoSUt2nn2AOtSHu7qq0_x-H-VatBopzN34hLKX58uWpE-nL_eFn_MMH-XK08B6glU9yN6iyahDNYVire78YoSyNaq-5Uvn/s320/Step+Pyramid.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The pyramids were incredible, immense and incredibly intact with beautifully, minutely detailed carvings on the interiors that you simply cannot imagine. I am not certain how they could have built such things. Their magnitude is unbelievable, as is their proximity to the city. These structures stand mere feet from the local KFC and Pizza Hut, somewhat disappointingly. Visitors have also taken the liberty to adorn these treasures with litter and graffiti.<br /><br />As impressive as the pyramids have been s<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBTqbgvg0GdT-bOHS83Rk7IjcyCr2LwJNGBQO0IKO1TFlv3ydQePpuNXCpTziVKiZxcc3bNYY0vQG-cbo-rqI0YOTrIoJgkKx2QmHruPqPkYipMHOJlKJ75imhVxbb2i1zWFviEVe1Vvj/s1600-h/Pyramid+Sun.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030767373782001874" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBTqbgvg0GdT-bOHS83Rk7IjcyCr2LwJNGBQO0IKO1TFlv3ydQePpuNXCpTziVKiZxcc3bNYY0vQG-cbo-rqI0YOTrIoJgkKx2QmHruPqPkYipMHOJlKJ75imhVxbb2i1zWFviEVe1Vvj/s320/Pyramid+Sun.JPG" border="0" /></a>o far, the food at the restaurant where we ate today was perhaps even more so. It was called FelFella, and they had the best baba ghanoush, Egyptian falafel (made with fava beans instead of chick peas), tahini and pita bread I have ever tasted. Sanjay also had this totally yummy juice from the hibiscus flower. I would tell you everywhere else we stopped, but it would give away some of your gifts, so I will refrain and keep that for a surprise. We did hit a local mall last night to get Sanjay some clothes, which was an interesting experience. Everyone thinks he is Egyptian and speaks to him in Arabic, which is both confusing and helpful when negotiating taxi fares and other prices.<br /><br />The Four Seasons Hotel at Nile Plaza is insane. Our room is on the 24th flo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-6X-1tFdAYZNqRhlBEhvGI77oqRaoQ4D5gtP2o_LzzQOeZi_2IyIAddy-fqPpfumTqfBF2IxpkphtKHxI7Me3ZEBFkdQIMcaPMNrNidz5BXsh5QpxwGBUa058hJQJVj2cExnz7T0fatK/s1600-h/Cairo.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030767081724225682" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-6X-1tFdAYZNqRhlBEhvGI77oqRaoQ4D5gtP2o_LzzQOeZi_2IyIAddy-fqPpfumTqfBF2IxpkphtKHxI7Me3ZEBFkdQIMcaPMNrNidz5BXsh5QpxwGBUa058hJQJVj2cExnz7T0fatK/s320/Cairo.JPG" border="0" /></a>or overlooking a view of the entire city. I truly feel like royalty. Everyone (waiters, doormen, valets, etc.) knows our name, a dog sniffs our car for bombs every time we drive up, they cut the crusts off of all our breads and serve us peeled pomegranates for breakfast with fresh honeycomb. The flower arrangements in the lobby are the most beautiful I have ever seen. Coming from the CCS house to here has been extreme culture shock to say the least. More confusing, however, has been our transformation from village guests to pure tourists. I must say I miss being so close to the locals. Our Egyptologist, Ameer, is awesome and we had lunch with her today, but it is quite difficult to interact with other Egyptians given our tourist status and, in many cases, the language barrier.<br /><br />Our amazing time thus far in Egypt did come at a steep price, as we had to say goodbye to all of our volunteer friends, especially my two favorite roommates and moos, Diane and Connie. They sent us off with a nice dinner party and an evening at the casino and, most importantly, as we pulled off in our car from the compound, they waved, cried, blew kisses and even shook their cute moo hineys in our direction. Connie even offered to lift her shirt for Sanjay again. (Did I fail to mention that he has previously seen the moo without her top on . . . I suppose that is a longer story, so I will let him explain later for himself =)<br /><br />Anywho . . . Sorry this is so short, but our flight to Abu Simbel to catch our cruise boat departs at 2am, so I need to get packed. We will be offline while we float down the Nile , but we will check in when we return on Saturday. Hope all is well!staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-59125731157877864512007-02-09T04:38:00.000-08:002008-02-24T12:19:36.880-08:00Naivete & Frozen Manties<span style="font-family:arial;">I found out yesterday that one of the best students at Shepherds Junior, Leah, may be taken out of the school by her mother. Another volunteer, Andrea, who's there now, spoke with both Leah and her teacher Nancy. Nancy said that Leah's mother sometimes is unable to have any food in the house (not like in America, I mean zero), and that she must move Leah to a free school so that she can feed her children.<br /><br />I believe I said in my last post something naive along the lines of "thank god they're all well taken care of, or I wouldn't be able to leave". I may have been deluding myself. I think I just can't comprehend the day-to-day struggles these people face. Leah looks happy, and is incredibly smart and mature. Of all the children, I probably thought she was the best taken care of.<br /><br />Don't worry, I've obviously already offered to help figure out how to keep her at Shepherds, but you just never know.<br /><br />I continued to receive gifts this week from the school. Teacher Angel (a teaching assistant who probably makes less than $1 per day) sent me home some material that's tied around one's waist as a traditional conga (skirt). I just don't even know how to show gratitude that matches their generosity.<br /><br />Other than that, this week we painted the nurse's station at Nkoranga Hospital with our best buddy here, Diane. (Mom, you would love this woman. Her dog's her best friend, she's a Harley-driving nurse. We love her.) The conditions at the hospital are, as you might imagine, deplorable. They actually use glass IVs, the kind you see in like Civil War movies. We walked past the TB isolation ward, and the patient was sitting outside on the lawn rather than in his room. We also stopped by the torture chamber, I mean, maternity ward, where a red bucket labeled "Placenta" sat at the foot of the bed with god-knows-what muck inside. We walked past a baby lying in a bed with her eyes fixed and dilated facing the ceiling. God knows what's even wrong with most of them. Diagnostic tools are limited, and treatments even moreso. They don't feed the patients there - they're families bring them food, or they don't eat.<br /><br />We've spent most of this week actually, to my great pleasure, with tons of free time just wandering the streets of Arusha and exploring. We've not had nearly enough time to roam freely to date, so this has been fascinating. We took Sanjay's photo in front of Happy Sausage, Ltd, and near the House of Lubricants, and got a few cool gifts. Actually, we thought about getting one more item we saw - the Saddam Hussein wall calendar that was being sold on the street and read "Execution has turned Saddam into a Martyr!" Sanjay insisted it was a bad idea, though. I said I'd carry it in my luggage . . .<br /><br />Last night, since I've had absolutely enough of Chef Japhet's eggplant, boiled potato, bean, carrot and tomato surprise, we actually found Kraft singles at Shop-Rite (the local western supermarket where plums and grapes cost over $10 USD per pound) and white bread and made the BEST grilled cheese sandwich I've ever had. Honestly, I didn't know food could taste so good. We gave one to the watchman, Thompson, too, as well as Saidi's son (Saidi's the owner of the bar across the street from our compound) - I think they were duly impressed with my white-girl cooking skills.<br /><br />After I went to sleep, Sanjay sought retribution against his 50-something Australian roomate, Pat. Pat had the audacity to move Sanjay's dainties and toiletries from the top shelf to the bottom in the bathroom in order, I think, to mark his alpha-male territory and, since he's a crotchety old man (not really), to avoid bending over every day.<br /><br />In retaliation, Sanjay froze his socks and manties in a loaf pan, and presented them to him with an announcement to all of the volunteers over breakfast this morning. I think Pat was actually delighted for the attention.<br /><br />We're super psyched to be leaving tomorrow for Cairo, and we'll be going out tonight with all of the volunteers to Pepe's for pizza, then to gamble and dance the night away. Hopefully, we'll be home in time for curfew . . . we'll catch up with you in Egypt!!!<br /></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-37720194837213398252007-02-06T02:39:00.000-08:002007-02-06T03:15:14.276-08:00Lucy<span style="font-family: arial;">I've just posted some photos and read briefly through our last several posts, and I feel like I left something critical out - my headmistress, Lucy.<br /><br />Just last night over dinner, Sanjay asked me what I thought I might be like if I had been born here. I hope I would be like her. I fear, however, that I don't possess her ability to succeed slowly and in small steps. She is able to relish (and appropriately so) the small miracles that she witnesses and inspires every day. While she focuses and builds upon those, I believe I might instead focus on everything that hadn't yet happened, thus obscuring the magnitude of what had been achieved. I hope to learn from her and grow - passionate progress before perfection.<br /><br />Because our experience was so short, I went from frenzied newbie with zero context to not-terribly-seasoned retiree so quickly that I forgot to mention just how incredible this woman is. She founded Shepherds Junior in 2004, after her last child was fully grown, and has since used the money from her own small poultry business and boutique to supplement the tuition paid (i.e., 70,000 shillings for a three-month term, or about $18 per month) by the students who attend her small school. The school began with 10 students in one class, and has since grown to over 110 students at six grade levels. <br /><br />She is an incredibly savvy business woman who runs her school with grace, charisma and humility. She's proud, but never arrogant. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">She's also the single most grateful person I've ever met. She's never missed an opportunity to recognize one of my accomplishments, give me a gift or thank me profusely for any small contribution I've made.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />I cannot personally believe all that she has built - single-handedly - simply to make the lives of these children better. Her vision is to grow the school to serve all grade levels through Class 7 and start and orphanage not far away to provide even more services to the local children. She is totally generous has utter faith that whatever resources she needs will be delivered, and never expresses a single doubt about the school's future. I'm actually certain, too, that while 95% of local organizations likely fail, her attitude and skill alone will ensure Shepherds Junior's continued expansion and success.<br /><br />She is incredible. I just couldn't miss telling you. (Actually, it's interesting that her name, Lucy, is derived from the Latin word that means to light up or shine, which she does.)<br /><br />She's also invited each of you to stay in her guest room and share whatever food she has. (We've shared bread and chai at her table many times, and trust me when I say that she's also fabulous company and a great conversationalist.)<br /><br />I do hope you'll come - they could use every spare hand you have to offer. <br /><br />Not much else to tell today. We're in town shopping for paint for the hospital and another school - painting Shepherds has inspired a few more volunteers to do the same, which is awesome.<br /><br />We did upload some photos, so be sure to take a look at some of our previous posts . . .<br /></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-85820393425466894852007-02-04T00:28:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:21.747-08:00No Kiliminjaro<span>For those of you wondering about our Kiliminjaro climb, we're sorry to disappoint you.</span><br /><br /><span>Our health and the weather combined were a recipe for potential disaster, so we've decided to keep our lives intact, and be total wieners. (I hope at least my mom is pleased with this call, as I think it really was the most sensible choice.) The nurse in my room says we both likely have</span><span> bronchitis, and the rains have been awful, which leads me to believe that the snows on Kiliminjaro would have been unbearable. Besides, just last month a rock slide on Kili killed 3 climbers and an unknown number of guides, and seriously injured 5 others. Were you really ready to say goodbye?</span><br /><br /><span>Don't worry, we'll be back, but we'll schedule the climb at the beginning of our trip, when we might actually be healthy enough to accomplish the journey.</span><br /><br /><span>That said, we'll both be staying another week</span><span> here in Tanzania with CCS. I likely won't return to my placement (I'll explain why soon), but instead will be touring other organizations and helping out as I can.</span> <span>Hmmm . . . where to begin catching you up . . . </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfijNZs98FwG586OZyuZWcO0Xny2F8_YdzhIfHzaYvwW_0BdPA0FLsssJzSgPr-efsM5XZ_qophkMoXs_SieQdLnLF8oKtd23F_EzjYThd2EJA2pTU-z_1O3u8wHXLKDwgkIY_aXz9yG9/s1600-h/P1310037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfijNZs98FwG586OZyuZWcO0Xny2F8_YdzhIfHzaYvwW_0BdPA0FLsssJzSgPr-efsM5XZ_qophkMoXs_SieQdLnLF8oKtd23F_EzjYThd2EJA2pTU-z_1O3u8wHXLKDwgkIY_aXz9yG9/s200/P1310037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028347654405872674" border="0" /></a><span>Well, I started my week in the most amazing way I can imagine. As you read, some friends and I painted the new building at my school last weekend. Monday morning began when I arrived at Shepherd's Junio</span><span>r and the children - 110 of them - rushed a</span><span>round me singing, beautifully and with so much gratitude for a truly small accomplishment that I was literally in tears, a song of thanks:</span><br /><br /><em><span>Teacher Stacey, Teacher Stacey, Teacher Stacey what a wonder you are</span><br /><span>We love you so, so, so Teacher Stacey</span><br /><span>Teacher Stacey what a wonder you are.</span></em><br /><br /><span>They continued to sing to me through morning assembly, where Teacher Nancy and the headmistress made announcements of gratitude, and I continued to cry. I was literally overwhelmed by their gratitude. The school really do</span><span>es look beautiful, though.</span><br /><br /><span>Monday night, we visited to a Black Panther who's now living in exile here in Tanzania, as he was convicted on some trumped up weapons </span><span>charge and, if he returned to American soil, he would be immediately sent to prison. He was fascinating. He's been in Tanzania now for over 30 years, and has seen many of his family members from his home in Kansas City (even his own children) very little or, in some cases, not at all. Since he arrived, he's been focused on building his organization (I believe it's called the United African Community Center, or UACC). The center is an amazing place that teaches English,</span><span> music, art, computers - essentiall</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVM0cJIqn5f7kSgyPW5IOLI0yKn6Mddjl2nRMjx8F1VRaJ2hf6P6y5hB2XmkCss4zrhRQKjA-lZVq0Oaacj-0kxXwH-PUFuccaravcLWoMuA_RtQQmfOcenM_uRittXwcUgHhweLVJrfY/s1600-h/P2010046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVM0cJIqn5f7kSgyPW5IOLI0yKn6Mddjl2nRMjx8F1VRaJ2hf6P6y5hB2XmkCss4zrhRQKjA-lZVq0Oaacj-0kxXwH-PUFuccaravcLWoMuA_RtQQmfOcenM_uRittXwcUgHhweLVJrfY/s200/P2010046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028349093219916850" border="0" /></a><span>y whatever courses they have volunteers to teach. The center also brings over young Africa</span><span>n Americans from the inner city to experience life here and, hopefully, learn a little something. It's run entirely by volunteers, with funds by don</span><span>ors, and its services are offered for free. In addition to the courses, the center has dug a well that provides clean water to many in the local community, and has implemented solar cells that provide electricity to 85 local homes and the center itself. Pete's super in</span><span>to new technologies - so Sanjay impressed him with his Blackberry. That's him over there!</span><br /><br /><span>It was actually remarkable to visit the place - they served Mexican food which was really unexpected and delicious and the solar power made th</span><span>e lights there so bright, it's incredible. I felt like I was seeing some of the people I was with for the first time. The power problems here make electricity definitely inconstant and, even when it's on, it's incredibly dim. </span><br /><br /><span>With regard to the water, you'd be amazed to see where people fetch their water. On multiple occasions, I've seen children fetch and/or drink water directly from what look to be sewer or storm drains. The </span><span>water is completely opaque and brown. It's really incredible. I've never seen a child drink water at my school. I've seen those who can afford it have a soda or juice in the afternoon, but never water - the water from the tap cannot even be used to brush one's teeth, even by the locals. At the center's store, I bought Ashlee and Chooch super-cool prizes from the Center's shop, where all the goods are made by their students. I would describe them, but what fun would that be???<br /></span><br /><span>On Wednesday, I brought Shepherds' Junior Class 2 and Class 3 to my school to perform for the other volunteers who aren't lucky enough to get to work with them every day. They saw our water jug, and many of the children asked cautiously if they might have a glass of w</span><span>ater. I'v</span><span>e never seen anyone drink as fast as they did. It's clear that they don't have enough to drink. </span><br /><br /><span>During the performance, the children sang a few really moving songs about the AIDS epidemic here, followed by a quite formal debate as to whether girls are better than boys. They did a little play about government corruption, and Leah read a funny little mathematics prayer. They ended with a rousing and well-received rendition of my personal favorite song, "Be Happy Before You Die!" We offered everyone a glass of clean water when they were through, but I wish I'd had more.</span><br /><br /><span>The next day during </span><span>recess, I had brought a few sheets of small star stickers and I began to place them on each child's head. The children were incredibly excited about their small gift. Even the older boys who rough house and roughly play the "real" football (i.e., socc</span><span>er) during recess, ran to me wanting stars to adorn their foreheads. Their appreciation for small things is truly incredible. I can't imagine that boys of the same age on American playgrounds would even tolerate having a sticker on their face, let alone smile broadly, giggle, and ask for more before returning to their games.</span><br /><br /><span>That evening, we ate again at my favorite restaurant in Tanzania, Big Bite, where we feasted on Indian food with about 20 volunteers and Zungu, the artist who's continuing to paint a mural scene from "Goodnight Moon" on the front of the newly-painted school. Since Sanjay is the owner's new </span><span>favorite customer, his wife had prepared a special dessert of really yummy gulab jamun for all of us. Yummy!!!</span><br /><br /><span>Friday, on my last day at my placement, I was greeted first by Teacher Nancy who rushed me to her classroom to present me with a gift. This incredible woman, who makes between 70,000 and 80,000 shillings per MONTH, or the equivalent of $55-$60 USD, to teach th</span><span>ird graders with remarkable skill and grace, gave me a purse made of dried banana leaves and a card. She cried, as did I. My day would end on a similar note. After I spent my morning singing and teaching the baby class, I spent my break on the playground making and racing paper airplanes with the children. At the end of the break, Leah, an incredibly smart and beautiful girl from Class 3 (the one who earned the "Math Superstar" award I'd made from construction paper, came up to me and said, as she began to well up with tears, "I will never forget you." She co</span><span>uldn't have said anything more heart-wrenching if she'd tried. My tears continued.</span><br /><br /><span>After break, instead of returning to class, the children began to bring chairs and c</span><span>arp</span><span>et</span><span>s out of their classrooms to prepare for a surprise bon voyage celebration and concert for me. After Class 3 sang to me two songs wishing me farewell, while the girls sobbed and the boys struggled to hold back their tears, I was presented with a traditional African dress that was quickly pulled over my head by Lucy, the school's headmistress, as well as a wall-hanging that says "To: Stacey's Family From: Shepherds Junior Academy" on the back. The students and teachers each presented me with separate, very sad, farewell cards. I sobbed throughout the entirety of their program, as did the children and teachers. Though I wished in vain that I'd brought more substantial gifts, I passed out chocolates to everyone.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJ6VszOcX-hY2NAw4oroWjbrX3Wt_3KsyzpflXgi8LnHGFsyz35ZQE0EgxXB7a9zkVDOsNRIPrvXMKoW3XWfXMVkng-nnHzWNF8NuRZ_1Dh1kppufRPAG_NMI-NqCaQaoSCRW99YgCOqA/s1600-h/IMG_0665.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJ6VszOcX-hY2NAw4oroWjbrX3Wt_3KsyzpflXgi8LnHGFsyz35ZQE0EgxXB7a9zkVDOsNRIPrvXMKoW3XWfXMVkng-nnHzWNF8NuRZ_1Dh1kppufRPAG_NMI-NqCaQaoSCRW99YgCOqA/s320/IMG_0665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028354118331653218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span>Unfortun</span><span>ately, my van arrived during the program, and the 19-year-old rich Greek boy, Antonis, was late to catch his flight to Zanzibar, so I had to leave quickly. The children followed me to the gates, and grabbed at me not to go. Literally, these children were sobbing, boys and girls alike. I picked up Leah and hugged her, promising to email her soon. I was perhaps most moved by a little boy, from Grade 1, Caleb, whose normal handsome, mischievous grin was replaced by tears streaming from his face. </span><br /><br /><span>It was truly an incredible experience, one that supercedes my vocabulary. It wasn't until after we'd said farewell that Sanjay made the final decision that we wouldn't be climbing Kiliminjaro. So we'll be here for another week, but I don't think I can go back and put my babies, or myself, through another torturesome goodbye. It's a very good thing that I know that they'll all be well taken care of, because I'd otherwise be unable to leave.</span><br /><br />That afternoon, I had the pleasure of witnessing again the generosity of the poor. Thompson, the night watchman at the CCS compound, invited us to visit his home. Once we arrived, his incredibly gracious wife, Janet, offered us sodas that she'd fetched for us. He showed us around his home, and then showed us a miracle. Thompson, from his own meager salary, has constructed a schoolhouse about the size of an American bedroom in his own front yard. When he first started to work at CCS, he was frustrated with his English and immediately hired a tutor from Kenya to teach his children English so they wouldn't suffer the same fate. Once his neighbors heard that he had a tutor at his home, they said he was selfish unless he invited all of the neighbor children to learn with them as well. He did. That was a few years ago and now, with all his own money, he has constructed a schoolhouse where a VOLUNTEER tutor teaches over 40 local children every day. The people here are unreal.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTKD3EetpwtY5Qx8EruEi6jBaY_KsAqKyWHCX7b7uo0pn5kPzlXswcn4snFu-1qlK7Zcq3oRnFwZT6MPFmDbzLdxV8WYiGKF1uiSN9SgVUb9vNVhuaysI6Ax0xvn06ZsQ19rBYF7t2EeI/s1600-h/P2050016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTKD3EetpwtY5Qx8EruEi6jBaY_KsAqKyWHCX7b7uo0pn5kPzlXswcn4snFu-1qlK7Zcq3oRnFwZT6MPFmDbzLdxV8WYiGKF1uiSN9SgVUb9vNVhuaysI6Ax0xvn06ZsQ19rBYF7t2EeI/s200/P2050016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028351957963103298" border="0" /></a><span>Yesterday, we awoke early to begin plans to cancel our climb and visit Tengeru market near our home base. Even though we've been warned on multiple occasions not to take photos (for fear that either our camera would be stolen or locals would violently demand a fee for their photos), we were determined to steal a few, because nothing other than a photo could describe for you what this place is like. We even managed to snap this shot of a bloodied butcher sitting on the chopping block with chunks of flesh at his feet. Essentially, our technique was that I'd pose as if Sanjay were taking a picture of me only, and he'd quickly snap something over my shoulder. I hope they turn out.</span><br /><br /><span>We then decided to move for the weekend to a hotel in town where we could take a real shower and, hopefully, begin to recover from out plague. (Actually, I'm pretty certain we're only here because Sanjay is REALLY excited to watch the Superbowl. Little did he know, though, that our hotel's TV's won't be showing the game. He's just gone upstairs to check us out, and is already researching alternatives that provide ESPN. Good luck. I wonder if that's actually why he agreed to cancel our climb?) </span><br /><br /><span>On our taxi ride over to the Kibo Palace, there were literally a million butterflies clouding the air. They looked like snow, their infestation apparently a direct consequence of the recent heavy rains.</span><br /><br /><span>Upon our arrival, after absorping a couple of American movies on the television (which we haven't seen in over a month now!), we ate a so-so dinner (Sanjay had some super-yummy enormous prawns while I had some alright peas and paneer in a sub-par sauce) at the hotel restaurant and watched some wedding festivities that was unfolding around the hotel pool. We did have a small, unsatisfying banana split for dessert, and then headed to a casino that's the size of an American bedroom with a blackjack table, a roulette table, a poker table and a few slot machines. It was actually pretty fun for an hour or so as we tipped the dealers heavily, and they were super appreciative. They kept saying "thanks from the girls!" After we handed over all our money, we returned for a fairly long, restful sleep and room service for breakfast. </span><br /><br /><span>We're sitting in our hotel lobby now. I've only coughed up a little green stuff this morning. I'm feeling a little better, but not nearly 100%. </span><span>Although we're missing Kiliminjaro, I'm hoping this week will still be exciting - it kind of sucks to still be sick, though . . . I REALLY wish we could have gone :(<br /><br />PS: Check out the American Lion in Masai Hell entry again - we're adding photos as we speak, and, if I do say so, they're fantastic!<br /></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-91691511811808934822007-01-28T06:51:00.000-08:002007-01-28T08:18:03.104-08:00HomeSICK<span style="font-family:arial;">It's finally catching up with me. I think I'm dying - not really, don't panic. Besides, just yesterday one of the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CCS</span> volunteers in the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Moshi</span> program fell off the top bunk and was safely med-<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">evac</span>-ed home, so I'm certain if my current fever and sore throat escalate, I'll be safe and sound in my own bed (wait, do I even have my own bed? I guess I mean Zoe's bed.) with Millie in no time.<br /><br />The other most exciting stories:<br /></span><ol><li><span style="font-family:arial;">A black kite (a large hawk/eagle/vulture-like African bird) swooped down while we were having lunch on safari yesterday and tried to steal <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Sanjay's</span> sandwich. Luckily, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Sanjay</span> kept his sandwich, but he does have two large claw scratches on his arm from the scuffle. Of course, since then, rumor has spread among the volunteers about the incident. I believe the last I heard was that a pterodactyl bit him, that he overheated on safari and had to be med-<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">evac</span>-ed to Nairobi. Actually, that's a conglomeration of three exaggerated rumors - the black kite, the volunteer falling from her bunk and the overheating of our vehicle while we were on safari. (Yep, we were stuck for almost an hour, not really certain if we would ever actually leave <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Ngorongoro</span> Crater while our guides poured water that exploded into steam on our 1,000,000-degree engine. More on that later . . .</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Someone tried to mug Connie on the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">daladala</span> (a small bus form of public transportation that generally holds about 30+ people with asphyxiating BO in a vehicle the size of a minivan). While two other volunteers exited the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">daladala</span> (which Diane calls the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">dollydolly</span>), a man held Connie by the arms and tried to rip off her hip-sack. Luckily, Nadia (a totally nice volunteer from the UK who works with Connie on her placement at <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Patandi</span> School, a school for special needs students), hit the guy and Connie escaped without any losses other than her false sense of security. Connie's in her 60s, so I assume they thought she'd be an easy target. Little did they know who they were dealing with! She's one tough cookie.</span></li></ol><span style="font-family:arial;">Anyhow, since I last wrote, other than continuing to work at our placements, we've visited St. Lucia's Home for HIV/AIDS orphans and infected women, painted Shepherds Junior and went on a one-day safari to <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Ngorongoro</span>.<br /><br />At St. Lucia's, we played with the orphans, and visited the lone adult patient currently residing in the facility. She, I believe, was the saddest case of all, as she's laid on a mattress on the floor without speaking a single word for two years. As they described her situation, it was the first and only time I've been nearly moved to tears. Her husband abandoned her there and has since moved on, with her children (and likely her infection as well), to another wife. I have never been in the presence of someone so completely alone.<br /><br />As we left, they shared some general information about the AIDS pandemic in Africa. The figure they shared was that in the small ward of <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Arusha</span> they serve (called, I believe Mt. <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Meru</span> or <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Moivaro</span>), it is estimated that 32% of the adults are infected, and the number is rising despite their best efforts. (Of course, they said, the statistics are collected by multiple agencies without any clear central accountability or method, so there's really no telling.) While the Clinton Fund is currently providing free drugs to combat the disease, that funding is limited to two years, and they're not certain how they'll replace it. They said that the key reasons for the continued spread of the disease are shame, silence, and an unwillingness to even be diagnosed, a tradition of wife inheritance, especially among the Masai, which passes even the wives whose husbands have died of AIDS on to the husband's brothers, the continued practice of traditional medicine among practitioners who do not sterilize their instruments and equipment between patients (and, in many cases, who don't treat the disease but rather the "curse"), and religious rituals, like mass circumcision, which are practiced by using the same, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">uncleansed</span> instrument on all participants.<br /><br />On Friday afternoon, we also painted my school, Shepherds Junior. Nearly 20 volunteers went, plus <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Zungu</span>, a local artist who works next door to our dormitory. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">On Friday morning, I asked him if he'd donate his time to help us that afternoon, and he agreed without hesitation. He's SO nice., and made our job SO much easier, since he helped us open the paint, mix it, you know, the stuff I'd have had no idea how to do. Instead of paint stirrers, he used sticks, instead of sandpaper, he used stones. He thinned all the paint, and walked with me to the local hardware store when we needed to procure additional supplies. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Even the taxi driver who brought us there picked up a paint brush to help. It was awesome, and it turned out incredibly. On the outside, it's bright blue with bright red trim, and the three classrooms are light green, light blue and gold. I must admit, I was very proud to have organized the effort. I can't wait to see the kids faces when they return to find their formerly gray stucco classrooms newly brightened and glossy with a fresh coat of paint.<br /><br /><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Zungu's</span> even coming back with me this week while I paint so that he can add a mural to the front of the building. I can't wait! Even though he doesn't have much, he's SO generous with his time - he also teaches art, for free, to local children in his spare time. We learned that when our team of painters took him out to dinner at Big Bite after we were done renovating. The food was awesome (think Amber India in Mountain View awesome), and it was totally interesting to talk to him, too. He actually used to be a porter on <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Kiliminjaro</span> before he became an artist, and he only completed primary school but speaks nearly impeccable English. Based on his <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Kili</span> experience, he said that he had no doubt that <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Sanjay</span> would make it to the top . . . but he wasn't so sure about me.<br /><br />After our Big Bite feast, I immediately went to bed as we had to get up to leave for a 6am safari departure.<br /><br />The next morning, we left in an I-just-know-this-thing-is-about-to-break-down-and-strand-us-in-<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">BFE</span> minivan. Beth and <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Tegan</span> packed a TON of snacks (thank goodness) so we ate crackers, peanut butter and <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">nutella</span> the whole way. Jean also provided us with some seriously coveted M&Ms. As we drove, we shared our favorite Africa songs by passing around <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">everyone's</span> <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">iPod</span>. We listened to today's:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Songs of the Day<br /></span></span></span><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Africa, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>by Toto - I know, I know, this was yesterday's song, too, but I probably listened to it 5 times yesterday, so I haven't managed to escape its grasp yet.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Circle of Life, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>by Sir Elton John and from Disney's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lion King.</span> Actually, this song nearly makes me cry when I hear it and am driving through the edge of the Serengeti. How lucky can one girl be?</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Baba</span> <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Yetu</span>, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>which is the Swahili <span style="font-style: italic;">Our Father.</span> I don't know who sings this, but Alex, a 19-year-old good Catholic boy from Canada, brought it and it is incredibly beautiful.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Weeping, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span> by Josh <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Groban</span> with the South African group <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Ladysmith</span> Black <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Mombazo</span>. It's a song about apartheid.</li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;">Once we'd completed our nearly three-hour drive to <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Ngorongoro</span>, which is a huge imploded crater in the earth in which <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">alot</span> of animals live, we stopped at the gate to use the restroom, pour water onto our already-nearly-overheated engine, and watch a troop of baboons steal lunches from the Range Rover parked beside our broken-down heap. Even the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">monkies</span> knew which of us would have packed the superior lunch . . .<br /><br />We continued our drive, and they opened the roof of the minivan for us to peer out at the multitude of cheetahs, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">waterbucks</span>, elands, gazelles, impalas, zebras, lions, elephants, flamingos and birds of all shapes and sizes (the coolest one was the Sacred Ibis). Once we'd made about 1/2 of our trip around the massive crater floor, our vehicle, as suspected just gave out. We were stuck for about an hour, but eventually, after significant consternation and talk with our travel companion Jean about how she, as a Boulder park ranger, would have the skills and supplies to save us, the vehicle cooled down. Of course, the drivers were feverishly running back and forth to the nearest mud puddles to fetch the water with which to cool the engine.<br /><br />After we continued, we stopped for a quick boxed lunch of a grated cheddar-like substance & butter on white bread sandwich with a bluish-colored hard-boiled egg and a green, flavorless orange. We drank black currant juice from boxes. Luckily, they included some sort of African <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Doritoes</span> and hid two tiny candy bars at the bottom, which we each quickly gobbled up.<br /><br />After lunch (which was at about 3:30), we started to drive from the crater and, because a rain shower was moving our direction, we started to get super cold. <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Tegan</span> and Alex had to pee so bad, and I started to feel feverish, irritable and my throat was killing me. We drove with wind gusts of about 2-degrees and speeds of 1,000 mph for over an hour while I slowly felt sicker and sicker. I put on my bright pink raincoat to warm up, but to no avail. Finally, we reached the exit gate, and several of us literally raced to the bathroom.<br /><br />The rest of the drive was extremely protracted as well, because they couldn't push the gas too hard for fear of us overheating again. It may have seemed even longer for Diane, Jean and <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Sanjay</span>, as Beth, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">Tegan</span>, Alex and I sang the entire way home without any accompaniment except for the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">iPods</span> in our ears. They hated every single Jewel, Beach Boys, Billy Joel and Simon and Garfunkel song we massacred, but I actually think they liked our rousing rendition of today's final<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Song of the Day:<br /></span></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I Touch Myself</span>, by the Divinyls, which seemed to be very well-received.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;">We also stopped on the side of the road for <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">Tegan's</span> pee-break as <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Maasai</span> warriors wandered past and watched her in an area that had until that moment seemed entirely deserted.<br /><br />As we drove into <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">Arusha</span> town, we begged to skip dinner, but our super-nice guide <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">Naaz</span> (a 22-year-old who's married to a former <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">CCS</span> volunteer) wouldn't allow it. He stopped and insisted, because of the vehicle problems, that he buy us each a dinner of fried chicken and chips (i.e., fries) at Steers, a local fast-food joint. The chicken had feathers all over, so I avoided it. The fries were good, though, and as I left the man cleaning our table said, "She likes fat, but not chicken." No shit, Sherlock.<br /><br />Anyway, eventually, we got home. I've never been so grateful for a hard mattress on a bottom bunk in a room with water that runs only part of the time and is generally frigid, and supremely unreliable electricity that barely allows <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Sanjay</span> to charge his camera. But last night I was grateful.<br /><br />Actually, if I've learned anything at all here, it's really that we can subsist on so much less than we have . . .<br /><br />I finally woke up, with a low temperature and a terribly sore throat at 2pm today. I didn't want to move, but I also didn't want to eat rice and beans for the 92<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">nd</span> time, so I left the dorm with <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Sanj</span> and Diane. We walked through town, and, after I clumsily fell into a foot-deep hole on the sidewalk but completely avoided injury, we dined in style at Pepe's.<br /><br />Pizza and Sprite has never tasted so good.<br /><br />PS: Thanks for all the photos (especially you, Millie). In my current germ-ravaged state, I'm growing a little homesick, so every little bit helps . . . I'm hoping to recover by Saturday in time for our Kili climb. Sanjay is sick too ;(<br /><br />PPS: Chooch, you are the cutest birthday boy ever!<br /></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-54443009248130792662007-01-25T06:10:00.000-08:002007-01-25T07:00:42.207-08:00Wetting the Bed<span style="font-family:arial;">My roommate Diane used to be my friend. Yesterday, she wet my bed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Actually, here's how it went down. Diane was sick and whiny and she took the whole day off yesterday while the rest of us went on a field trip past Kiliminjaro to Moshi. (Kili is f*%ing huge - I must admit I'm getting a little, okay a lot, terrified now. I've heard some serious horror stories and no matter how much Al Gore says the snow is melting up there, it still looks seriously white.) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Anyway, I mistakenly assumed that Diane's "day of rest" had allowed her to recover in full. And, when I went to bed on my bottom bunk, I playfully bounced her bed up and down - just enough to aggravate her. After my pestering, she sought retribution and dumped an entire liter of water on me in my jammies and on my already miserably uncomfortable mosquito-net suffocating bed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was soaked, and my bed still has not recovered. I'm quite certain my Swahili-only speaking maid is concerned about my incontinence problem. While these escapades went on, Connie, our "prim but mischievous" moo (we greet elders here with ShikaMOO, so we call the old girls, of which I'm now honorary because I'm not one of the coeds, MOOs for short) found a gecko on the wall and screamed like a six-year-old on a sugar-high for our neighbor "Sanchez" to save us from our insect invasion. (She can't remember and/or pronounce Sanjay's name, but I think it's appropriate that she's given him a Mexican nickname since he wants to name his first child Nacho.) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sanjay ran over and threw the gecko toward Connie, who ran screaming from the room. He did, eventually, remove it. Finally, with the water spilt and the gecko exterminated, we were able to sleep soundly - except I was upside down trying to avoid the wet spot, and Diane whimpers in her sleep. I still like her, though ;)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To catch you up a little bit, we've been going to our placements most days, except for our field trip yesterday. The babies in my class are adorable - although my throat hurts from singing to them for hours a day -loudly - to get them to pay attention. I'm trying to teach them (along with their full-time teachers, Happy and Angel - how appropriate) letter A and number 0. So far, so good. I really adore them - My favorite is Mary. Everyone says she's mine, because she's the child with the lightest skin and she's also chubby like me. Today, she put my glasses on and she looked incredibly cute. She's 2 1/2. Of course, I have about a million favorites. Leah's another - she's older, maybe 10, in Class 3. I taught their math class the other day, and we held a little addition competition which she won. I cut her out a star from construction paper which said "I'm a Math Superstar". She was SO proud, she showed everyone and even put it on every day for the rest of the week. She's such a good girl.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've also continued working on a fundraising plan for them, which has taken every free moment I have - and then some, which is, in part, why my postings have been so infrequent. But I really think it could help them to begin to raise the funds to continue to grow this school, so I'm committed to seeing it through. I'll be sure to share the plan once it's finished . . . </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tomorrow, we also plan to paint the three new classrooms that they just built in the back yard of the headmistress, Lucy. I can't wait to see the children's faces on Monday after they see what we have done.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Other than that, we went on a field trip yesterday, as I said, to Moshi, which is just past Mt. Kiliminjaro. We hiked down to an incredibly beautiful waterfall, saw a traditional home from the Chaga tribe, which was very interesting and looked like a tropical hut of some kind. (The Chaga</span> people are originally from the <span style="font-family:arial;">Kiliminjaro area and, unlike the Masai, most no longer live traditionally but have substantially modernized.) We also saw some tunnels in which the Chaga</span> hid from the Masai when the tribes battled over cattle (which they still do, sometimes). Then, we stopped for lunch at an outdoor buffet (yes, you read that correctly, a BUFFET) - where raw beef hung, nearly whole and definitely recognizable, next to the totally unpalatable beans, rice, okra, grilled chicken, noodles and beef mash that we ingested. <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Later that day, I (I know this will be a surprise . . . ) suffered my first bout with diarrhea. Lucky, stupid me. Anyway, we made up for it by stopping at a supermarket on the way home where we bought Pringles and candy bars. I think I ate my weight in junk food - but, for those of you concerned about my weight loss, I did get up and jog this morning.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Not too much more to tell - we did play a rousing game of Celebrity (during which I was forced to charade "Pussy Galore") last night with Jean, a totally buff park ranger from Boulder - she couldn't stop giggling. I just love unstoppable laughter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, I'll end with that. I miss you all sooooooooo much, but we're doing just fine. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I hope your day ends, as mine did yesterday as a consequence of Jean's silliness and Diane's raindrops, with total joy and a bellyache from laughing too hard.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Songs of the Day: </span><br /><ul style="font-family:arial;"><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Africa</span>, by Toto - which I haven't heard since I've been here but I CANNOT get out of my head;</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Faith</span>, by George Michael, which I sing incessantly to a little girl named Faith in my class, who's also 2; and<br /></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">You are My Sunshine</span>, which I heard my babies sing for the first time today during morning assembly (They sing for about 30 minutes every morning, all 110 of them together - it's really quite a beautiful way to start every day, to the sound of children singing. They must know a million songs.)<br /></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;">PS - Millie, thanks for your photo. I thought I couldn't possibly feel more guilty or miss you anymore. But after seeing that picture, I'm not so sure. You tell them to give you pizza and cookies for dinner and let you sleep in their beds. I promise I'm over half-way done now and I'll be home soon. I'll bring you a prize!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">PPS - Zoe, I was thinking maybe Holland Elementary could be a "sister school" for Shepherds Junior, and you could be penpals with the children here and send them books, toys and school supplies that your school collects for them. Maybe you should ask your principal or teacher???</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You'd just love them, and they could really use anything!!!! Pencils and paper are scarce (they actually ran out of pencils today, and couldn't find any to give one of the students), and some of the babies have never held a crayon!!! They LOVE stickers, even just little stars. Give it some thought, and let me know what you think! Ashlee - is there any sort of project the students in your program could do with the students or teachers here remotely???</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">PPPS - I know, we need pictures!!!!!! But the upload speed is simply overwhelming . . . Samahani, Pole, I'm so sorry - we're working out the glitches, I promise! You just have to see my babies!</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-45804468256197055592007-01-23T03:01:00.000-08:002007-01-23T03:40:45.650-08:00Upendo Nursery<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >Here's a little bit about my placement:</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >I am a teacher at the Upendo Nursery, a small 2-classroom building walking distance from the dorm I am staying at. It has 14 kids right now between the ages of 3 and 6 but should have closer to thirty kids by next week. The kids here are adorable! They are these tiny little munchkins who run up and hold my hand as soon as I am in sight of the playground outside the school. They go to this school because they can't afford to go to the more expensive schools in town - they only pay $1 a month so that they can get porridge at lunchtime. (If they can't afford that, the family that runs the nursery pays for it with their own money.) The family is a preacher, his wife and their son Daniel who is the children's primary teacher. He is great with the kids, sometimes I wonder if he really needs our help but he says he does.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >The work itself is pretty kickback - I teach them the alphabet, sing songs, and play with them. I guess I didn't know what to expect but working with them is pretty easy, I get to the school in the morning around 8:30, start lessons at 9:00, teach until about 10:15, and then let them play in the yard while we (Hilary, my fellow volunteer from Santa Cruz) go have Chai with Daniel. The children have their porridge served around 11:00 and then we walk them home shortly thereafter. I know I am having a great time with the kids but then I feel like I am not doing enough or not being utilized enough. I'm trying to do additional things like conduct Engligh lessons for some of the adults and helping Stacey with her work stuff. I still feel like I am constantly doing things and am exhausted, but I don't know how much of that effort is truly beneficial to anyone.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >I actually got yelled at yesterday by one of the staff at dinnertime because almost all of the volunteers did not attend a scheduled 30 minute presentation about the Tanzanian education system. In front of everyone she said how disappointed she was and then she called out my name and said that as the leader, this was on me. (I didn't attend the presentation either because we had a 2-hour window before the presentation and Stacey and I needed to go into town to buy with our own money the paint and supplies we needed to paint Stacey's school.) Needless to say, I was upset; this seems to be the main issue I have with this volunteer program - it is way too structured and you have no real free time to do any personal items, much less any real work. I understand that you have to structure a full day of activities for the 18 and 19 year olds among us but for us adults, just give us the latitude to be effective.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >Anyways, I have to run back to the ranch for another meeting but I really can blog for hours straight, there is so much to say (I think Stacey is writing about our trip to the Masai village right now so stay tuned for that - it's great stuff.) We hope you are all doing well and I can't believe how sad Millie looks - I think we'll have to bring her back an elephant tusk as a bone for her to chew on.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:arial;" >(I just found out today that the Colts and the Bears would be playing in the Super Bowl - how awesome is that! And a special thank you goes out to Win-Champion who is tivo'ing 24, my favorite TV show for me.)</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-65487418606350065602007-01-18T04:19:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:23.847-08:00Mzungu Mwalimu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXhV6ItsCANBvQq32IXbzqWgssXaXnw5mrVAeyvKuncF0SqubivwCkE2KkonnQQPPtsxIpraBp0tTCupJ3HXdfddMbjVIJ9ksiOoUoKSrFebvpOXLK_FIrdM3SDd4Hpres4Dqzn6dLY3H/s1600-h/P1270270.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXhV6ItsCANBvQq32IXbzqWgssXaXnw5mrVAeyvKuncF0SqubivwCkE2KkonnQQPPtsxIpraBp0tTCupJ3HXdfddMbjVIJ9ksiOoUoKSrFebvpOXLK_FIrdM3SDd4Hpres4Dqzn6dLY3H/s320/P1270270.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028363154942844098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Mzungu</span> = Foreigner</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Mwalimu</span> = Teacher</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I am both now. I'd apologize again for the lapse in communication but it really is totally unavoidable. You cannot possibly imagine the situation in which</span><span style="font-family:Arial;"> I currently write. It's actually amazing that there's a computer at all. Near our "compound" is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Tengeru</span> Village. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">internet</span> facilities are here. I cannot possibly describe to you the conditions outside the doors. It reminds me somewhat of a ghost town from the southwest - dusty and crumbling with chickens wandering the narrow loose gravel alleyways aimlessly. There's a key difference, however. The place is entirely kinetic - tailors sew on their porches, tiny children play independently, and many people wander the dirt paths that cross back and forth in no seeming organizational scheme. As they pass one another, they greet one another without fail - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Shikamoo</span> ( I respect you), <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Hujambo</span> (Hello) and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Habari</span> (How are you?) must pass the lips of each individual one thousand times. C</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">ompletely unlike the fast, ignoring Americans who pass one another at strip malls. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">As energetic as the village is today, it is even <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">moreso</span> on market days - Wednesdays and Saturdays, when you can't even move for all the people. There are second-hand clothes and shoes stacked four feet high (which we've been told are mostly stolen from packages bound to Africa from well-meaning European and American donors), and a farmers market is crowded with individuals selling their bananas, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">mangos</span>, dried fish - whatever they have - to make a pittance to feed their families. It's incredible. Hopefully, I'll be able to post pictures at some point, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">everyone's</span> advised us never to take pictures in the market because either a) our camera will be stolen or b) anyone in the general direction of our photo will expect to be paid a commission.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The small <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">internet</span> shop in which I reside is set in the midst of this place. It's almost incomprehensible to imagine that we're even in the same century as the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">internet</span> </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">was invented given our surroundings, but here I sit in the midst of total irony. That said, we are talking about a dial-up connection slower than the pony express, but there is something. I am sitting next to two small local boys whose father is giggling while watching them play a game in which President Bush and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Condoleeza</span> Rice are armed and defending themselves from potential assassins in the oval office. Small World.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Anyway, I came to the village to write to you about my volunteer experience so far. It's probably good that I've waited 4 days in to write this, because I've had the opportunity to see and feel a little more. Hopefully, I can find the words to describe it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I am a teacher a Shepherds Junior Academy, a local primary school that has 6 clas</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">ses; Baby Class (ages 2-3), Nursery Class (ages 3-4), <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Pre</span>-Unit (Kindergarten), and Classes 1-3, which seem to generically correspond to our grade structure. I am in the Baby Class. These children are perhaps the cutest I have ever seen, snotty noses and all. Of course, I understand nary a word they are saying as, at this age, they speak almost exclusively Swahili. My favorite is probably Eliza, a little girl who sits near the back of the class and constantly says one of the few words I know to describe her perception of my degree of comprehension of the Swahili language - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">kidogo</span> or "just a little." Of course, there's also <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Damares</span>, Prisca, Melania, the two Charities, Collins, Faith and Jordan. All of them have the brightest eyes I've ever seen. They sing incessantl</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">y. My personal favorite:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Be happy, be happy before you die. (Come On!)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Be happy, be happy before you die. (Come On!)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">My friend is ___________. She's a girl.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Shake-a your body before you die. (Come On!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(In hearing from some of my fellow volunteers at local HIV orphanages and hospitals, death is much nearer to them than it ever is for American children. Just today, three of our volunteers attended a funeral service for an 8-year-old girl from St. Lucias who died not from her HIV infection, but from chicken pox that spiked a fever and, from the perspective of one of the volunteers, killed her from dehydration as they have no facilities to deliver IV fluids and have no time or resources to ensure the children drink a sufficient amount of clean water.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As for my new favorite song, they clap along and they shake their little hips </span><span style="font-family:arial;">and dance d</span><span style="font-family:arial;">urin</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vqgqd90noQ3XsGiH7VYryjOj904nGhRXw8dVZ0vyASrKiXSdWGD34QlLnNRpluZNTWPvl7eiMzF4QZefhJF7C2tcdmcdFQpvszpNDWTQ1KUXYvWMrLShvsEMw8NTjAy6KnfPUyORYAKi/s1600-h/alice.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vqgqd90noQ3XsGiH7VYryjOj904nGhRXw8dVZ0vyASrKiXSdWGD34QlLnNRpluZNTWPvl7eiMzF4QZefhJF7C2tcdmcdFQpvszpNDWTQ1KUXYvWMrLShvsEMw8NTjAy6KnfPUyORYAKi/s320/alice.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028365332491263186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">g the last line if</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> we've called their</span><span style="font-family:Arial;"> names. And we try to sing it for as many of the </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">children as we can before 2-year-old booties can no longer sit still (and whose names we know - the teachers don't even know some of the children's names!) Of course, once they can no longer sit still, the teachers tell them to sit quietly and they pass out one stuffed animal to each child to play with independe</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">ntly. You should see these toys. The eyes are all gone and the stuffing hangs out on every single one. But they may have no toys at home, so they love them, and rock them like tiny babies. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Zoe, when I get home, we are cleaning out your closet and mailing them here. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">There's a schedule on the wall that says what we're supposed to be doing when, but it seems to be completely irrelevant, at least this week, as it's the first week of school and our head teacher - Teacher Happy - is not feeling well at all. In fact, on my first day, she was not present and on our second day, she slept all day on the floor in the back of the room trying to recuperate. As she did, her assistant teacher (Teacher Angel) and I attempted to keep 33 2-year-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">olds</span> entertained, quiet and sitting in their seats. It was a nearly impossible feat. The classroom is so small that you can't even get to the children for fear of stepping on another one. It's truly incredible.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Actually, though, I suppose I'm kind of surprised by how little I'm surprised. In truth, the school seems just like an American school with FAR fewer resources. It's not what we've got, but I do believe the children are learning and are cared for by their teachers. (This, in fact, may be the greatest lesson I take home: it's not so much that they have too little, though that's true - but it's become clear that we have far, far too much. And we've lost sight of the important stuff for all the material bullshit. For them, families, neighbors, friends and relationships are still clearly the most important.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">They have no crayons, balls, jump ropes, desks, toys, teaching aids, computers, text books, a/v <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">equipment, etc</span>. Even pencils and paper are terribly scarce. A teacher from another classroom came to our room today searching, in vain, for a pencil. I brought crayons in for the children to color an apple (a sound for apple!), and one little boy cried because he didn't know how to color - it seemed that many of them had never held a crayon before. I'd love to see an American teacher attempt to teach in this environment. This morning, for instance, I hand wrote out the letter a, instructions, the date, and 10 dotted <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">a's</span> to trace in 33 notebooks; in a separate 33 notebooks, I wrote the date and instructions and drew an apple for each child to color. Photocopying is simply too expensive. They work hard - an the teachers make only about 70-80,000 shillings (or about $60-65) per month for their efforts.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">In addition to my work with the children, I've been working with the former-poultry-business-owner-turned-headmaster Lucy to develop a capital plan to raise funds to expand her school and start an associated orphanage. I believe this is actually where I may do the most lasting good. Lucy is a good woman who started this school. From everything I've seen and heard, she's done an incredible job given her limited resources. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">You can bet that I'll be asking each of you to contribute to her fundraising efforts - I'll let you know more after my plan is complete . . .</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Sanjay</span> is at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Upendo</span> Nursery, a school for 2-6 year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">olds</span>. He seems to like it, and I'm sure he'll post later with some details. Right now, he's teaching English to the school's staff.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Both of us are enjoying ourselves, but there definitely seems to be something critical missing. I was interviewed today for a PBS special about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">voluntourism</span>. They asked whether I felt like I was doing "good." I really don't know. Here's how I feel: It feels good to have babies run to me, hold my hands and kiss me. It feels good to hug them and play with them. But, in all honesty, I feel like I'm getting more out of the experience than they are. I SO want that to be different, and I'm hoping that my fundraising plan is a step in the right direction, but I just don't know . . . some of the volunteers and I are also planning to paint some of her classrooms, so at least I'll leave some mark behind, I suppose.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">This weekend, we're headed into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Arusha</span> for dinner and tomorrow we'll be camping in a Masai village. We'll be sure to catch you up upon our return. You can continue to expect our updates to be somewhat sporadic . . . </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">PS: I haven't had time to proof, but wanted to get you an update, so sorry for any necessary edits!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">PPS: I'll also get some pictures as soon as I can - you've got to see these babies!!!!</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-16083377441998625202007-01-13T08:36:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:25.435-08:00Who Says White Girls Can't Jump?<span style="font-family:arial;">I have to catch you up on our last few days in Kenya. They were truly fantastic. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">But first, quickly, a VERY happy 8th birthday to my favorite niece, Zoe. I miss you, short stack, and I'll see you very soon. I have some VERY fun presents for you!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">And now, back to our show:</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">After we wrote last, we spent just the night in Nairobi. We ate, mistakenly, and expensively, at the American Southwestern restaurant called the "Spur". We had nachos and fajitas. Not good. Very bad. But we were, admittedly, too scared to leave the hotel at night. And, nachos <em>sounded</em> good. <span style="color:#ff9900;">I'm sorry but Nairobi is a disaster, it's probably the armpit of Kenya. It smells like toxic fumes have engulfed the city and it is complete chaos; if any of you are ever going to safari in the Masai Mara </span><span style="color:#ff9900;">and you have to go through Nairobi, don't spend any more time in Nairobi than you have to.<br /><br />Oh, we forgot to mention the notorious "blister beetle" that one of our fellow guests fell victim to at Jao camp. Apparently, the blister beetle is a beetle with yellow or red marking that when it comes in contact with human skin (it just has to sit on you) will secrete some nasty toxin that will create a huge, red, itchy spot that actually grows in size but here's the kicker, if you touch the red spot and then touch another part of your body, that area too will be affected. Needless to say, poor Pam had these huge nasty red spots on both of her legs and everybody seemed to offer different advice as to how to cure the rash. I'm not sure how she'll explain this to her doctor back home...</span><br /><br />Anyway, we woke up the next morning, and went for a short drive through the center of the city so that Sanjay could pick up some camera equipment that we forgot to pack. (Yeah - I can upload my pics for you!) While I waited in the car with the guide, two men came up to the car looking for jobs. Unemployment is a huge issue in the city. I asked about wages, and my guide said that less than $100 a month was a common wage for factory workers, while those in the tourism industry make about $200 a month. To send a single child to private school (and public schools are, apparently a nightmare) costs $100 a month, and the least expensive 1-room accommodation in the worst neighborhood in Nairobi costs $30/month, while a 1-room accommodation in a middle class neighborhood costs about $70 a month.<br /><br />We caught our flight from a small airport on a small plane. Actually, it had a full 15 seats. Compared to the earlier flights between Botswana and Zambia - which were on 6-8 seat planes fully equipped with the interior - and probably engine - of a 1972 Chevy Nova. So, I was comfortable, not nauseous and grateful.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyMtp1ZxeVH6Sa7isLtcRr21BdetvDkJaAdPoJ834mA7vCO9Cw0nYFbx2NptrtnWP2xl_KdqyAoxfweoH1XykMHTcNl8tVpyihPRpv5Xj-jtBkq_NpgJI8FufZf3KAHiyw-a3LnZncxWe/s1600-h/Neshak.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019992351028900530" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyMtp1ZxeVH6Sa7isLtcRr21BdetvDkJaAdPoJ834mA7vCO9Cw0nYFbx2NptrtnWP2xl_KdqyAoxfweoH1XykMHTcNl8tVpyihPRpv5Xj-jtBkq_NpgJI8FufZf3KAHiyw-a3LnZncxWe/s200/Neshak.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once we arrived, we were picked up by our Masai guide, Timothy, and transported to the amazing <a href="http://www.ccafrica.com/destinations/kenya/kichwa/accom-bat.asp">Bateleur Camp</a>, perhaps our favorite lodge of all. Immediately, we were led to a truly sumptuous meal created by our fabulous chef, Meshack. We love him. Our first meal started with a chile lime vegetable broth, followed by a grilled pork with Thai noodles with a side of Eggplant Salad. I actually loved the eggplant, so Meshack gave me the recipe:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><strong>Eggplant Salad</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">(For 50 - Do I have that many friends?)</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">15 medium size Japanese Eggplant, cut into large cubes and salted to drain the water from them</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">Oil To fry them in </span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">4 cups Balsamic Dressing </li></ul></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><div></span></div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Drain the cubes for 30 minutes. Deep fry them for 1 minute in VERY hot oil to seal them. Put them in a roasting pan and finish cooking them. Toss them with dressing - refrigerate and serve.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-m9w4muuKCCFBJ95L6PiojjrqMdN8UReDSUtbUhyJzzYycXAobAnnl-YFHfqX1Er9z1LQ5LpdxFqE1cdiG3HpqQuQ42McaIp4Js2GdFYuzHqb83moc8rbBUO6kmu0w2SZ7dvo1Amq9Oi/s1600-h/Garden.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019994382548431554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-m9w4muuKCCFBJ95L6PiojjrqMdN8UReDSUtbUhyJzzYycXAobAnnl-YFHfqX1Er9z1LQ5LpdxFqE1cdiG3HpqQuQ42McaIp4Js2GdFYuzHqb83moc8rbBUO6kmu0w2SZ7dvo1Amq9Oi/s200/Garden.JPG" border="0" /></a>I think it may have actually been the fact that the fact that the eggplant was grown in Meshack's garden, which he toured with us, and which was tended by the gardener Peter, with tremendous pride and TLC. We actually signed a guest book to tour the small garden:)<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">We ended that meal with a dessert of fresh pineapple spears with a cardamom caramel saucy. Fricking fantastic. Meshack was amazing.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">Enough about food, I know what you've all been waiting to hear about, I just have two words for you: "Cheetah Kill". We witnessed a cheetah (named Honey) along with her three male cubs hunt and ambush a pack of T<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsz_4AynOfixAbgaAoD9F-7gcC44F_v2cyzgKrapwp5HfZozEmZeJaEFN457WD9ANCzEwr-zYJaBFUB0SkLqbvNSStIE_NtMvSHvM3sSpoQcdFklfO9jITqwXy5wE8rkhDe77xj4UNy8Bv/s1600-h/Cheetah+Kill2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019991582229754530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsz_4AynOfixAbgaAoD9F-7gcC44F_v2cyzgKrapwp5HfZozEmZeJaEFN457WD9ANCzEwr-zYJaBFUB0SkLqbvNSStIE_NtMvSHvM3sSpoQcdFklfO9jITqwXy5wE8rkhDe77xj4UNy8Bv/s200/Cheetah+Kill2.JPG" border="0" /></a>hompson's gazelle. We had front row seats to the action as our tracker called out the play by play. Once the cheetahs were in range (about 50 meters) to the gazelle, we saw Honey emerge from the tall grass at full speed and chase down one of the gazelle at the back of the herd. I can't even begin to describe to you how fast that cheetah moved. It looked like the gazelle were moving in slow motion as this lean, long blur quickly closed the gap between them. Honey then leaped onto the back of one of the tailing gazelle and chomped on to its neck. While she clung on to its neck, her three cubs ran to her and began to feast on the gazelle that was still slightly moving. (All of the squeamish can skip this paragraph now.) </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;">The cubs started to pull at the tough hide of the gazelle for a few minutes and it finally came off and they all (including Honey) began to feast on the insides of the gazelle. All you could see was<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbZk7RskDKy5m_nmbM3QvM10GsIEq4S_XvEM6JaxMOz2Fu_fu0STxYYIbYP_wI3pmcRbw1O-Dg_oZZh6nYW7-aYAPF4RTBcVwMVjV7_f2GwbJs1cmjW7yBhzuqcIturmPsvHQJ9NElCpM/s1600-h/Cheetah+Kill.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019989069673886338" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbZk7RskDKy5m_nmbM3QvM10GsIEq4S_XvEM6JaxMOz2Fu_fu0STxYYIbYP_wI3pmcRbw1O-Dg_oZZh6nYW7-aYAPF4RTBcVwMVjV7_f2GwbJs1cmjW7yBhzuqcIturmPsvHQJ9NElCpM/s200/Cheetah+Kill.JPG" border="0" /></a> these four cheetah huddled closely over this carcass (which you couldn't really see except for the occasional shot of some internal organ as the cheetahs moved to choicer pieces of flesh) and the sounds of bone and flesh being crunched and chewed. Oh, and the cheetahs faces were covered in blood. It was disgusting but at the same time none of us could turn away. And these cats eat fast; apparently hyenas and lions will steal their kill away if they happen to see it. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;">As the cheetahs ate, a herd of wild buffalo were making their way in the direction of the feasting cats. One of the male buffalo spotted them and pointed its snout forward towards the kill. It started sniffing the air and our guide informed us that the buffalo have smelled the carcass and think that one of their own has been killed and they are not too happy about it. All of a sudden, a few of the buffalo started to walk directly to the cheetahs in an offensive posture. As the buffalo got to a few feet away from them, one of the male cubs got up, hunched his back (to make himself appear larger) and charged the encroaching bulls. The four bulls ran off in what looked like a very comical scene. Then, a larger herd of the buffalo (about twenty) charged the cheetahs and chased them off of the carcass. Some of the buffalo had a few young with them and they slowly sniffed the ground and walked directly to the carcass and began to sniff it intensely, as if to find out whether "Uncle Bob" had been eaten. The buffalo finally left and the cheetahs returned again to finish their meal. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghje9R8WniQmKSk09wTueo488JX6Dvw6c7QLG9oBQgOzHvr1UE1_J0I1NFStQ90fuFzvHWqroESZFd3G_DmLrnJy4EAsRkCZbc8Xy13LTLgBm6HMoNyLC7sDpInU1ucrtZbsJJPQrmedJ8/s1600-h/Cheetah+Chase.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019980226336223858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghje9R8WniQmKSk09wTueo488JX6Dvw6c7QLG9oBQgOzHvr1UE1_J0I1NFStQ90fuFzvHWqroESZFd3G_DmLrnJy4EAsRkCZbc8Xy13LTLgBm6HMoNyLC7sDpInU1ucrtZbsJJPQrmedJ8/s200/Cheetah+Chase.JPG" border="0" /></a>At this time, two jackals appeared from the brush and watched the carcass. Jackals are fierce scavengers and are pretty bold; these two jackals walked right up to the kill while the cheetahs weren't paying attention and almost snagged a bit of meat when one of the cubs spotted it and immediately chased it away. It was funny to see this cheetah chasing this runt of a dog over and over again across the plain. Anyways, the cheetahs bellies began to bulge and we left them to their meal.<br /></span><br />And now, back to the food. For dinner that night, we had stir fry steak and shrimp that Meshack cooked himself right in front of us. We chose our own sauces and ingredients. Yum. He followed it off with a spectacular chocolate pate with a passion fruit puree. I know, I know, enough with the Martha Stewart bullshit, but I wish I could convey to you just how beautifully this man crafted every meal.</span> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">The next morning Timothy brought us some jewelry that his wife had made, so we purchased some Masai gifts - if you're lucky, we might just have something for you. Then, we went on a fairly uneventful morning game drive - no major sightings, although I'll inventory everything we saw later on. What was exciting about the drive was learning about a million fascinating facts about the Masai from Timothy. I was, perhaps, more inquisitive than most, but I cannot describe just how transfixed I was learning about their culture and traditions. Here's what I learned:</span> </div><ul><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">The Masai live in very small villages. Timothy's village has 80 people. Most of them are related or very close. </span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">They have no running water nor electricity. As we drove in, we saw Masai women bathing in the stream. Timothy said that electricity was actually not very interesting to them, but they'd very much like running water so that they don't have to drink from and bathe in the same water as the animals.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">They live, almost exclusively, on cow's milk mixed with cow's blood. They occasionally have meat, but almost never vegetables. Timothy was very clear that they DO NOT farm at all, and said that their cows are considered a blessing from God. If someone eats wild game instead of the cows sent from God, they are shunned by the community.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">Hunting is strictly illegal on the Masai Mara, but the Masai still hunt lions for sport, to prove their bravery. The most brave warrior during the hunt gets to keep the mane of the lion, which he'll wear in ceremonies. The second most brave, which Timothy was, is marked with matching knife wounds in both arms, and receives a headdress of ostrich feathers</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">The men, at least, seem as much associate with their "age group" as they are with their families. They go through the rite of circumcision together around the age of 15, and seem bound together for life. As for the circumcision, it is performed by an elder with a knife, and if you flinch, you are known for life to be a coward, and are given only a common-bird feathered headdress. If you are brave, however, you receive a headdress made from the feathers of the most beautiful birds on the Mara. (By the way, Mara is the Masai, or Maa, word for "spotted", as the plains of the Masai Mara are speckled with Acacia trees.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">Female circumcision is still practiced, around the age of 13, although many in the community, including Timothy, are working to end the practice. He said that in many cases the girls themselves wanted to participate in the ritual, for the sake of tradition.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">They are polygamists. Men have anywhere from 1-3 wives, depending on how many dowries they can afford.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">They are Christian. But Timothy had never heard of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Their traditional religion was monotheistic as well, and Timothy says it simply is not that different, at its core, from Christianity.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">They're semi-nomadic, and Timothy's village has only been in its current location for about 4 months.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> They move around to find new food and water sources for their cattle.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">The cattle sleep in a sourt of atrium covered with dung within the confines of a fence that encircles the two rooms in the house, where the humans sleep.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">They don't use a calendar. Timothy did not even know what his birthday or precise age is, and the Masai do not celebrate birthdays. That said, we did hear the Masai sing a song of "Happy, Happy" to someone celebrating a birthday. They simply sang the word "happy" over and over again. Very fun.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Arial;">The primary jobs for women are jewelry making and beekeeping. Actually, our guide is very interested in setting up a website to sell the jewelry from the women in his village. We let him know that we had some friends in the States who might be willing to help him set up a quick ebay site to sell the jewelry - let us know if anyone's interested in helping out our Masai friend!</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family:arial;">After our morning of Masai inquisition, we sat down again for one of Meshack's delicacies. He fed us:<br /><br /><strong>Moroccan Bisteeya<br /></strong>Serves 6<br /><br />2 cups butter, melted into Ghee<br />1 cup onion, chopped finely<br />8 diced chicken thighs, chopped or shredded finely + 1 cup chicken stock<br />1/2 cup dried apricots, finely chopped<br />1/2 cup blanched almonds, chopped<br />2 teaspoons of ground cinnamon + 1 teaspoon extra<br />3 teaspoons toasted and ground cumin<br />1 teaspoon turmeric<br />1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper<br />1 teaspoon ground ginger<br />1/2 cup Greek Yoghurt<br />4 eggs, lightly beaten<br />1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped and 1/2 cup chopped coriander leaves<br />10 large sheets phyllo pastry<br />Salt & Ground black pepper<br />3 tablespoons icing sugar and the extra teaspoon cinnamon </span></div><ol><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Preheat the oven to 180C. Heat 25g of the butter in a pan; gently fry the onion until pale and golden. Add the chicken, chicken stock and all spices. Cook gently until done.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Stir in the apricots and cook for a further 2 minutes. Remove from the head and cool. Shred the chicken (we had it chopped, though, and I prefer that, I think). Season to taste with salt and pepper, then add parsley and coriander. Beat eggs and yogurt together and add.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Melt the remaining butter. Unroll the phyllo pastry. Keep the pastry sheets covered with a clean, damp dish towel to prevent drying.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Line the bowl with 3 layers of the pastry sheets. Spoon in the chicken mixture. Sprinkle with almonds, 1 teaspoon icing sugar and cinnamon. Fold up edges of bottom sheets in a rough pattern (to enclose the chicken in a pastry puff). Brush with butter.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">Crumple the remaining pieces and place them on the top of each pie, then brush over any remaining melted butter. Bake the pie for about 20 minutes, until the pastry is golden brown and crisp. Serve pie hot or cold, dusted with the remaining cinnamon and sugar.</span></li></ol><div><span style="font-family:arial;">The recipe isn't exactly clear on a couple of things - he made individual pies, and I think this is for one larger pie, so you might have to experiment a little - but it tastes FANTASTIC. Again, it's probably best with herbs from Meshak's garden. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">When he presented his recipes to us, they were rolled with a sprig of fresh rosemary, and he signed them - "Thank you for coming - Chef Meshack". </span></div><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;">That night, we went on a game drive again. Timothy told us we were going for a night drive, and drove us around to the Mara River. One thing about the Masai Mara is that it can get cold very quickly. The weather is extremely unpredictable; within a matter of minutes, it can go from rain to really hot to really cold and windy. Needless to say, when the sun went down, it was really cold and windy especially when driving around in an open Range Rover. Also, my allergies were killing me. There is so much pollen in the air that I could not stop sneezing, thank God for Stacey's packing every medicine known to man because the Benadryl sure did the trick.</span></span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;">So as we went on our drive, we got to a spot with firelit torches behind a thick set of trees. We came to a clearing and saw a tent setup with dining tables, the chef at a huge barbecue rack, and even a bar setup; all lit by torches. It was awesome - and a complete surprise! After getting a few cocktails, I heard what sounded like a hippo call very close by (hippos come out of the water and feed at night and you don't want to be anywhere near a hippo). The hippo sound came closer and closer and then all of a sudden we heard blood-curdling screams all around us which scared the crap out of all of us. Then a group of about 15 Masai warriors appeared and started to sing and dance for us. </span>(Actually, if you must know, I was in the zip-up tented port-o-let just pulling down my pants and nearly wet myself as I thought I heard a hippo closing in on me. I quickly pulled up my pants to see what the hell was going on.)</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;">After a few circle dances and songs, the Masai began a traditional jumping competition in which each Masai warrior jumps to see who can jump the highest and win the respect of the<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRfqWOUfrR1J3v6XmRU0-JRQ8RdvPP3c5nfx7koHkWY2U4GTb_iu_8AAZs5JmwyEqUqcLyEdECU5OgYiYS_ea5PioWTb3IysbcCGVjMmJ9cmR4h6zfpsTByQd_QWoL_4-NNNpRy2KmhwY/s1600-h/Stacey+Jump.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019978766047343202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRfqWOUfrR1J3v6XmRU0-JRQ8RdvPP3c5nfx7koHkWY2U4GTb_iu_8AAZs5JmwyEqUqcLyEdECU5OgYiYS_ea5PioWTb3IysbcCGVjMmJ9cmR4h6zfpsTByQd_QWoL_4-NNNpRy2KmhwY/s200/Stacey+Jump.JPG" border="0" /></a> other warriors. At this point, one of the warriors grabbed Stacey by the hand and led her into the jumping competition. Stacey immediately leaped into the air, graceful and majestic. It was like watching a cheetah bound through the Mara, or like Michael Jordan performing one of his mind-blowing, tongue sticking-out, dunks. Everyone at the camp (including the warriors) were awestruck by what they were witnessing. (I admit that I didn't think it could happen but white girls can definitely jump.) Being the vigilant photographer that I am, I caught a picture of this impressive display of agility and athleticism, in mid-leap mind you. (I will be selling a limited number of these prints in case you are interested in a poster-sized version of this once in a lifetime occurrence.) After her solo, each warrior grabbed one of us and led us in the dance. </span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;">After a fabulous dinner of barbecued chicken, ribs, lamb and a dessert of fried bananas with caramel sauce, we departed back to our lodge accompanied by an armed warrior. (Apparently, a lion had been wandering through our camp and this was a safety precaution.) We saw a couple of hippos with the spotlight but nothing else too terribly interesting.</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;">The next morning, we went for an early game drive leaving at 6:30 in the morning. The roads out were especially wet and muddy today. After driving around for about an hour, our third passenger spotted something sitting in a tree. It turned out to be the elusive Mara leopard. (It is extremely rare to see the leopard out here.) We followed it around as it sneaked through the tall grass. It was extremely wild and did not want to be photgraphed at all. It finally leaped across the road and disappeared. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOkD2gn0lyeZX-CBpAGjRPE3shI6kybsW7D9K6cM91UFElMDv7uURm7rvNa2-YNKEDBs4AFOaZM7J1IX06EbLZQTJvYaFjvwXzS97rKXXBfB_tObvwoA269nLPXbenezrEdF1rxgKkQR5/s1600-h/mud.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019977537686696530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOkD2gn0lyeZX-CBpAGjRPE3shI6kybsW7D9K6cM91UFElMDv7uURm7rvNa2-YNKEDBs4AFOaZM7J1IX06EbLZQTJvYaFjvwXzS97rKXXBfB_tObvwoA269nLPXbenezrEdF1rxgKkQR5/s200/mud.JPG" border="0" /></a>We drove further and, due to a rainy season that's lasted much longer than usual, we were splipping and sliding all over the road. It was actually kind of fun. Until we almost missed our flight out to Tanzania. We slid off the road into a ditch, and Timothy politely asked us to get out of the Land Rover and onto the leopard, cheetah, lion and hyena-filled Mara. As it turns out the animals were not to fear. The mud, however, was another story. We literally sunk about 6 inches into a thick, black muck that splashed onto our departure clothes as we walked away from our vehicle. Fortunately, we both avoided another pant count deduction. But barely. After another car (gari, in Swahili) came and pulled Timothy out, we returned to the lodge, caught a quick breakfast, and were off to the air strip for our departure.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Before we left, Timothy gave us each a very special bracelet that his wife had made for us. As we boarded our flight, and continued our takeoff, he waved and blew us kisses. I knew our safari was ending, and I almost cried.</span><br /></p><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Despite predicted rains everywhere in our path, the sun has shone brightly on every step of our journey so far - here's hoping the same is true in Tanzania.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNSjuw8q-ucDVKenL_B97xJGVtTwW6kNnHRAxSj8TT2Gog9_-kkfiNOyJEzmzt5NSBVRtV1FZa3vIk61SdBO_YDm-JI8igHL2gUATwUNInzldX-fzXjTeASSrP77kqTNFaHlhx1kK5-9r/s1600-h/hyena.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019990121940873874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNSjuw8q-ucDVKenL_B97xJGVtTwW6kNnHRAxSj8TT2Gog9_-kkfiNOyJEzmzt5NSBVRtV1FZa3vIk61SdBO_YDm-JI8igHL2gUATwUNInzldX-fzXjTeASSrP77kqTNFaHlhx1kK5-9r/s200/hyena.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></p><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">PS: Here's a summary of what we saw on the Masai Mara -</span></div><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:Arial;"><strong>Mammals</strong>: Thompson Gazelle, Grant's Gazelle, Giraffe, Topi Antelope, Warthogs, Cheetah, Silverback Jackal, Cape Buffalo, Waterbuck, Eland, Heartbeast Antelope, Spotted Hyena, Elephant, Olive Baboon, Hippo, Crocodile, Zebra, Leopard</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><strong>Birds: </strong>Ostrich, Cattle Egret, Black Stork, Egyptian Goose, Secratarybird, African Whitebacked Vulture, Tawny Eagle, Longcrested Eagle, African Crowned Eagle, Black-chested Snake Eagle, Dark Chanting Goshawk, Red-Necked Spurfowl, Gray Crowned Crane, Black-bellied Bustard, Speckled Mousebird, Cinnamon-chested Bee-eater, Lilac-breasted Roller, Southern Ground Hornbill, Crowned Hornbill, Yellow-Throated Longclaw, Red-faced Cistacola, Gray-backed Fiscal, Common Fiscal, Superb Starling, Red-Billed Oxpecker, Fan-tailed Widowbird, Fin-tailed Whydah, African Citril, Cinnamon-breasted Bunting</span></p>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-20205092910266284682007-01-13T08:33:00.000-08:002007-01-13T08:35:34.342-08:00Safe & SoundJust a quick check-in to let you know we've made it to Tanzania. We're going out for a drink - so we'll catch up tomorrow! I've got so much to tell you about our time with the Masai . . .staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-48662490095195136672007-01-10T07:27:00.000-08:002007-01-10T08:44:37.816-08:00The Unbearable Whiteness of Being<span style="font-family:arial;">Boy am I white. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We've reached our hotel in Nairobi, Kenya. Between the airport and here, there were many, many people walking and a ton of traffic on our nearly 45-minute drive. But I saw only one other white person. One. I know, I'm in Africa, but it still feels strange. I'm just not used to so blatantly sticking out in the crowd. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The city is chaos. While everywhere else we visited has had a beautiful scent, this place wreaks of environmental toxins - especially rubber and petroleum. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As for the scenery, imagine a dense urban area built entirely without a city planning department. A tire factory stands next to a furniture store stands next to a pasture filled with cows stands next to small shanties built as homes stands next to a park stands next to people lying on the sidewalk. It's incredible. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We're just here on a layover, so there's not much to tell. We don't plan to leave our hotel. This is the only place we'll visit where there's an active, applicable State Department warning, so we're not taking any chances. (Aren't you proud, Mom?)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">We also had a layover last night in Johannesburg at the Intercontinental Airport Sun, a super nice hotel where I satiated my craving for familiar flavors with a room service meal of pesto pasta.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">To be honest, I miss control over my own food supply. I like to be able to choose what I'm going to eat and when - it makes me feel entirely out of control. It also makes me shove whatever I can down my gullet whenever I can (like the chutney potato chips we had at the airport this morning with a banana muffin in the South Africa Airways lounge) to avoid the potential of being hungry later and having either nothing or something that tastes bland, boring or yucky.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We're off to the hotel restaurant now, and we leave first thing in the morning. Hopefully our Botswana and Zambia posts keep you interested for a while, as we're headed tomorrow to </span><a href="http://www.ccafrica.com/destinations/kenya/kichwa/accom-bat.asp"><span style="font-family:arial;">Bateleur Camp</span></a>. <span style="font-family:arial;">If we can't reach you from there, we'll catch up once we find an internet cafe in Tanzania. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Don't worry, Mom, we're safe!</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-26323069838293783402007-01-09T07:04:00.001-08:002008-12-11T10:43:25.918-08:00Reclaiming My Voice<span style="font-family:arial;">So, as expected, no internet at <a href="http://www.jaocamp.com">Jao Camp</a>. Thank God. We awoke at 5:30 every day to begin our game drives, and our night game drive, which was followed by supper and drinks around the campfire, didn’t end until 8 or 9pm – so sleep has been at a premium. I did, however, get just enough rest to reclaim my voice, which was missing for nearly 5 full days.<br /><br />That said – what a beautiful place. If Cape Town smelled of the warm sea, and Zambia smelled of clean, pure air, Jao smelled like earth – in some places mud, and in others hot, dry sand.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTfHduTm-soh5YlB-aASYUNWoj4uOaegf2WqcY4CEpaKibYwUqldgXjDzmp_pHhxWhXz-kSZEfjr5fd09ysi7Sw_pUxsFFOf5a_-thcyQ_rr5TFWujbL8dxZYw1UVLxq_IgbuKmI1IAy-/s1600-h/room.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018421887647183394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTfHduTm-soh5YlB-aASYUNWoj4uOaegf2WqcY4CEpaKibYwUqldgXjDzmp_pHhxWhXz-kSZEfjr5fd09ysi7Sw_pUxsFFOf5a_-thcyQ_rr5TFWujbL8dxZYw1UVLxq_IgbuKmI1IAy-/s200/room.JPG" border="0" /></a>The architecture of the camp was beautiful, the Okavango Delta was pristine, though dry for this time of the year. And the animals were incredible. I’ll give you a full inventory later, but suffice it to say that we saw over 70 species there, thanks in full to our insane guide, David. It was like being with Mowgli out of the Jungle Book or something. Every track, every scent, every bird’s call, every signal, every plant, every tree, every termite mound – you get the point – he knew it all as if he was one of the animals that lived in this majestic place and was the translator for them all. Simply fascinating. (One interesting fact: If antelope know a predator is nearby, they’ll stick up their tails to show the white underneath, which silently warns other animals nearby that there’s danger afoot. It also showed David where to look for the lions.)<br /><br />In one instance, he saw three sets of leopard tracks pointing in opposite directions, and knew immediately (and, it turns out, correctly) that a female leopard (nicknamed Beauty) had hidden her kill in one thicket, and had left it there while she went to fetch water from a nearby watering hole. He drove our Land Rover straight to the cat – and we then followed her back to the thicket he had predicted where she feasted on an antelope she’d hunted two nights before. The thicket was abuzz with the sound of swarming flies and crunching antelope bones and smelled strongly of rotting flesh. Nasty – but very interesting, nonetheless.<br /><br />Though I don’t believe we forged any lasting relationships at the camp other than David, we did meet the managers – two white South African couples – Chris & Tara and Freddy & Marianne. Marianne’s family was also there. Her parents were chicken farmers from Cape Town, and her 33-year-old brother, Francois, was there as well. While I’m not certain what he does for a living, I do know that he was scrumptious, had a beautiful accent, and could identify the stars and constellations and, from those, could point to true north. (For those of you men reading along, that last quality is very masculine and incredibly sexy . . . ) Also at the camp were a group of half a dozen Germans who never spoke to us, and two other American couples – one set honeymooners from Manhattan, and the others, Pam and Bernard, were from San Francisco (literally about ½ a mile from Sanjay).<br /><br />At camp, we were fed incessantly. There was breakfast at 6, tea around 9, brunch at 10:30, high tea at 4, sundowners at 6:30 and dinner at 8ish. For as much as they fed us, there was nothing very good, nor very local in flavor. We did have cake at 4pm everyday with tea, so I suppose I can’t complain too much. On our last evening, we did have one pretty yummy local dish – seswaa & pap – which is a chopped marinated beef with a tomato onion relish served with a thick maize porridge that’s traditionally used as a hand-held pocket with which to eat the meat. Sanjay’s favorite was the dessert at last night’s meal, a date bread pudding, which was pretty nice. While we ate outside under a sky full of more stars than I believed possible, the staff serenaded us with local music and dance. That, I did love.<br /><br />One thing bothered me about this particular camp. The managers, as I said, were whites from South Africa, while the staff were blacks from Botswana. Again, segregation. David, who I introduced before as our guide, works at the camp for three months at a time, then returns to his family of 4 children for 21 days. It is, for him, quite a sacrifice to provide a better life for them. He is looking for a small business loan so that he can start up his own business in transportation or tourism – but he has no collateral.<br /><br />Which brings me to something that has been stuck in my brain since I arrived: how can I – or anyone – really help? So far, it seems like the most common American responses in places like Africa have been imperialism and/or proselytism. Make them American or make them Christians – much as we did with our own Native Americans. It seems simplistic, shortsighted and incredibly arrogant. What seems preferable are programs that educate and empower the people of Africa to build upon their own heritage and define their own destiny. For instance, loans for local entrepreneurs to build businesses in their own communities. And schools that educate people on all of the options – political, social, cultural, religious, etc. – as well as creative thinking skills so that Africans can thoughtfully decide what they want to become.<br /><br />It’s interesting. One night at the dinner table, we were discussing Oprah’s school for girls in Johannesburg. (This keeps coming up . . . ) In any case, many local people seem upset that she spent, I believe, $40 million, to educate 152 girls; the argument is that she could have spent less per student and provided schooling for many times that number of children. The world really does suffer from an epidemic of small thinking. I applaud Winfrey’s choice. In order to build a future for this continent, Africa’s children must be exposed to every potential idea. Their educations cannot be limited – they must be broad and intense. It will take exposure to every possibility, and the ability to imagine the impossible – to build the Africa in which these girls will want to raise their own children.<br /><br />Enough of my musings, though I’m sure much more is to come once I reach Arusha . . .<br /><br />Other than the staff, at Jao we had no interaction with the local people, flavors or culture – only the animals and their habitats which did, in fact, make for a fascinating 4 days in and of themselves. Want to know what species we saw? Let’s do a quick run-through:<br /><br /><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitv-m5yoPvJ7SWl4_FiH8HSr7ZXdoUIOaRKhd62e_zCYup6-vBBbZH1Gv93QwNVf0FrTac1-2oDVQVEwaiKP0uKd64X8xvlvALLB8jBbULeUxzR5K1w-1gUQvZBgPmHTNdFS23eeVEgHHc/s1600-h/leopard.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018442752598307394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitv-m5yoPvJ7SWl4_FiH8HSr7ZXdoUIOaRKhd62e_zCYup6-vBBbZH1Gv93QwNVf0FrTac1-2oDVQVEwaiKP0uKd64X8xvlvALLB8jBbULeUxzR5K1w-1gUQvZBgPmHTNdFS23eeVEgHHc/s200/leopard.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mammals:</strong> Bushbuck, Giraffe, Impala, Kudu, Red Lechwe, Reedbuck, Steenbok, Tsessebe, Honey Badger, Wildebeest, Zebra, Cape Buffalo, Elephants (we saw one taking a mud bath, one at sunset, and a breeding herd with tiny babies!), Hippos, Banded Mongoose, Slender Mongoose, Chacma Baboons, Vervet Monkies, Warthogs (My favorite after the elephants and hippos), Side-Striped Jackals, a Leopard, and a pride of Lions that included two females, two males and two tiny cubs.<br /><br />We evem saw the hippos, elephants and buffalo about 5 feet off our balcony. We’re glad we didn’t see a mole rat, because the custom is that if you see one outside, someone you love will die; they’re normally underground in their burrows.<br /><br /><strong>Birds:</strong> Reed Cormorant, Great Egret, Little Egret, Slaty Egret, Squacco Heron, Hamerkop, African Openbill, Saddle-Billed Stork, Marabou Stork, White-Faced Duck, Egyptian Goose, Afric<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDySQcs1VCaafRzoy9Rsa7eIDVsYiEgmWnwHYXAT0jpwjAmcLmJD3DT-EKwviS1pisCr_jJj_xtd6MzcbUWCTyXIu2h7jRKsYVJutXjlydQIqH28JxEwtlMBgfIWagBsTYiGB5_xPwpQTF/s1600-h/bird.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018422909849399858" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDySQcs1VCaafRzoy9Rsa7eIDVsYiEgmWnwHYXAT0jpwjAmcLmJD3DT-EKwviS1pisCr_jJj_xtd6MzcbUWCTyXIu2h7jRKsYVJutXjlydQIqH28JxEwtlMBgfIWagBsTYiGB5_xPwpQTF/s200/bird.jpg" border="0" /></a>an Pygmy-goose (very cute tiny geese), Spur-Winged Goose, Martial Eagle, African Fish-Eagle, Dickenson’s Kestrel, Red-Billed Francolin (these were little roadrunners that ran in front of our jeep wherever we went), Wattled Crane (an endangered species), African Jacana, Southern Black Korhaan, Cape Turtle Dove, Meyer’s Parrot (I thought our driver said “Maya’s Pirates” because these look like little Mexican pirate birds), Grey Go-Away Bird (his call sounds like “go-away, go-away”), Coppery-Tailed Coucal, Black Coucal, Giant Eagle-Owl, Pied Kingfisher, Little Bee-Eater (a very cute little green guy), Lilac-Breasted Roller (I thought this was the most beautiful), Red-billed Wood-Hoopoe, Red-Billed Hornbill, Ground Hornbill, Crested Barbet, Pearl-Breasted Swallow, Marico Flycatcher, Grey Shrike, Burchell’s Starling<br /><br />I actually LOVED the birds – even though they probably seem lame compared to the lions and stuff, they were BEAUTIFUL.<br /><br /><strong>Reptiles:</strong> Spotted Bush Snake, Nile Crocodile, Rock Monitor, Water Monitor, Leopard Tortoise<br /><br />I have to say, that I have been thoroughly Disneyfied. In the warthog, I saw Puumba, in the lions, Simba; the elephants were Dumbo and the steenbok Bambi. Kind of sad, I suppose . . .<br /><br />We actually saw a few cool plants, too. The roots of wild cotton can be used as a cold remedy, though the buds are poisonous. Wild sage can be used as a mosquito repellant and, in conjunction with camel thorn, can cure gonorrhea. The local people use elephant dung in place of any plant ingredient in a remedy because elephants eat everything, so some of every plant is thought to be in the dung. Dried elephant dung is also used as a mosquito repellant and to ward off evil spirits.<br /><br />There was a “Sausage Tree” that appeared to have salamis hanging from it.<br /><br />We viewed the animals and plants on foot, from our Land Rover, and on a dugout canoe called a “makoro” which was paddled by a poleman in waters that were, in some places, only 6 inches deep. On our boat ride, in particular, the poleman made me a necklace and a hat from water lilies. In his culture, if a man is in love with a woman, he’d make her a necklace from a water lily – if she loved him in return, she’d make him a lily-hat. (As an aside, to let us taste some traditional staples of his people’s diet, our poleman also dug up a water lily root for us to eat, which tasted of potato, and he plucked and peeled a papyrus reed which tasted sweet and subtly of cantaloupe. The reed can be chewed as chewing gum. )<br /><br />In general, each moment here so far has been so surreal that I feel that, as of yet, I haven’t fully connected. From the majesty of one of the world’s seven natural wonders, to an elephant standing 5 feet in front of me, to the small boy with scabs covering his head standing directly in front of me as I crossed the border from Zambia to Botswana, to the hundreds of trucks in line for 4 days to cross that same border via a single ferry that carries them each inefficiently one by one, to 112 orphans fed by their neighbors who have nothing for themselves in a village made of mud huts – I don’t have a place in my brain to process all of the sounds, flavors, smells and sights that my senses are imbibing. I’m drinking, but I’m not getting drunk. I’m seeing, but not feeling. I’m hoping that the shock wears off soon . . . I want this to be real.<br /><br />I miss pizza. And Millie. Mom – Is she okay???</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Oh, and sorry for the dirth of photos - Sanjay is experiencing significant, and quite frustrating, technical difficulties. Hopefully, they'll be resolved soon.</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-51063050612999262332007-01-05T12:25:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:27.032-08:003-4 Cows<span style="font-family:arial;">We meant to post this on our last evening at Tongabezi in Zambia, but the internet connection was down - then we had no connection in Botswana and Blogger was down in Johannesburg last night. </span><br /><div><p><span style="font-family:arial;">This post was originally composed on 1/4, so I'm posting it there. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Instead of the general play-by-play, I'll cut to a synopsis of our experiences at Tongabezi in Zambia and some general musings for the day ;) Our next post will catch you up on Botswana . . .<br /><br /><strong>EXPERIENCES </strong></span><br /></p><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Game Drive</strong> (1/4/07 AM): Fabulous. We saw 2 white rhinos , as well as many impala, giraffes, baboons, buffalo, wildebeest, vervet monkies, zebras and even a bush baby and a giant monitor lizard at the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo46Hii37geGDgOpG-dPpnbiCBToSg8lN0cXlm41scfqSpXMXMjpiHwL8Y7gPcyfhctOkQ5gplDzDSxTQJ3V7xWlmyO_A7DZd3tFF5cg5XtxV-FcjywtoL5gbO9KnpA50nUxU04FlBRyO/s1600-h/rhino.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018415393656631794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo46Hii37geGDgOpG-dPpnbiCBToSg8lN0cXlm41scfqSpXMXMjpiHwL8Y7gPcyfhctOkQ5gplDzDSxTQJ3V7xWlmyO_A7DZd3tFF5cg5XtxV-FcjywtoL5gbO9KnpA50nUxU04FlBRyO/s200/rhino.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mosi-Oa-Tunya game park near Victoria Falls. We were led by Godfrey. Apparently, at Tongabezi, the staff take British names - most of which are generally reminiscent of an English butler's name, like Jeeves. There's Aston, Knox, Given and Godfrey to name a few. The all have fabulous tales that I'll share below. For now, suffice it to say that Knox is my favorite, and I want to bring him home. Not only is he physically beautiful (hubba, hubba – Ashlee, you must come to Africa), but he's fantastically interesting in his insights about his country. More on him later. Interestingly, though, white rhinos are not white - it's a mispronunciation of "wide" - which they are. All rhinos - black and white - are actually gray. Godfrey called the male giraffes "cheeky boys" and said that they fight or "neck" all day long. Actually, on giraffes, you can tell the males from the females by their antlers because the males have no dark fur on them because of all the fighting they do. A guest named Sidney, an American marketing consultant who lives in London, frequents Club Meds, applies too much fake tanner, and is a raving Democrat (yeah!) accompanied us on our drive in the open-air Land Rover.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Indian Head Massage</strong> (1/4/07 PM): Just before we had lunch on the veranda, Sanjay and I each got scalp and face massages from Brigette. Not fabulous, but nothing to sneeze at either. (No, this is not where Sanjay lost his pants ;) </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Zambezi Canoeing</strong> (1/4/07 PM): What a beautiful trip. The water was like glass, and we could hear the Falls although they're about 15.5km away. It was on this excursion that we met Scott, the producer of <em>The Color Purple</em> on Broadway and his boyfriend/partner Brad, an addictions interventionist who hilariously interjected a bar from "In the Jungle" every time a topic of conversation grew too controversial or boring. They are wonderfully entertaining and have made our stay here immensely more enjoyable. Again, more about them later. Brian was our guide – he too was pretty fun, although he seemed to want to feed us to the hippos and the crocs. Sanjay was hilarious at first. At the back of the boat, he was our driver, and we kept going in circles. He is not really “at one” with the water. That said, by the end, he was a paddle master. </span></li><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsu9znOv2rCtaBwHlgwHd3KRsYKUaNkIAhtBgWEXqPVvYVrJs1aUvq5XcsUBrWv6P_C5HxDJB6NU9ImFGHu0QhVz1uusDpf3rizT8OM98PCbe_hcoXBbIVKPLlBFYqOGxsW4j9ubtTWTqc/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018413052899455426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsu9znOv2rCtaBwHlgwHd3KRsYKUaNkIAhtBgWEXqPVvYVrJs1aUvq5XcsUBrWv6P_C5HxDJB6NU9ImFGHu0QhVz1uusDpf3rizT8OM98PCbe_hcoXBbIVKPLlBFYqOGxsW4j9ubtTWTqc/s200/sunset.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Sunset Cruise</strong> (1/4/07 PM): First off, as we stepped on to the boat my new nemesis Allan remarked casually “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.” I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to scream: “They’re cleaning your room, cooking your meals, and driving your fucking boat. Asshole.” I refrained. Dinner would be another story – but we’ll get to that later. As we left shore, Chris, the driver of our boat, hit a crocodile and blew out the motor of our boat. I still believe that it was hippo, but he wanted to spare us feeling any unnecessary sympathy. (To them hippos are nuisances, though, so I doubt he would have cared. Baboons too.) We transferred boats, and while I sipped water, Sanjay drank a few Zambian beers with Bill, a Coke executive who runs their Burger King arm in Europe and the Middle East, while Alan and his lovely (please note the irony) wife Claudia (pronounced by Alan, in an irritating British accent, Cloud-ia - we've placed a pic below so you can all more fully share in our loathing) drank Chardonnay with Jay, a pharmaceutical salesman who <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iMXvdQRR5NqcgFpPwbrEZrijb1QigJ0xNPM7hVHkLq1gUVGqQFs8MnUBJqGBAYM8p-W2T2MaLi4XmEnVYTiE4q99KxL5P9M_OCRqyxh2fKlLOtSTko-UYDrWABO4f6COI6AKQ2EysFJp/s1600-h/alan.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018412322755015090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iMXvdQRR5NqcgFpPwbrEZrijb1QigJ0xNPM7hVHkLq1gUVGqQFs8MnUBJqGBAYM8p-W2T2MaLi4XmEnVYTiE4q99KxL5P9M_OCRqyxh2fKlLOtSTko-UYDrWABO4f6COI6AKQ2EysFJp/s200/alan.jpg" border="0" /></a>sells hepatitis C drugs at a profit margin of 32% per $50,000 prescription regimen. Yes, everyone seems filthy rich – except us. Those for whom money is their passion are not nearly as interesting as those who just made it accidentally on the way to pursuing some other passion. We sat on a beach on the Zambezi, where there was white sand that squeaked as we walked, and we watched perhaps the most memorable sunset of my life. </span></li><br /><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"><strong>Dinner</strong> (1/4/07 PM): Ah yes, dinner was a festive affair. We sat at the group table which included (besides Stacey and myself), Allan and Cloud-ia, Scott and Brad, Bill, Jay, and Sidney. It started off lovely, with our cauliflower soup appetizers and tomato basil salads, and then it quickly turned into a bloody feud between Republicans and Democrats.</span> After I'd introduced myself as a consultant, but said I'd eventually like to go into children's theater, Sidney said "well there's no money in that." I replied that I believe that if I pursue something I really love, the money will come. At this point, Scott started to share the fascinating story of his nearly 10-year endeavor to bring Alice Walker's <em>The Color Purple</em> to Broadway, despite its somewhat depressing themes and its unlikely success. (For those of you who don't know, Oprah Winfrey later got involved in the production and it has been a major Broadway success. He was actually in Africa to participate in the opening of Winfrey's new girls school in Johannesburg.) Well, somehow this very inspiring story was interrupted by Alan. (Note that I could care less how his name is actually spelled.) I'm not certain how, but he moved the topic to politics. <span style="color:#ff9900;">He and Cloud-ia (proud pseudo-libertarians/republicans from Newport Beach, O.C.) were right-wing conservatives who supported our fearless leader, George W. Needless to say, it got very heated, especially between Allan and Stacey who clearly despised each other.</span> (At one point, he said, "obviously people like 'her' -meaning me - have to focus on the argument on George Bush rather than Barack's accomplishments," which he insisted were non-existent. I - politely - reminded him of my name and insisted that Obama's ability to unite and inspire people was a qualification that superseded any possible resume entry for a potential president.) <span style="color:#ff9900;">It was quite funny because we were all arguing and took quick timeouts as the staff came to sing a few songs in Zambian for us at dinner and then resumed our fight between songs and then afterwards. The next day at breakfast, Alan & Cloud-ia "forgot" to say "Good Morning!" </span></span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Sunrise Cruise</strong> (1/5/07 AM): We likely could have skipped this, as it left at 5:45am, and we’d just been on the Sunset Cruise. (Also, as our valet, Given, personally wakes us up and puts us to bed every night, this required him to wake up extra early, so we felt bad.) I’m VERY glad we went, though. Generally, I think both Sanjay and I feel, in Thoreau’s words, like we want to “suck the marrow” from every moment of our trip. I think our comparative lack of wealth has made us very appreciative of every possible experience. As for the cruise – we were the lone boat on the Zambezi, and it was only Sanjay, me and the driver in the boat. It was still and quiet and beautiful and a glorious beginning to our day. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Victoria Falls</strong> (1/5/07 AM): Today, Godfrey took us, with Scott and Brad, to see the Falls from the Zambia side. (Read my last post for more details about the view from Zimbabwe.) From both sides, the Falls are breathtaking, although I think Zimbabwe currently has a better view. My double rainbow appeared again. At the end, we briefly visited a crafts market, where the salespeople asked to barter our socks and clothes for their wares. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"><strong>Gorge Swing</strong> (1/5/07 PM): Brad and I went on a contraption called a gorge swing in which you jump off of a cliff and swing to the other side of the gorge at a full freefall. It was amazing!!! The initial freefall is sheer terror; you actually think that you are going to just fall to the bottom (about 100m down). </span>Sanjay is insane - and as he jumped Lionel Richie music from the 1980s was blaring in the background. </span><br /></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Simonga Village</strong> (1/5/07 PM): Before lunch, Sanjay and I took a tour to Simonga Village, a small traditional village of about 3,000 residents, mostly peasant farmers who work their own small plot for the food they use to live.<br />Words cannot describe the poverty. Aston, our guide, kindly led us around, sharing stories and diligently answering any question we asked. We started by meeting the village elder, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfQ31JVY8oMzWUqrY6ASkYCq3H43_5WA4xj4oZgyUAY_vHhD8TUHonbwy0DY09WKsA4AGDK_Xcjq7tJJKsqb3NYwEJO-EM9zf8T74U7suEwRY48k898Oz3xOBsULJZrelxSCs9OVHlvff/s1600-h/elder.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYIUej7Cjp-oPRBoz_RV6jtf20P7VOAgpqqRLfDXb3k3iIHqtJNmlockDRavb2pUtc9rnmMggV5OrfY1D8w9hGCIsB46_wnMdzsSOa5k7zc1cbnOtf0Fu3DHvD12W-S7xT3fkvgYeKeL8/s1600-h/elder.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018412103711682978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYIUej7Cjp-oPRBoz_RV6jtf20P7VOAgpqqRLfDXb3k3iIHqtJNmlockDRavb2pUtc9rnmMggV5OrfY1D8w9hGCIsB46_wnMdzsSOa5k7zc1cbnOtf0Fu3DHvD12W-S7xT3fkvgYeKeL8/s200/elder.jpg" border="0" /></a>Elizabeth, who's pictured with me to the left. She has total authority in the village, and her power was inherited from her father, the previous elder. She makes certain all the village children attend school, settles legal disputes, allocates land parcels, etc. My conversation with her was brief but fascinating; she shared that all three of her children had died, and I palpably sensed from her a profound sadness about their loss. She now raises her two grandchildren.<br />There are 112 orphans in the Village. They are counted by the Village Guide who led our tour – his other duties are to look over the town and allocate the general funds (which <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JfcBQMadNKGviXU9wvwyOakJlY1aslUayDHQz-T1JKjX2P_tU4qja8tZT99NFkzGBC2jZsYrr2O8bQ31TLvKxn34rjotvfNrSwP81tNAHcOFU6U_3tzKNcMOrfDKqfFLSCqMzZm80pa6/s1600-h/children.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018411485236392322" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JfcBQMadNKGviXU9wvwyOakJlY1aslUayDHQz-T1JKjX2P_tU4qja8tZT99NFkzGBC2jZsYrr2O8bQ31TLvKxn34rjotvfNrSwP81tNAHcOFU6U_3tzKNcMOrfDKqfFLSCqMzZm80pa6/s200/children.jpg" border="0" /></a>are received, it seems, primarily from tourist donations) for care of the sick or orphaned that he identifies. Generally, orphans are taken in by neighbors. He said most of their parents died of malaria and other local diseases. I wonder to what degree they are affected by HIV. The children (orphaned and not) played with toy trucks they made themselves from fence wire. (That’s right – rusted fence wire that formerly surrounded old train tracks.) They followed us around happily waiting to have their pictures taken, singing songs and dancing for us. The babies had soiled diapers and crawled on the dirt - happily.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXG6HNcYYrAs8-gHH9AmZMH6sDgCZH8nHV_dgxkS0CLepI2fqrCf8ViE3WcdJZJfd9vLTuFx3U8UU0bW7Xr27tXCoWsMGRlx1yx3k8tujOOrCV6_Zwz2HM7n6uWn_qXz1UjUhAPhx9Fyp/s1600-h/hut.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018416978499564050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXG6HNcYYrAs8-gHH9AmZMH6sDgCZH8nHV_dgxkS0CLepI2fqrCf8ViE3WcdJZJfd9vLTuFx3U8UU0bW7Xr27tXCoWsMGRlx1yx3k8tujOOrCV6_Zwz2HM7n6uWn_qXz1UjUhAPhx9Fyp/s200/hut.jpg" border="0" /></a>Aston explained that the village homes are made of mud and sticks with a thatch roof. The mud is replaced annually after the rains, and the roof every 7 years. We asked about religion: there are seven churches in the village, all Christian. The churches are mud, and the pews are made from old railroad tracks. We took a picture of the Catholic one (my alma mater would be proud). Aston shared briefly about the rules of marriage, and stated that while asking permission and paying a dowry of 3-4 cows (over time, on credit – everyone recognizes that no one has so much at one time) is traditional, new rules allow for “wife stealing” without punishment. When a young couple is truly in love, the man may steal his young bride (about 18 years old), but must pay a tariff of 1-2 additional cows, for a total of 5-6 cows. (Yes, cows.)<br />There were small businesses throughout the village, where many make their money. There were small bars, a vegetable stand, a blacksmith and two carpenters who made furniture. Some villagers work for other local businesses, like the lodge where we’re staying. We learned later that they make as little as the equivalent of $40/month working full-time in the tourism industry here. For the sake of comparison, we’re paying $800 each per night to stay in this lodge. The owner, though he lives in Zambia, is a very wealthy foreigner.<br />Our guide said he loves his village – that he was born there and that he will happily die there. Zimbabwe is probably 2-3 miles away, and he’s never been out of his own country. I don’t know what to make of it. Two of the staff I talked to – Knox and Godfrey – both echoed a common theme. They said, for them it is normal – it’s fine – it’s not so bad. They smile all day; they never complain. Unlike us . . . all the time . . . with all we have . . .<br />When we spoke to Godfrey on the way back, we asked him briefly about the differences between the education provided at the school established by the owners of our lodge and the government school in Simonga Village. He said that the gap was enormous. While every child from the Tongabezi school passed their National exams, not a single one from the village school did so. He said that the teachers are so poorly paid by the government that while they are supposed to be teaching, most run second businesses during school hours.<br />[As an aside, Sanjay tells me that I’m too verbose, but it’s difficult to self-censor when I’m tired, I don’t have the patience to edit and sometimes, like today’s visit to the Village, I feel I simply must provide complete descriptions and not leave anything out. I’m not certain if I’m doing that for me or for you, but in either case, I’m trying to capture each moment as completely as I can. It’s all so, well, foreign and fascinating. That said, do let me know if my blog becomes like a boring slide show of Allan & Cloud-ia’s last Mediterranean cruise. I’ll try to spice it up. Trust me, from where I sit, it’s anything but boring.] </span><br /></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Fishing</strong> (1/5/07 PM): We caught a rock, we caught a plant, and Sanjay even caught a tree. Our guide, Aston, actually climbed the tree on the bank to retrieve his lure to avoid our incurring a fee. But we caught no fish. We did see a mama-jama crocodile, and our guide threw beef at it to make it jump in our direction. Not as much fun as you might think and slightly terrifying as it was about three feet from me. </span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>GENERAL MUSINGS</strong></span></p><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Up With People:</strong> I can’t stop singing Up with People songs now. Before we visited the village, Scott joked that he wanted me to gather the villagers and choreograph a few Up with People numbers before I returned to the lodge. Thanks, Mom, for playing their album about 1.2 jillion times while I was growing up. You’ll be glad to know I can still sing every word to Up with People, Let the River Flow and Robbie Robot and the Tran-Sisters. (Yes, Tran-Sisters.) </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>The King of the Countries:</strong> So far, everyone I’ve asked where they would like to travel most has said the US, except for Godfrey; he said Europe. The other day, too, one of our cab drivers, when he heard where we were from said, “Ah . . . the king of the countries.” He was insistent. I’m not certain how that makes me feel . . . it kind of frightens me if we are some sort of blueprint for which to strive for developing nations. There simply has to be a better model - or at least one that honors their heritage rather than ours. Speaking of which, there is brand new strip mall in Zambia, complete with a Subway sandwich shop. Let the Americanization begin. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>A Christian Nation:</strong> At least 4 local people have mentioned to me that Zambia has been “a Christian nation” since the 1950s. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Happiness:</strong> Poor Sanjay. I kept him up late last night musing about something Knox said. He said people here always smile and never complain, even with what little they have. Meanwhile, many of the American and European tourists with whom he interacts complain incessantly. Sanjay and I talked until he grew bored and tired (as you probably are now of this blog) and we wondered how happiness should truly be measured – in happiness, wealth, freedom, knowledge? Is more happiness better? More choices? I just don’t know . . . (By the way, the academic studies say Zimbabwe, Zambia and Tanzania are some of the least happy on earth. Check out </span><a href="http://www.happyplanetindex.org/map.htm"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.happyplanetindex.org/map.htm</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">) </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Teeth:</strong> I’m not sure what this is about, but all the staff here have beautiful, perfectly white smiles. They don’t seem to eat many sweets. On the flip side, most of the European tourists we’ve met have gaping maws filled with crooked fangs. Frightening.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Fort Knox:</strong> Speaking of beautiful teeth, I come back to Knox. As I mentioned before, he’s handsome, charming and strikingly intelligent. He loves American movies, and wants to go to film school. He used to own his own import business that went bankrupt after two of his trucks were hijacked in South Africa while transporting cars and computers between there and the Congo. Thus, he’s back to Tongabezi, his former employer before he went into business for himself. He also used to be a competitive swimmer, and got a swimming scholarship to a college in Florida that he could not accept because it required him to find his own sponsorship to enter the US. He's already written us an email to let us know that he's nominated us his "guests of the year". He even called us ",joyful, easy-going, understanding and fun to be with." Such a nice guy. If anyone knows someone in film school admissions - this guy is awesome. We'd love to help him out!</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Mango:</strong> There’s a cat in the lobby of the lodge named Mango. She follows Sanjay around and she mysteriously drools. It’s slightly disturbing. Oh, Mom, just so you know, they had dogs for pets in the village as well.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Squeaky:</strong> My plague has now simmered to a squeaky agitating voice that I hope people don’t mistake for the real thing. That said, I feel almost 100% better ;) </span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><em>Question of the Day:</em></strong> How do you think Sanjay <em>really</em> lost his pants?</span> </div><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Good night – and again, tomorrow, when I’m less tired, I’ll be a much better writer ;)</span></p></div>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-54460385301106965222007-01-05T11:23:00.000-08:002007-01-10T08:18:36.175-08:00Quickie<span style="font-family:arial;">Okay - so we've been blogging losers, and we've missed a couple days. We are, however, alive and well. We're headed to the Okavango Delta this morning and aren't certain we'll have any communication channels for the next 4-5 days. After that, we'll be in Johannesburg for a night, where we'll catch you all up on our adventures . . .<br /><br />Oh, for those of you playing along at home, Sanjay's pant count is now down 1 as well . . . his blue jeans mysteriously vanished into the bush surrounding Tongabezi. Most likely, a fashion-conscious baboon is sporting a new pair of Calvins in a nearby tree.<br /><br />Actually, while that's a joke, it's most likely that one of the staff needed a new pair of pants :(</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-2782790161938617282007-01-03T09:05:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:27.961-08:00In the Presence of Angels<span style="font-family:arial;">On to Zambia.<br /><br />This morning we awoke (actually, I awoke, Sanjay never slept having blogged and uploaded photos all night) around 4:30am. We were picked up by the nicest taxi driver ever (actually, there seem to be alot of those in Cape Town) who pointed out the sights as we took the 20-minute ride to the airport. In particular, he introduced us to Stinky Towers, 2 broken down old power towers outside of town that are across the street from a sanitation plant - thus the name. He looked like Josh, and called us "lucky buggers" as we described the rest of our itinerary to him.<br /><br />We boarded our plane to Johannesburg without incident, and once there we shopped for a couple of minutes during our layover. We both got flip flops in preparation for our Tanzania bucket showers, and I got sunglasses for safari, since I seem to have lost my superstar Prada pair.<br /><br />From Johannesburg, we caught our flight to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe on British Airways. This is an airline that takes its carry-on rules seriously and, even though they would have easily fit, they took our carry-on bags which include our necessities and expensive items like Sanjay's insanely awesome camera. There was a moment of terror as we were, after all, flying into Zimbabwe, and we had no idea what might happen to our checked luggage, let alone the bare necessities we'd crammed into our carry-ons. As it turns out, the fear was unnecessary (as most of my fears seem to have been so far), because our bags were waiting at the bottom of the stairs when we disembarked. (Another unnecessary fear was the weather - though wunderground had prophesied thunderstorms at Victoria Falls, the skies were clear, blue and beautiful.)<br /><br />Waiting for us at the airport was Roy, a very friendly Zimbabwean tour guide, who was prepared to take us directly to our lodge in Zambia, </span><a href="http://www.tongabezi.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">Tongabezi</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">. That was, until he suggested that we co<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz388vPF2LkLGBK8iOiZgy_loK3NO9EeiYoyqhmji8pt5OzbyLCs_XHc6I_ZKF2N283WsG-wfdNCUaLTOl1Ik1JU1zFCCKB7fhOCO-3gQdb2TKwvcJicUCDgfGQoXVk5VHwZHmO5rAOT8E/s1600-h/us_vic_falls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015906175363420642" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz388vPF2LkLGBK8iOiZgy_loK3NO9EeiYoyqhmji8pt5OzbyLCs_XHc6I_ZKF2N283WsG-wfdNCUaLTOl1Ik1JU1zFCCKB7fhOCO-3gQdb2TKwvcJicUCDgfGQoXVk5VHwZHmO5rAOT8E/s200/us_vic_falls.JPG" border="0" /></a>uld get a better view of Victoria Falls from Zimbabwe than from Zambia. As soon as he did, Sanjay and I both looked at our passports to realize we had only a double entry visa (which meant we could only come back to the country to catch our outbound flight). So, if we wanted to see the falls from Zimbabwe, it had to be today. So we asked Roy to make a quick diversion to the falls, which he gladly did.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UsHPcUR7wObMiB6H1luqPB-HE331n94j2SqtY7o9S4R7d4_7Jue3YdAKqG6DO0T4zEm7twP7h7geKmlLz5wVxOsX7k1H6gckB7I3STNbXEBWFkwbz2Xz0F8TyKrfDEmgYuydB1BED3Qm/s1600-h/double.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015905415154209202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UsHPcUR7wObMiB6H1luqPB-HE331n94j2SqtY7o9S4R7d4_7Jue3YdAKqG6DO0T4zEm7twP7h7geKmlLz5wVxOsX7k1H6gckB7I3STNbXEBWFkwbz2Xz0F8TyKrfDEmgYuydB1BED3Qm/s200/double.JPG" border="0" /></a>Victoria Falls was <strong><em>incredible</em></strong>. I don't have language to describe it, so I'll let the photos speak for themselves. Suffice it to say there were two rainbows (Ashlee-"it's a double, it's a double"), and butterflies everywhere. Angels were present. (For those of you who don't know, at my brother's wake, there we<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvwQr8tRI44zI75SOpMoHyisfyZzM-LKdLAK07btQsJhpRBZNoBykIEhKcaoMNouyVn_vu5tu8aq8nWbo96I7_yFBylgG2q4_xDvYilJ3cvzv43aoJeeejPFis44Zn04Txk4H584YdGT-/s1600-h/vicfalls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015905771636494802" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvwQr8tRI44zI75SOpMoHyisfyZzM-LKdLAK07btQsJhpRBZNoBykIEhKcaoMNouyVn_vu5tu8aq8nWbo96I7_yFBylgG2q4_xDvYilJ3cvzv43aoJeeejPFis44Zn04Txk4H584YdGT-/s200/vicfalls.JPG" border="0" /></a>re two rainbows in the sky and, shortly after his death, there was an infestation of butterflies on my mom's back porch. Since then, these two signs let me know he's around. He seems to be whenever I travel :) The scale and magnitude of the falls cannot be fully grasped from the photo - there are literally almost 2 miles of continuous, powerful waterfalls.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSK4-0zAiASrkNVcg659GNOaAm6TthktxFfSLyjlLrGV8Oj1Oz4vUrXq5azKVTKx6x0mOUFQXm4_4tUzZYkeh0dk1w48Ivy2T_o3HsUuy9pUWXESCCWGG58AKzlJSWPwMnrlDxx-N4lga/s1600-h/vicfalls.JPG"></a>After our quick tour, we comtinued our drive toward Zambia. We saw several locals carrying items on their heads, and a young boy, maybe 12, sweating profusely as he diligently pushed a cart full of what looked to be equal to 25 10-pound bags of potatoes up the middle of the road.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4LO8ZXCsMeG2XSi94-kNeGIEjXpOK7-3QtmAMNmQSuf97T0Q1CMb0sjfTN6Qpv-_O37eRVUDMGs3otyeLHPFjkXfdVtsofZJYqbuLjuNLFoUvcLbbIE15HQh9CsoBTIAMAGy-jE-csLx/s1600-h/baboon.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015905101621596578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4LO8ZXCsMeG2XSi94-kNeGIEjXpOK7-3QtmAMNmQSuf97T0Q1CMb0sjfTN6Qpv-_O37eRVUDMGs3otyeLHPFjkXfdVtsofZJYqbuLjuNLFoUvcLbbIE15HQh9CsoBTIAMAGy-jE-csLx/s200/baboon.JPG" border="0" /></a>Finally, we headed across the Zimbabwe border again, despite everything I'd prepared myself for, without incident - and then into Zambia to Tongabezi. At the border, we did see a troop of baboons, including several baby baboons, as well as some vervet monkies. They were literally no more than 10 feet from our car!<br /><br />Tongabezi is heaven. It has a quiet and serenity I don't think I've ever experienced. Our small cabin, which is open via screened enclosure, opens onto the banks of the Zambezi river - where hippos play and crocodiles lie in wait. We were assigned a valet, Given, upon our arrival, who takes care of whatever we need - from drinks to laundry to scheduling activities. He is a kind little man who goes out of his way to be helpful. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">To end the day, we ate outside on a terrace facing the Zambezi, serenaded by a choir of local voices. The meal was very western (I had pork loin and potatoes), with one dish - I think called nshashi - or something like that - that's a ground corn meal - almost a cross between polenta and grits. Interesting. We started with a very yummy soup though made of fresh tomatoes and ginger.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Well, I suppose that's it for tonight - I'm still fighting off Sanjay's plague. Keep reading - tomorrow's our first game drive - you never know what we might see . . .<br /><br />PS - Ashlee, in response to your comment, we managed to catch a couple minutes of the Carnival parade as it passed by the District Six museum. The level of revelry, and the costumes and dancing were the same as the competition the day before, so fear not - we caught what we needed.</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-54425341172804533652007-01-02T14:53:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:28.310-08:00Jackass Penguins<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3eOV5o3vLD-_F8f0H72GuHLX-em1-jkM_AcTVnQNZNKhTRUl4hqRNk5rsUpq5vTxY6JPI-IPwPCZwVhDSb_LiRxPaxF3e5KVi9Sn8PT43alWEYOx4nOR7QCA0EVlb1-1yupwHzOiQe4i/s1600-h/SandS+Cape.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015640574585835906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3eOV5o3vLD-_F8f0H72GuHLX-em1-jkM_AcTVnQNZNKhTRUl4hqRNk5rsUpq5vTxY6JPI-IPwPCZwVhDSb_LiRxPaxF3e5KVi9Sn8PT43alWEYOx4nOR7QCA0EVlb1-1yupwHzOiQe4i/s200/SandS+Cape.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">This morning we woke up bright and early to catch a morning tour of the Cape Point area, where the Cape of Good Hope is. Cape Point is as far south as you can get on land in Africa and this also happens to be where the colder Atlantic and warmer Indian oceans converge. We were both pretty tired since we got back from the casino late last night and I know Pinot Gringo stayed up even later to write in her blog. The tour van picked us up from our hotel at and we got on and said hello to the 6 other European tourists onboard and the most boring guide you could ever imagine. She had a thick Dutch accent and drove like a maniac to get us back in time so that she could leave with a new set of passengers for her afternoon tour. (Stacey failed to mention in her previous blog that I despise bus/van tours ever since I took them in Costa Rica which is why I had her cancel her pre-arranged plans - you are basically a prisoner in a vehicle that is not comfortable, with a bunch of people you couldn't care less about, and they make every stop known to man to pick up and drop off passengers.)<br /><br />Highlights of the Cape Point Tour: </span><br /><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">There are wild troops of baboons on the road to the Point, they are quite agressive when it comes to food and they are the only known primates that scavenge for seafood on the beach. Sorry guys, no good "Sanjay was attacked by wild baboons"story here - although we still have some safari left to go for this to happen. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">Cape Point. The view from here is spectacular! The point is actually on the top of a cliff so we took a funicular (basically an enclosed cable car on a steep slope) up and from there, you had a 360 degree. It was truly surreal to know that you are at the tip of a huge continent with nothing but ocean until you get to Antarctica. </span></li><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-RiLs0uvfL9RXM9k0UD9MaDwkxtErz0MozKdtiw4Qx42gLFCuz5rfNxR6LuCsqA4FuqNHPTHeKn9HopUtMIbYf8Q1OCSA_q2DlE9TD3699c3w1g_JZwwG_cRfx5iokaSP9OBmjz3vZux/s1600-h/penguin.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015898414357516690" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-RiLs0uvfL9RXM9k0UD9MaDwkxtErz0MozKdtiw4Qx42gLFCuz5rfNxR6LuCsqA4FuqNHPTHeKn9HopUtMIbYf8Q1OCSA_q2DlE9TD3699c3w1g_JZwwG_cRfx5iokaSP9OBmjz3vZux/s200/penguin.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><li><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"><span style="color:#ff6600;">Boulders Beach. This beach is known for its colony of African penguins, also known as jackass penguins because they make donkey-like cries. They are very cute! It's so cool to see penguins in an environment like that - its like these guys are on spring break from the South Pole.</span></span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">After our frenzied dash around the Cape, we asked to be dropped off at the District 6 museum instead of our hotel. (We also canceled our afternoon van tour throuh the wine country because there was no way we wanted to do another guided van tour; Stacey said she would have gone insane if we had gone on the tours she had planned the previous day.) District 6 is one of the most polarizing (and sad) stories about Apartheid. District 6 was an area of Capetown populated by blacks and coloured. In the 50s, laws were passed and the area was declared a whites-only neighborhood; the government forcibly evicted everyone and tore down their houses. The museum has a lot of personal artifacts and stories from the people that were forced out. It's quite humbling to hear what people have had to go through.<br /><br />Afterwards, we took a cab from the museum to Table Mountain. Table Mountain is this great, flat-top mountain that is right in the heart of Capetown. We rode the Cable Way up to the top - a cable way is a round people mover that is pulled up by a single cable - it's actually quite frightening when you think about it. Anyways, we got up there and decided to do a 2 hour hike on the mountain. We had some spectacular views of Cape Town and the surrounding areas from up here. After we got back down the mountain, it was time for dinner so we decided to get one last western meal before heading off to the bush, so we got burgers and fries from this joint called the Royale Eatery. The food was just alright. I did have an ostrich burger that was topped with some kind of redbeet relish so when I took my first bite, all kinds of red juice started to pour out - it looked like I was eating a piece of raw, bloody meat.<br /><br />After dinner, we got back to the hotel so that we could pack up for our departure from Capetown this morning at 5:30 a.m. Alas, it is time for us to move on to other parts of Africa, but Capetown is an amazing place and I would highly recommend it for anyone looking for a place to travel to. Now it's off to Zambia! (Sorry about the shortage of pics here - I'm having some problems uploading - I'll post more as soon as I can.)</span></p>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-80332084264642317712007-01-02T03:00:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:29.085-08:00$7<span style="font-family:arial;">Sorry - I wrote this last night, but was much to tired to post. Here goes:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This morning began with a spat. You see, Stacey the "Consummate Planner" had stayed up all night a couple of nights before we left to book a tour for New Year's in Cape Town. The next day, Sanjay said to un-book it so that we could wing it. Today, he booked the same tour at the front desk for tomorrow, the 2nd of January and the day of the Carnival of Minstrels here in Cape Town. The Carnival is one of the reasons I wanted to be in Cape Town for New Year's - and I had no plans on missing it to go on a tour that I'd booked and he'd cancelled. Anywho - we fixed it with a change of plans: Today, a carnival pre-show competition and tomorrow a tour. We'll see what else we can fit in, maybe a bit of the Carnival, maybe a bit of the District Six museum, maybe a trip to Table Mountain. Guess you''ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.<br /><br />Anyway, after we settled on a revised plan, we departed the Hippo having left a tip of 50 RAN (about $7 USD) for our maid in the room. Within minutes, our maid had run out to let us know that we had accidentally left our money in the room. (Meanwhile, I thought tipping maids in hotel rooms was common practice. Think about it, who deserves a tip more, after all, the woman cleaning your toilet or the one who carries food to your table?) We let her know that the money was a tip meant for her. She was nearly beside herself with gratitude, and very happily exclaimed that she would now be able, in her own words, to "buy my [her] baby some porridge." She shared that her baby was 4 months old, that she was married on 11/26/05 and had just celebrated her first anniversary. She wished us "Happy New Year!" emphatically. Our maid is black and poor. Very poor. In Cape Town, the two characteristics seem so closely correlated here as to be nearly indistinguishable. Surely there are exceptions, but there's clear indication of a rule.<br /><br />There are three types of people in South Africa: whites (like me), coloureds (neither black nor white but in between, like Sanjay) and blacks. They do not interact. At all. Though I wasn't sure when I said it yesterday, today I am much more certain: apartheid lives. Granted, government regulations enforcing segregation have been eliminated, but the cultural ramifications are everywhere. It reminds me of New Orleans. No longer governmentally segregated, sure, but one hears racist epithets everywhere, and schools, churches and neighborhoods are far from integrated. I wonder why.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBaxI4d60ennS1s9fDewhU-eJenskq1FFr10QWnsT93taQjnHN2I1il3YE67vRaUjf3bxw1jhtm8ypP05nVdY4CvDbrXUZBoNSmBY1LSwCLNtXYkzdx5nS19_qyg6vxsp6skjSu8HPYUih/s1600-h/kids.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015419366590222546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="180" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBaxI4d60ennS1s9fDewhU-eJenskq1FFr10QWnsT93taQjnHN2I1il3YE67vRaUjf3bxw1jhtm8ypP05nVdY4CvDbrXUZBoNSmBY1LSwCLNtXYkzdx5nS19_qyg6vxsp6skjSu8HPYUih/s320/kids.jpg" width="222" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Anyway, after our brief discussion with our maid, we left for a competition that precedes the Carnival of Minstrels or the "Coon" Carnival as it's known here. (Coon is another word for a coloured person - not black.) The competition was an all-day affair. Though we'd called this morning to find out that it started at 1pm, once we arrived it was clear, as it has been throughout our stay, that time is not a language spoken fluently here. At the gate, we were informed that the competition would start "whenever we heard them coming". That was at about 4:30. Until then, Sanjay was frustrated. He compared it to setting up a pick-up basketball game with friends at noon and not having them arrive until 3pm. Apparently, in manspeak, this is some sort of manhood code violation of the worst kind. In any case, I explained that it was a cultural difference, not a personal affront. He seemed somewhat appeased, and, while we waited, we took a million pictures of the children waiting for the minstrels to arrive. The children - and their parents - were uniformly excited to have their picture taken and see the thumbnail on Sanjay's camera. I really wished I had a polaroid.<br /><br />While we were waiting, I began to notice something: I was alone in a crowd of thousands. Maybe there were 5 other white people. Maybe. And Sanjay and I were a particular oddity - a white woman and a coloured man, clearly friends and sitting together. No one seemed particularly concerned, but I felt like a novelty. <em></em>I wondered if I was welcome or intruding. It wasn't particularly clear. (For context, I suppose I should mention that the celebration originated from a slave celebration as historically the slaves were emancipated for one day yearly for the New Year holiday. It has historically been a celebration of coloured power.)<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEM2NSyqaQIxgdVYrwo__z5UzFJ9e637L2XDFiWk_tAUW0RLKm_OtTjWeKpH8cz6O5x2PBKy9glv1L_05onNrwmLnd7oGH6iUr6wOryvYtskKhkYTBlcM6XUktiP4vM_QsY_5i5tJ33hZ/s1600-h/march.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015419370885189874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="189" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEM2NSyqaQIxgdVYrwo__z5UzFJ9e637L2XDFiWk_tAUW0RLKm_OtTjWeKpH8cz6O5x2PBKy9glv1L_05onNrwmLnd7oGH6iUr6wOryvYtskKhkYTBlcM6XUktiP4vM_QsY_5i5tJ33hZ/s320/march.jpg" width="216" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Finally, the competition began with each minstrel troup marching into Greenpoint Stadium (which, by the way, is scheduled for reconstruction in advance of the 2010 World Cup slated for South Africa. Thank God, as it's a fire trap - a stadium with one small slit of an exit and closed in an all other sides by a cement fence with rusted razor wire). Each crew of 100-1000 had dancers, a brass band and percussionists and members from ages 2 to 102. The groups marched individually around the 1/4 mile track that circumvents the stadium - an exercise that seemingly took FOREVER, with about 15 troupes in all taking 20 minutes each. During this, the first part of the competition, the troupes are judged on costumes, music, dancing, make-up, overall performance and their board - an intricate sign made by each team to represent the name or theme of their crew. </span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEsE4A0-v8KcM10ZIxc7e3DfPlmRMU31Rne7Bc63uKLbWWlUM8axRPe_1VZqZwvW1aKZ_grVoVqSBLOiM-9T0laKFizl8lzQiIA-5x8B9r0f_OftIKTCoyZN8_6e83r63unCR07IRHV6j/s1600-h/sing.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015421002972762386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="156" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEsE4A0-v8KcM10ZIxc7e3DfPlmRMU31Rne7Bc63uKLbWWlUM8axRPe_1VZqZwvW1aKZ_grVoVqSBLOiM-9T0laKFizl8lzQiIA-5x8B9r0f_OftIKTCoyZN8_6e83r63unCR07IRHV6j/s320/sing.jpg" width="206" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;">During the second part of the show, the teams each perform a musical number and are judged on their singing. We were only able to stay for the first two songs, the first of which was an admittedly lousy rendition of Josh Groban's <em>You Raise Me Up. </em><br /><br />We had a dinner reservation for 8pm, so we left the competition a little after 7 to hail a cab - a nearly impossible task given our location and the number of people there. But, we managed to find a great guy who not only brought us back to our hotel via the most scenic route down Long and Adderly streets, but also waited for us to change so that he could carry us onward to our restaurant for dinner. He's an Arabic and driving instructor by day, and the senior taxi driver in his company by night. On our way, he let us know that Cape Town is normally even more exuberant and busy during the New Year's holidays, but this year, New Year's fell on Muslim "Christmas,"so the celebrating has been cut down significantly. He also explained some logistics about the minstrel carnival that were somewhat interesting, like the fact that the minstrel troupes aren't static - their names, themes and members change annually.<br /><br />We dined at </span><a href="http://www.aubergine.co.za/"><span style="font-family:arial;">Aubergine</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">, apparently one of the finest restaurants in Cape Town. Afterward, I made Sanjay pinky swear that we'd never, ever dine again at a gourmet restuarant run by a German. In this case, that German was Harald Bresselschmidt. (Okay, I'm assuming he was German, could be Dutch, but either way . . .) While he was very nice, and even came to our table after dinner was over to ensure we had a fabulous meal, his foie gras (I know, I don't eat it, but Sanjay does), beef filet and utterly undrinkable - but expensive - pinotage were simply not good. I hate pinotage. Never again. Of course, the mint sorbet, mango with gorgonzola, fresh stir fried calamari and a very light potato soup were pretty yummy. And the Gerwurtzraminer and Chardonnay we started with before our meals were delectable. (I'm just not sure when I became a wine snob. Stupid San Francisco. Stupid loathing of beer.) We finished with two desserts - a chocolate fondant with chili pineapples that Sanjay despised, and some fresh berries baked in goat cheese that I liked very much. While we waited for our cab, we chatted at the bar with our server who recommended that we head to Mama Africa tomorrow for African music and dancing after dinner. Just maybe we will . . .<br /><br />But for tonight, our revelry led us about 15 minutes outside Cape Town to the casino. My gambling addiction is not pretty. But tonight, it won me 1000 RAN or about $150 USD. But only after Sanjay and I had lost it earlier. Still, we left the casino even. Miracles are possible.<br /><br />The cabbie who took us from Aubergine to the casino also waited an hour - for free - while we played at the casino. (Thank heaven for time-limited gambling.) While he was quiet on the first trip, on the way back to the hotel he was more loquacious. I asked him where he was from: "Cape Town." I asked him what a "coloured" was, because it din't quite make sense to me yet: "It's someone, like me (him), who's between black and white." It was at this moment that we became aware that Sanjay is a coloured - the cabbie confirmed. (No, Ashlee, the whiteness of his dancing skills do not enable him to reclassify.) Interesting. I also asked his feelings about the progress that South Africa has made in ending apartheid.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioebNRkhrs3XollVQvzTWKtRaTnQWryjWu4U_fPNr8Li1WtPsW2shuusmC1uje_JNVK-KQdAKThf5KcQ2hPIWH3IPmDBHNw2BisxshWeVyItcb6c0UlUgHsjr3osWUBiQnMEcrXo6fVC4o/s1600-h/peace.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015419370885189858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" height="187" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioebNRkhrs3XollVQvzTWKtRaTnQWryjWu4U_fPNr8Li1WtPsW2shuusmC1uje_JNVK-KQdAKThf5KcQ2hPIWH3IPmDBHNw2BisxshWeVyItcb6c0UlUgHsjr3osWUBiQnMEcrXo6fVC4o/s320/peace.jpg" width="247" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I know, pretty hard-hitting topics for a cab ride home after 2am. Nonetheless, his reply was thoughtful and clear. He said, as all of my experiences would suggest, that no one actually believes that or lives that way. "We are still apartheid" he said. He said that he believes that the people <em>want </em>to be integrated, but so mistrust the government and one another that political change seems impossible. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /> </div></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Now we're safely back in our room at the Hippo. My throat hurts and I fear that my friend Sanjay may have given me his plague. So I'm going to bed now.<br /><br />Before I do though, I noticed today that Oprah will be opening her girls' school in Jo-burg tomorrow, and Nelson Mandela will be present. Obviously, his accomplishments in bringing the issue of apartheid to light and ending government regulations enforcing segregation have enabled tremendous progress, but I wonder how far he believes South Africa has yet to go . . .</span></div>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-71963717752678504882007-01-01T10:25:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:30.954-08:00Primordial Soup<span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">It looks like I got to the blog first this time so first off, Happy New Year everyone! I hope you all had (or are still having if you are on the west coast) a wonderful time celebrating. </span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFpM5QM_r0sBLAXhvgbFbRXpOKZRJLd-QefSqslMDnXCQ7RsQQWy8t7UYMf9QiQgOAWK1iBBkSAb1tcTS2QqjgqTRe2IEsXEGTVALJQXOys0eKAsQgXBwdpuEqHGNiJj6BUaKkPIZ8f0Q/s1600-h/food.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014972588707620914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="125" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFpM5QM_r0sBLAXhvgbFbRXpOKZRJLd-QefSqslMDnXCQ7RsQQWy8t7UYMf9QiQgOAWK1iBBkSAb1tcTS2QqjgqTRe2IEsXEGTVALJQXOys0eKAsQgXBwdpuEqHGNiJj6BUaKkPIZ8f0Q/s200/food.JPG" width="170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">We had an amazing time at the Africa Cafe last night! It was an all-you-can-eat African feast. <span style="color:#ffffff;">(The waitress stressed that the word feast implied that we were to eat absolutely as much as possible, and use our hands to eat. This was my kind of joint.) After a traditional hand-washing ceremony,</span> they <span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">served what seemed like a million dishes from various regions of Africa with dancing, singing and unlimited booze (good stuff too like Chivas Royal Salute). The food was quite good - I was pleasantly surprised. They had some really tasty items like macadamia nut chicken and cinnamon pumpkin but I could have done without the cold fish paste. Casava bread is pretty tasty too, it tastes like a thin potato pancake with yogurt and cheese baked inside. <span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">It's actually a bread made from tapioca, which seemed pretty cool to me.</span> </span>I myself liked most of the Morroccan food items that were served. <span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">The best was potatoes and peas in a spicy tomato sauce. Yum. Actually, my favorite was probably the Casava bread dipped in an Ethiopian cold yogurty cheese sauce that seemed to have some dill and cilantro involved. It seemed like a Greek dish to me. 200 extra credit points, by the way, for anyone who can post a good recipe for this dip and casava bread. (Kelly, it's vegetarian, maybe it could go on your menu?)</span> </span>Our full menu was printed on a platter which they gave to us as a souvenier to keep. <span style="color:#ffffff;">We decided that African sav</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXcnzBuEY66WtUc_MtID8pvbmdYhF2Gv5U-9VLHcsQG1DrvrtMIOVRbIYH70zARGlol4N0_7H1YxTcu0RMZuKdcJd4fqb5Fk-OC9uCRo1c5p5lDnQZQ0uI7aDm9athprHK6BREb1qjGBZ/s1600-h/P1030017.JPG"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014974882220156994" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 167px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 126px" height="135" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXcnzBuEY66WtUc_MtID8pvbmdYhF2Gv5U-9VLHcsQG1DrvrtMIOVRbIYH70zARGlol4N0_7H1YxTcu0RMZuKdcJd4fqb5Fk-OC9uCRo1c5p5lDnQZQ0uI7aDm9athprHK6BREb1qjGBZ/s200/P1030017.JPG" width="181" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#ffffff;">ory foods far surpass their sweets, as dessert was pretty boring. That said, they did give us some nut balls decorated in gold and silver dust that could be used to paint Sanjay's face. So we did. (Ha, ha - we used nut balls to paint Sanjay's lips ;) Dinner was ended with cordials and after-dinner drinks. I decided, unfortunately, on a pinotage grappa that was fire water. Not good. </span>We left quite stuffed - I don't think I could have shoved another bite down my gullet. <span style="color:#ffffff;">My digestive system has yet to recover.</span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08nNhDM-BVglVEhT9KBwMwpo_V_fsYqkOv25kCLX7F3ZTwKGq2N12dKuTi9h8Pg1k5RMqclyEcpFarhjspxlM1pGOQwOeMssG8bbwcWwaXNt-VmkEqB_3-ebR-bfr765UOVwGYN9oRr3S/s1600-h/dance1.JPG"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014976802070538322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08nNhDM-BVglVEhT9KBwMwpo_V_fsYqkOv25kCLX7F3ZTwKGq2N12dKuTi9h8Pg1k5RMqclyEcpFarhjspxlM1pGOQwOeMssG8bbwcWwaXNt-VmkEqB_3-ebR-bfr765UOVwGYN9oRr3S/s200/dance1.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#ffffff;">While we ate, three different choirs sang and danced around us so intensely that I thought the floor would break beneath us. It was awesome fun. Their harmony and rhythm was such that I think it must be cultivated from birth, some of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, completely a capella save for a single drum and</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUirAramWMTtX7EjcyQFCWAfVb70mpferla4CqEXKUEXsUWW5PS_-Gnb9wYuT_fb2xWaZmNx4PdGuz84V4AicmFPWyMhlMMA7wda5MVY5JLh3QIkejTX0wqGz3tz5C78CJY2Cb19URRDU/s1600-h/dance2.JPG"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014977648179095650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUirAramWMTtX7EjcyQFCWAfVb70mpferla4CqEXKUEXsUWW5PS_-Gnb9wYuT_fb2xWaZmNx4PdGuz84V4AicmFPWyMhlMMA7wda5MVY5JLh3QIkejTX0wqGz3tz5C78CJY2Cb19URRDU/s200/dance2.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#ffffff;"> some clapping. It's the kind of singing that gives you goosebumps because you hear the song right down somewhere deep inside you. Infectious. The kind of song that utterly convinces one that we are all born from the same primordial soup. Stupid me, after one song, I asked the waitress what they were singing about. In that particular song, there were no words, only "la, la, las" and "oh, oh, ohs" that I mistakenly thought had some meaning in another language.</span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZKqy149DgANnVp-hHI5x6OE9Ye150gfSZ2zd5k2yb0SFVMaqTjteyrepA7CYTnCkaqyPPB1Gav20ikccXkFeE4NTCs3RbhIFG_DZPfVRZtn_2dGJyailr3ufwnEykkXrHheVTqtEMh8_/s1600-h/white.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014978863654840434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 139px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 90px" height="79" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZKqy149DgANnVp-hHI5x6OE9Ye150gfSZ2zd5k2yb0SFVMaqTjteyrepA7CYTnCkaqyPPB1Gav20ikccXkFeE4NTCs3RbhIFG_DZPfVRZtn_2dGJyailr3ufwnEykkXrHheVTqtEMh8_/s200/white.JPG" width="129" border="0" /></a>The crowd was a little European. <span style="color:#ffffff;">A little? Apartheid, unfortunately, seemed alive and well last night in the Africa Cafe last night, as only whites dined, and only blacks served. We had been warned that this was a tourist trap. It was, though a thoroughly fun one. Hopefully, we've reserved more authentic experiences for later in our trip.</span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">Actually, we were probably the whitest group of people you could have probab<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8SAXcu9mOOXq1K2Y5e81p2WipGYL4H0DhdATV5DQWr4c91T1KVQTvHY1JEf8Jyw5TQ_QJNb-Ufed0mlbQbaJfspdLgKnHWOAylfl69E3pDRfTtWgsUA8n0JX8SC7ImfgWvqCSm5Rh90T/s1600-h/SanjSparkler.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014979598094248066" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 208px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 129px" height="139" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8SAXcu9mOOXq1K2Y5e81p2WipGYL4H0DhdATV5DQWr4c91T1KVQTvHY1JEf8Jyw5TQ_QJNb-Ufed0mlbQbaJfspdLgKnHWOAylfl69E3pDRfTtWgsUA8n0JX8SC7ImfgWvqCSm5Rh90T/s200/SanjSparkler.JPG" width="187" border="0" /></a>ly found in Africa last night. <span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">I take pride in the fact that my skin was probably the whitest of all, and Sanjay's dancing was definitely the whitest of all.</span> </span>I think we were the only Amerians there judging from the accents we heard. </span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">Nevertheless, the food and the music was great - African people definitely have rhythm. They even had a local marimba band play for us on the roof <span style="color:#ffffff;">while we all lit sparklers to ring in the New Year. By we, I, of course, mean Sanjay. I am terrified of sparklers. Especially sparklers lit by drunken Euro-trash on a wooden patio. Frightening.</span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZVcyrwJgj2JODkLEmSd_RTEDuPxPOFRGoo-RaysE6Fpk4Aa_A9fm-Uq5NzGVq7GZJNoFIYaYki7yBmcswURcFpQuyQomKuGeYillenUs5OT9Ao_zcJdmgS0QqyHEUFxy34VUfRte8xSf/s1600-h/labia.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014981539419465874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="103" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZVcyrwJgj2JODkLEmSd_RTEDuPxPOFRGoo-RaysE6Fpk4Aa_A9fm-Uq5NzGVq7GZJNoFIYaYki7yBmcswURcFpQuyQomKuGeYillenUs5OT9Ao_zcJdmgS0QqyHEUFxy34VUfRte8xSf/s200/labia.JPG" width="123" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ffffff;">On our way home, we found the Labia cinemas. Not quite sure what was going on here, though Sanjay seems eager to investigate.</span></span><span style="color:#ffffff;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Overall, I'm currently underwhelmed by my degree of culture shock. Perhaps I am so thoroughly wonder bread (though I'd hate to think so - maybe it's Sanj) that I attract whiteness and westerness to me no matter where I travel. I certainly hope not. Maybe the opposite is true and I'm so cosmopolitan as to be unshakable, though I'd also hate for that to be true. How boring. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Actually, as you look around Cape Town, you could really be in America if the cars were on a different side of the street. That said, as we drove in from the airport yesterday, you could see shacks as far as the eye could see. Like America, it seems if you're not poor, you can completely avoid being confronted with actual poverty by avoiding bad neighborhoods and averting your gaze as you drive on the highway. Of course, this assessment is based on only one day here, as a tourist. Maybe today I'll learn a little more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em><strong>Question of the Day:</strong> New Year's resolutions, anyone?</em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">For anyone who knows me, you know mine last year was to lose weight. This year's to lose more and keep it off. That, and to live in the moment a little more. Stop the incessant planning.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em><strong>Song of the Day:</strong> A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I woke up singing this song in my head today, and wanting to French braid my own hair. Weird. Do you ever wake up with a song so thoroughly stuck in your brain that you can't emancipate yourself from its grasp? Where does that come from? The yearning for a French braid is one I can honestly say I've never experienced before. Maybe it was all the French accents from last night? If you have a plausible explanation for this ridiculous combination of circumstances, I'd love to hear it. Sanjay just informed me that he's NEVER heard this song, and he thought my French braid looked silly, so I took it out :(</span></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-14646667282182457372006-12-31T02:15:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:31.259-08:00The Arrival<span style="font-family:arial;">We are in AFRICA! While we may not be clever enough to correctly identify the ampersand (there it is - &) on the keyboard, we have successfully navigated ourselves half way across the globe. I think I just like the word ampersand, and am suffering from sleep deprivation. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvqhnc_WUDCSXWg8OmzUmFAcou3vMkKeA31_rqm1lU82HO_qtDw3Qm7peTOB-tn-2cc1Ti0o9EHgk4z_VuAhgTGgpxzpTH2OQXS8aNUu4M1iB0rVKn2g3K7AdRKvxC6jpEyTtjsvpPSgS/s1600-h/IMG00048.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014730807818659714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="129" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvqhnc_WUDCSXWg8OmzUmFAcou3vMkKeA31_rqm1lU82HO_qtDw3Qm7peTOB-tn-2cc1Ti0o9EHgk4z_VuAhgTGgpxzpTH2OQXS8aNUu4M1iB0rVKn2g3K7AdRKvxC6jpEyTtjsvpPSgS/s200/IMG00048.jpg" width="140" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As we flew in, we saw Cape Town's most famous landmark, Table Mountain. It's truly beautiful. (I promise, we'll take better pictures now that we've arrived.) </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg5S7Sq-QIvSPsTQvDlSzbp9pEls7S7m829fnGjZh9lX-A4cCO3QBOjFy9SaDmGzYsEkYbJlKgZ_QqQYwM21UH-gJU3zIQHIlTOp36xQFSnXsJXop6-XeDv-a2DvYY_m-1_KvPoQsMVdU/s1600-h/P1020006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014740196617168882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg5S7Sq-QIvSPsTQvDlSzbp9pEls7S7m829fnGjZh9lX-A4cCO3QBOjFy9SaDmGzYsEkYbJlKgZ_QqQYwM21UH-gJU3zIQHIlTOp36xQFSnXsJXop6-XeDv-a2DvYY_m-1_KvPoQsMVdU/s200/P1020006.JPG" border="0" /></a>Our pessimism about our luggage was misplaced. It arrived, as did we, without a hitch. Even coach on South African Airways was <strong>fabulous</strong>, even for 10 hours. (My assessment of this wonderful airline was absolutely mistaken in my previous post). We had our personal entertainment system, where I watched a South African movie - <em>Beat the Drum - </em>that more than made up for the horrible movies we chose on United. It's the story of a little Zulu boy, Musa, whose family is killed by AIDS, and his journey as a street kid in Johannesburg (or, for everyone here, Jo-burg) where he works to earn money to buy a new cow for his grandmother. (Her former cow, and Musa's beloved pet, was sacrificed by the tribe elders to appease the ancestors to remove the plague - i.e., AIDS - from their village. I can't remember the cow's Zulu name, but it meant something like "cry to the point one has no more tears".) He also searches for his uncle to return home and take care of his family. It's a great movie, especially for the tender-hearted among us. Rent it.<br /><br />The dinner they served was actually VERY good. A spicy chicken and rice, and boy was I hungry.<br /><br />There was a minor glitch, namely a glass of fairly decent shiraz on the plane that has now cast its pinkish purplish shadow on my formerly "soapstone" colored pants. For those who know me well, this is no surprise at all. In any case, Stacey's pant-count is now down from 3 pairs to only 2 and that's before I even arrived. Who needs pants anyway? At least I very much amused my quite handsome and very amiable flight attendant.<br /><br />Upon arrival, we caught a cab, and drove with our own Capetonian "Ricky Bobby" cab driver to the Hippo Boutique Hotel, where we now reside for three days. Thankfully, there's a computer with internet access - albeit slow - right here in our own room. Thus, we write.<br /><br />Now, we're headed out to explore what appears to be an incredibly beautiful city. <span style="color:#ff6600;">Not if I have anything to say about it. I am exhausted and I am going to take a nap so I'll see you later. ;)</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#ff6600;">I just woke up from my nap - I now know what jet lag really feels like. The mix of being sick and flying the past three days has made me really tired, but I feel great now. It's funny, Stacey and I have such different 'vacation' styles - she wants to do something every minute or she feels like she is missing out on something. I on the other hand know that I'm going to be in Africa for almost 7 weeks so I'm totally cool with using a couple days to just relax and unwind. I've been in "go, go, go" mode for a couple months now so I'm going to take it easy and enjoy myself (up until I work with the children and hike Mt. Kilimanjaro of course).</span><span style="color:#ff6600;"> </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">As Stacey mentioned, the flight over was pretty nice. Other than trying to avoid Stacey's wine spillages (if you've ever been around Stacey, you have to have an eye on her at all times because she is a disaster waiting to happen, and oftentimes you are part of the collateral damage), I got to see "The Illusionist"with Edward Norton - great movie with a great ending. We got to sit on the upper deck of what I think was a 747 - holy crap that is a huge plane. I am still amazed everytime I think that something that big gets off of the ground.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's what I've noticed so far about South Africa/Cape Town - the people are extremely hospitable, they all have great accents (although I can't wait to hear a language where they use that clicking sound), and there appears to be a plethora of amazing restaurants walking distance from our hotel, the Hippo Boutique Hotel (</span><a href="http://www.hippotique.co.za/"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.hippotique.co.za/</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">) which has a plasma TV and computer in each room, something I don't expect to see in a couple days or so.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">Oh, Stacey forgot to mention our luck with Customs - apparently in South Africa, you have to declare anything you bring (including personal effects) worth more than $3000 ZAR total - this comes out to about $400 U.S. For anything on top of that, you have to pay them some fee of 20% or so for everything exceeding that limit. You could imagine my concern when in my possession I had a $1,000+ Nikon D80, brand new 80-Gig video iPod, Stacey's new Blackberry Pearl, and about a gillion dollars worth of newly bought mountain wear for the Kilimanjaro climb. Anyways, I filled out the declaration card and went to the Items to Declare line and gave my card to one of the 4 guys working a booth with no other passengers in the entire area so I was getting ready for the full anal probe. As it turns out, he took our cards, said thank you and sent us on our way through the glass sliding doors leading to the outside world. I don't really know what happened, but I'll take it!</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6600;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I am about to get ready for tonight's New Year's Eve festivities - we're going to a place called the Africa Cafe (</span><a href="http://www.africacafe.co.za/"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.africacafe.co.za/</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">) for an all inclusive dinner with entertainment in the form of traditional African song and dance, it should be a blast. (Don't worry Jimmy, I'll stay away from the beef but I might go for the crocodile.) I'm hoping I can change my opinion of African food which I have always referred to as "poor man's indian food". Anyways, we'll write more again tomorrow but we wanted to wish all of you a very Happy New Year and have a great, safe time celebrating tonight!!!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6600;">P.S. Thanks for the lovely pic Ashlee, I should totally grow out two ponytails on the sides of my head, it'd be great to have a Last of the Mohicans look. Or maybe I'll just grow a mullet, that'd look really nice with my baldness up front.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">By the way, Dan posted us to Digg, so check in there and digg us. You can link to it from his comment on our last post.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">And, Janet, my friend from Chicago, sent some more photos from Krispy Kreme & Steak & Shake that you can check out in one of our previous posts below.</span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-24292687660919694462006-12-30T06:52:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:31.431-08:00One Carry-on<span style="font-family:arial;">We've made it to London. Do you miss us yet?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Sanjay's</span> currently showering in the South African Airlines lounge at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Heathrow</span>. Membership has its privileges. Free shower, free - unbelieveably slow - internet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A quick note for anyone travelling to the UK. One carry-on allowed. A single, non-bulging carry-on. No purse, no backpack, no laptop - nothing extraneous. The Brits take this very seriously. For those of you who haven't personally witnessed our struggle, both <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Sanjay</span> and I worked intensely over the last 4 weeks or so to pack 2 bags - a backpack and a roll-aboard each. We thought we were doing well.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Apparently not. While we made it to Heathrow on United with all of our luggage on-board, as soon as we arrived, security informed us that it is "national law" in the UK that each passenger is allowed one and only one carry on. We, therefore, could not simply connect - we, instead, had to go through customs and then, painstakingly, repack everything - for about 2 hours. We made certain we had only one carry-on and that it contains all the essentials. The non-essentials we consolidated into our hiking duffels and prepared to check them in - and, likely, lose them forever.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Perhaps we're being overly pessimistic. But trust me, you would be too. We personally witnessed the Cyprus Airways signs being replaced by the (may-as-well-have-been-scribbled-in-crayon) South African Airways check-in signs. There were three lines (I mean "queues") of people who wanted to check-in that led nowhere. While we successfully navigated through all three lines to eventually secure a boarding pass (where, by the way, the lone agent pleasantly suggested that we repack our luggage <em><strong>again</strong></em> to bring our cheap duffel bags on board and leave our larger bags to check in), their "first-rate service" did not imbue us with a sense of confidence that whatever we checked would actually ever arrive in Africa.</span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff9900;">We really have to figure out this luggage thing because I have no desire to spend several hours a day repacking our bags. I don't know what it is with women but they overpack for everything! Why would you possibly pack 3 different pairs of shoes (in addition to the hiking boots she's already wearing.)</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcMlPrKVmqRLLRAY-rzq4WNskl03LesIipIV_rtpiL_Fqm6jnnAtRWPVlmtcax9TkAyrRJVJP-MU4CfhtKVPkmCljaBNJy2JiypBDqHHB8V6K0-2NI-Xb_mxiJ6EadbA-8dimHvZQn4Xz/s1600-h/IMG00043[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014367238837053298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcMlPrKVmqRLLRAY-rzq4WNskl03LesIipIV_rtpiL_Fqm6jnnAtRWPVlmtcax9TkAyrRJVJP-MU4CfhtKVPkmCljaBNJy2JiypBDqHHB8V6K0-2NI-Xb_mxiJ6EadbA-8dimHvZQn4Xz/s200/IMG00043%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;">In any case, our escapades here so far have ensured that we actually will not get to see London at all. That's not entirely true. Sanjay had a window seat, and he saw the Millenium ferris wheel. He took, for me, a horrible photo from my Blackberry. I think there's a ferris wheel there somewhere. In any case, from my seat I missed any view of London entirely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I really can't complain, though. Our flight from Chicago to London was 100% painless. In fact, business class was pure bliss. Thank God for Funken frequent flyer miles. There was filet mignon and Sanjay (the beefless wonder - just kidding, Sanj, you're really a beefcake ;)) had some not-terrible pasta. We had caesar salad, focaccia, warm nuts, ice cream and a fruit and cheese plate. They spoiled us (and further added to our unwieldy luggage) by providing us with an amenity kit filled with goodies like H2O body butter and an eye mask. The eye mask was completely unecessary though. Nearly 100% reclined with a ton of legroom, both of us passed out within 20 minutes of laying down to watch our choice of 9 not-terribly-exciting bedtime-story movies. For Sanj, <em>Miami Vice</em> and for me, <em>The Wicker Man.</em></span> </p><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#6600cc;"><span style="color:#ff9900;">What a shitty movie. I thought it would be full of good action sequences and hot women. I couldn't even understand what was going on, and on top of that, it had plenty of Colin Farell ass crack action. To tell you the truth, I don't know what's so appealing about him. He couldn't keep his fake American accent without breaking into his native Irish accent and come on, his ass doesn't have anything on mine. I mean, have you ever seen my ass - it is truly a thing of beauty. Anyways, if you want to go see a great Michael Mann movie, go see "Heat" or "Manhunter".</span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">So now here we are in the South African Airways lounge - which, by the way, is far nicer than our check-in experience would have belied - and we're moving ever nearer to our destination. Are you as excited as I am?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>PS:</strong> There is no ampersand on this crazy British keyboard. To log into my blog, I had to navigate to yahoo and copy one - I'll paste it here again so all that effort doesn't go to waste. @@@@@@@@@@@@</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"><span style="font-family:arial;">My travel partner</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> isn't too bright - see look, the ampersand is right here @ on the keyboard.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>PPS:</strong> The quotation marks are in the wrong place too - it's over the number 2. What can you expect though from a country where everyone drives on the wrong side of the roads? This directional confusion also extends to airport moving walkways in case you were curious.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>PPPS:</strong> In an effort to make this blog more interactive, we're adding a new feature, the Question of the Day. I know it's very exciting - here's our first:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="color:#6600cc;"><span style="color:#ff9900;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I've just been informed that I am coming up with the question of the day...so here it comes:<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Question of the Day:</strong> What are you all doing for New Year's Eve? I would tell you what we're doing but you'll have to wait until tomorrow's episode to find out.</span></em></span><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></strong></span><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:arial;">Song of the Day:</span></em></strong> <em><span style="font-family:arial;">Here Comes the Sun, The Beatles</span></em><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">As the sun came up over England, it cast a blinding glare through the windows of our Boeing 777. I could hear my niece Zoe's favorite band in my head (Yes, she is really that cool of a 7-year-old. Her favorite band is the Beatles.) The song and the bright sunshine (Isn't England supposed to be rainy?) struck me as a beautiful omen for the journey that lies ahead.</span><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></strong><br /><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></strong>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-41512636696765291132006-12-29T17:36:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:43:31.799-08:00A Vicarious Life<div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014136766596982626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4sbFoVtnrl_u7uyRMqbj6dwtEd2MVi3SbXhUioyzE1VX5gWSLS2BwaqKhyphenhyphenvkjibJEXm5xJ4M0QR1uWluMaHceE0P-iysd7ezB1sw3qgYUzBttqfz9kX9jSiJoAhAOdUTktJGMsWgWIX0/s200/IMG00042.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sanjay and I are now sitting in the Laptop Lane at the O'Hare airport preparing to board the first international leg of our trip - to London Heathrow. We just had our last American meal for a while - milk shakes and burgers from Steak and Shake, followed by a delicious dessert of Hot & Now donuts from Krispy Kreme. My tummy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1_bs7h1akkFf62yPbtIDspBZuVuj6LljVOvi3xFzGct73IvQZSK38YPqjJmhhHlJ_1HneMBUfbR236MoF6mygtpX0t3is8Jequ1o5B64C5aCaDD4S5IHsKOYb6_o-XftT_nKeG3lah0e/s1600-h/2c06.jpg"></a> hurts. Isn't America great?<br /><br />Our culinary expedition through suburban Chi-town was led by my best friend from high school, the somewhat notorious Janet Tarver, who was kind enough to meet us here - where she currently lives and works for Funken's favorite airline, United. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaTCowYXXuq8H_tDoKuCye5dclNvR6CnZ2M91IND6D8orTBJf_u9kidnHQ6CjzwIegTPQMmQ9eGOnug5Da-ehUUjOlIjRrOuN4L1UdvGxRdhEdrtjM90uTNzymDdD7_ncNPhlJoe2f7i_/s1600-h/2a50.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwr7fTFP0QOPL6lijO2eD9k_MXVsOdQtM0TWEu9mz1GDLXV-v2jLBJZdyN4c2LUS9Q6l8NujeXBAAjrjMyADTls-GhcfRpt2CB-bGyHQauQ5wr1GQJUkM1hXJ2oCFW7V7ITSClIYmckKts/s1600-h/1377.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014734170778052546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 131px" height="95" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwr7fTFP0QOPL6lijO2eD9k_MXVsOdQtM0TWEu9mz1GDLXV-v2jLBJZdyN4c2LUS9Q6l8NujeXBAAjrjMyADTls-GhcfRpt2CB-bGyHQauQ5wr1GQJUkM1hXJ2oCFW7V7ITSClIYmckKts/s200/1377.jpg" width="116" border="0" /></a><br />In spite of the unpleasant residual effects from our meal, I, for one, am psyched. My quart size ziploc bag has made it through 2 security checkpoints intact. Only about 52 more to go before I make it home. More importantly, the day is finally here. We are going to <em>Africa</em>.<br /><br />I think Sanj is excited too, although I can't be too sure. He's a little sick. But I've told the little camper to buck up, and he seems more willing than able.<br /><br />We just found out about our volunteer placements in Tanzania - Sanjay and I will both be working in small schools for young children in remote areas of Tanzania. I can't wait.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">This is Sanjay typing now; from here on out, anytime you see orange text it's me speaking. So I've decided to usurp Stacey's blog instead of creating my own. And it's true, I think I got the bubonic plague right before we depart for Africa. Too many sick family members over the holidays but alas, I will survive. I did find out that I'll be working at a nursery for 3-6 year old kids - let the corruption of youth begin. What were they thinking? ;) Anyways, I am going to get another dose of Airborne now - I promise I'll be more entertaining the next time I blog.</span><br /><br />I guess we'll sign off for today, but we'll probably catch up with you again in London.<br /><br />And, because I can't sign off without some deep, meaningful comment - here's what I came up with yesterday while I was driving my car from errand to errand. Yesterday I determined that my journey, like most, is a prayer of sorts - a prayer that I might find God in the faces of strangers and then find my way back home to the often unrecognized divinity that I'm leaving (and I'm not just saying that Millie's a goddess, though that's true) . . .<br /><br />Well, I tried - I suppose today isn't a deep and meaningful kind of a day. More of an adrenaline-filled sugar rush that has incapacitated my more introspective sensibilities. Maybe tomorrow.<br /><br />By the way, in our absence, we are leaving it up to each of you to make absolutely certain that our blog is one of the most popular in the world upon our return. It's a big challenge, but we know you can handle it. That leaves each of you with three responsibilities:<br /><br />1) Post comments liberally because, in truth, is Sanjay REALLY going to be that entertaining for 60+ days worth of entries? [Hey, I resent that.]<br /><br />2) Post links to our blog from any and every blog and/or site you own.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">3) Forward us to anyone you know who might need a vicarious life.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732970766881556592.post-63347585847350280072006-12-27T22:23:00.000-08:002006-12-27T22:59:18.380-08:001:23am - Eyes Wide Open<span style="font-family:arial;">Why am I up, you ask, at 1:23 in the morning?<br /><br />That's right, putting my 10<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> grade Geometry Team skills to the test in a way even dear old <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kleinschmidt</span> (my math team coach - I know, nerd) never dreamed. It truly is amazing just how much fits in a quart sized <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ziploc</span> bag. Certainly if said bag is stretched manually beforehand to ensure maximum capacity, and especially if a Mu Alpha Theta geometry geek (who, me?) is on the job.<br /><br />Not too much more now to shove in my backpack - just a cocktail dress that's at the dry cleaners. I'm not certain exactly how that's going to work. I think I'm literally creating negative space - a black hole - in my shiny new <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Victorinox</span> E-motion Trek Pack Plus.<br /><br />I suppose many of you are wondering why I'm making the trip. To be honest, I'm not sure whether I'm running from something (my brother's death, an career that's less fulfilling than I'd like, my divorce & ex-husband, a family that sometimes feels a little too heavy, the literal physical weight I've lost) or, rather, running toward something (a new career, a new man, a new body, a renewed relationship with my loved ones) - who knows? For some reason, I think there's an answer in Africa, perhaps at the summit of Kilimanjaro. Or maybe I feel like I need to go so far away from all of this noise just to hear myself think.<br /><br />Okay, so I'm waxing philosophic. It's late. I'm on my way far from home.<br /><br />And I simply cannot wait.<br /><br />The real reason I'm awake? I am like a kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa. I'm too excited to sleep.<br /><br />From here on in, sleep is reserved exclusively for long flights in coach. The rest of the trip is eyes (ears, heart and mind) wide open.<br /><br />I wonder what we'll see . . .<br /></span>staceybmonkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02961602237672143008noreply@blogger.com3