Moshi Reflections

The time has come and gone to say kwaheri to Moshi and all of Northern Tanzania. Of course, I abhor goodbyes, so I'd rather substitute that "kwaheri" with "tutaonana badaaye." The thought of never returning to that place makes my stomach lurch, so I won't even venture there. Never have I been to a country or town that was so warm (in every respect), welcoming, distressing, beautiful, and simultaneously ugly as Tanzania. It's the perfect storm of adjectives, full of the most beautiful sights and people and the ugliest corruption and poverty.

There are one thousand things I will miss about this country... the hot weather, the goregous views of unspoiled nature, the humbling generostiy of the local inhabitants, and the ridiculous cuteness of my tiny students, to name a few (bed nets, ironing my underwear, and squaty-potties not topping my list). There's something truly intoxicating and comforting about eating every single meal of the day outside, too. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I was to return to the States right now, at the beginning of February in Chicagoland. Eat at a kitchen table surrounded by windows, which, in turn, are surrounded by snow... and without ants? It just doesn't seem natural.


Leaving the children at Amka school, as well as the countless other friendships I've forged in Moshi, has definitely been the most difficult part of packing up and heading out. Amka has come leaps and bounds, however, in my three short months there, which makes it a little easier to retreat. Mama Naseem's dream, as I wrote long ago, was to see the new Step Up school grow -- not only in numbers enrolled, but in respect and recognition of the parents of Njoro/Moshi. That is certainly the case, as far as I can tell. Since I began teaching there at the beginning of November, I have watched the number of students in my class triple in size, and Mamas and Babas stop by all the time to inquire about this, that, and the other thing, examining the new paint job and the children chattering over picture books and math assignments. It makes my chest swell just thinking about it.

I won't pretend to have anything to do with this evolution -- the determination of Teacher Olivari and the hard work of the students out-shines any small thing I accomplished -- but it brings me incredible happiness to think that I was one small cog in the wheel. The smiles on the faces of my children on my final day there -- the hugs and kisses and high-fives I received -- all speak straight to my heart, telling me, "Hey, dada, you did alright."

The end of Month 3 came last week. After an endless stream of goodbyes to CCS staff and local volunteers and friends, my exit interview with program managers Moses and Mama Fatuma, and my final teaching day at Amka (which was chock-full of coloring, singing, chocolate and bubbles [which, as you can imagine, was the biggest hit of all; video-evidence of this to come later]), I made my way over to Mama Naseem's house, the orginal Step Up school. That was a difficult goodbye, to say the least. After she presented me with a beautiful traditional kanga (a gift of thanks for my time and efforts at her school), we hugged and promised to keep in touch. She doesn't know it, but that kanga may mean more to me than the huge bag full of pencils, crayons, children's books, and pencil sharpeners I "accidentally" left behind for my students at Amka... it's simply too much kindness.


More reflections and revelations to come. I'm evidentally hogging the free laptop at my hostel in Zanzibar, haha. I'm such a jerk.

Kenyan Kiss

This past weekend, I raced down a half-paved African highway in a max-capacity mini-bus headed for Nairobi, Kenya, my backpack stuffed between my knees. Inside the packed shuttle, I watched people fall asleep on each others shoulders, nearly suffocate from the heat, and get bent out of shape about the brown and red dust flying in cracked-open windows. Outside my window, meanwhile, I gazed at Maasai men climbing over road rubble, children playing soccer matches, and the sun set over the African plains. It took us 9.5 flaming-hot hours to cross the border and arrive at our final destination (a Friday night street corner in downtown Nairobi)... but that's part of the adventure, isn't it?

After four days of trekking, I can now say that I have, among other things:

1. Survived immigration and acquired a new visa on an African border,
2. Slept top-bunk in an African hostel
3. Eaten ostrich, crocodile, and camel (all in one meal)
4. Been driven through Africa's largest slums (Kibera)
5. Gotten Swahili "shang" (or "slang") lessons from an Kenyan cab driver
6. Watched baby elephant orphans drink out of giant sized bottles (while a lion chased gazelles in the background)
7. Strolled through Nairobi's answer to Central Park & the Boston Commons (Uhuru Park)
8. Pretended I was Karen Blixen at her house in the 'burbs
9. Sipped a latte in uptown Nairobi (and gotten accosted at a local Maasai market)
10. Observed Kenyan runners sprint down the highway with ridiculous awe, and
11. Kissed a Rothschild giraffe square on the mouth. (When in Africa!)

Many thanks to Lucetta, my terrific travel partner and endless source of inspiration and laughs; Milimani Backpackers, who lovingly housed and put up with the both of us; Paul the Cab Driver, who not only drove us all over Nairobi, but also protected and educated us along the way; Gentry, the avid traveler who provided us with an evening of happy company and ample quotes; our Riverside Bus Driver coming back from Kenya, who navigated Lucetta across the border when she neglected to bring her Yellow Card; Neal and Alex, the tremendous good-sports (and Kings of Wine and Ice Cream) from Cali who hopped on the bus and followed us back to Moshi; and -- last, but certainly not least -- Scooby the Hostel Dog, who chewed up all the rogue water bottles and made things feel exponentially more homey.


P.S. Did you know that the giraffe's saliva is a natural antiseptic? Yeah. It protects their lips from all the thorny tree branches off which they eat. Also, it protects my lips when we kiss. That happened.

Bed-Nets and Band-Aids

Truth? First aid [or, rather, anything medical] kind of freaks me out here in Africa.

In the beginning, we were told that if anything remotely medically serious happened to us, we'd need to fly out of Tanzania to Nairobi or Cape Town (or out of Africa all together). Before I arrived, I got epic numbers and prescriptions of vaccinations and meds, all precautionary. My travel doctor recommended I not pet any monkeys, as I wasn't willing to cough up several hundred USD for rabies shots. That was cause enough for caution and worry... to say the least. Since arriving, we've had special lessons on HIV and AIDS risks, been lectured about sunscreen, and are surrounded by reminders of other potential illnesses (in the form of horror stories, posters, and bed nets, etc.). Nurse volunteers return home from their hospital placements with images of AIDS-infected babies and Mamas swimming in their heads. Not a week goes by here that a volunteer (and, more often than not, a pack of them) falls ill with something, whether it be a "bug" or virus or food poisoning. It's truly a ticking bomb.

One night last week, myself and another volunteer accompanied our mutual friend to a local "hospital" clinic in Rau, as she was suffering various awful symptoms. As it is, I abhor visiting hospitals in the States... full of sterile smells and illness and unhappy memories. Visiting one in rural Tanzania is an epic, otherworldly experience entirely. Let's just say my vote of confidence was not overwhelming and that the word "sterile" no longer applied. If she wasn't feeling as rotten as she was, I would have recommended she avoid it at all costs, but there seemed to be no alternative. One quick consult, one shady blood test, and two hours of chilling in the open-air waiting room later, my friend was diagnosed with "complex" malaria and checked in for an expensive overnight stay. She wasn't given a bandage after giving blood (I had one in my purse, thank goodness), someone had to leave the hospital to bring her clean water and meals, and when she was released several delirious days later, she had gained a staph infection in her hand via the botched injections they gave her. "Awesome sana." Thanks, but no thanks. Bring on that bug spray, early bedtime, and High Potency Vitamin C, for me.

In early December, I had the unfortunate opportunity to attend a Tanzanian funeral. One of the security guards at our very own CCS Home-Base compound had passed away from malaria complications earlier that week. From what I can remember, he was only in his mid-40s and had been healthy and strong until that time. The story (although no one is quite certain) is that because he let the malaria he contracted go untreated, his weakened immune system fell victim to several other illnesses, including pneumonia and possibly TB. Regardless, even someone young and present at a workplace wherein international volunteers blather on and on and on to each other about Malarone and DEET is at risk. Malaria is no joke.

The death rocked the home base with a tidal wave of incredulous grief. For some reason, it felt really important that I attend the funeral, as I already felt like part of the CCS family. The ceremony itself (which myself and three other volunteers attended, along with nearly every member of CCS staff and hundreds of people from the surrounding community) was both remarkably sad and beautiful. It began at his home, where everyone who couldn't make it to the actual burial site (next his father) gathered to say goodbye. It then continued at his childhood home on the side of a mountain. Everyone, including myself, walked past his open casket to pay our final respects and then took part in sticking brightly colored roses into the mound of dirt atop his grave. I could not get over how many people attended; they lined the mountainside around the ceremony, sitting and standing against trees, clothes lines, and small houses in every which way, draped in simultaneously bright but somber kangas. It seemed every person I had ever met since arriving in Tanzania was present. There's nothing like a "family" death to remind you how fragile we are here, how important it is to take care of yourself, and to value each and every day, as our time here may be limited and is not really our own.

Yesterday, at school, I completely failed Ally (one of my preschool students who has been in my class since I began in November). I ALWAYS carry a small first-aid kit (or at least a baggy of band-aids and wipes) in my school bag and purse, as a week doesn't go by that one of my kids doesn't cut his finger (or whatever) on something ...usually their "pencil sharpener" razor blade. I even made a first-aid kit for the kids at Tuleeni Orphanage, because I couldn't believe how many injuries they had and how real the HIV risk was there. Yesterday, however? I failed. I realized I had forgotten to return my personal kit to it's proper place in my backpack after removing it for my weekend trip to Nairobi. SADNESS. Naturally, Ally came to school that morning with a deep, oozing flesh wound on his pointer finger (complete with pleading puppy eyes)... and I had NOTHING for him. After digging around in my bag for a bit, I found my last clean tissue (which I usually carry around for impromptu bathroom trips, as you rarely find a roll near a TZ toilet) and sat gently patting and cleaning his wound for the next ten minutes, whispering encouraging words and promising he would be okay, meanwhile inwardly cursing myself and vowing never to leave home without an army of bandages and anti-bacterial gel ever again. I will carry around my Mary Poppins bag of supplies with pride.

Last month, I lost one of my smaller students, Issa, because he broke his arm when a motorcycle FELL on him. This week, I returned to find Prosper had a burn wound healing on his face, only to find out he'd acquired it when his older brother held a hot iron to his face. Today, I planted a first-aid kit complete with gloves, medical tape, and all of the previously mentioned into Teacher Olivari's hands and said "This is for Amka kids." Even so, I think I'll have paper-cut, infection, and razor blade-themed nightmares for years to come.

Being Pelted with Hail (And Other Misadventures in Africa)

A month in Africa cannot pass without a (mis)adventure, it seems... and I'm pretty cool with that. It makes for a gallery of memorable moments, that's for sure... as if Africa was not memorable enough on it's own. We volunteers generally refer to it as "T.I.A" or "T.A.B." ("This is Africa" or "That's Africa, Baby")... just be prepared for the worst as well as the best, because you never know what might happen.

Last month, myself and a handful of other volunteers decided to take advantage of a public holiday (TZ Independence Day) and go on a long-weekend trip to Boma N'gombe & Arusha, where we intended to camp by and swim in the natural hot springs for two nights, followed by a hiking safari in Arusha National Park. Naturally, it started to rain within an hour of us taking off in our safari truck (and by "safari truck," I mean "ancient van" more aptly described as a shaggin' wagon, packed to the gills with camping gear, wonder bread, our guides, and us). Upon reaching the absolute middle of nowhere in the African plains, we found ourselves re-living Genesis: suddenly, the skies opened up and poured down all around us, turning the never-ending dirt into deep, raging rivers of mud and rain... only our van was no ark.

After countless ridiculous maneuvers, near sinkings, and fruitless searches for shelter, we finally rolled into a tiny village and up to its one major building -- the police station. Long story short, we hopped out, conferenced with the local chief, and ended up spending the rest of the night "camping" on the front porch and inside the one-room meeting house, the heavens unleashing its furry all around us. Thank goodness we had food, water, wine in spades... not to mention good senses of humor. Mind you, this all happened after the hatchback door of the van flew open twice along the way there, spilling everything in the trunk (i.e., every single one of our sleeping bags, of COURSE) out into the raging muddy waters behind us. Unreal.

We woke early the next day on cement floor in our damp sleeping bags (after barely sleeping at all, although, truly, it was the bats that kept me awake), only to hop back in the van and (finally) make our way over to the hot springs. After hydroplaning twice and losing both the sleeping bags (for a second time) and the spare tire (at an entirely different moment) once, we pulled up to what looked like a small jungle oasis in the middle of nowhere. Inside, we found paradise; the hot springs are the definition of Gorgeous. Pools of warm, clear, and deep aquamarine water lay nestled in a leaning canopy of cool, dark trees. Roots and trunks hugging the water wind and cross all over each other, etched with hundreds of names, initials, and dates.

Upon jumping in (the easiest way to enter the giant, slow-current bathtub), I felt instantly refreshed and ridiculously clean, despite sharing the water with catfish and the branches above with leaping monkeys. We camped there for the night (with minimal mishaps), relaxing both in and out of the water for a full day before hopping back in the van heading for Arusha. I would return to the hot springs in a heartbeat. And now for a whirlwind summary of the remainder of that trip:

Naturally, it rained the next day, beginning just as we were about to commence our walking safari through the national park. Still, we managed to capture some fabulous views of thousands of flamingos as well as several giraffe, so all-in-all, not a waste of time in the least. Later that night, we stayed at a hotel in Arusha... and by that, I mean we arrived at a friend's brother's brand new hotel only to find out we would be the first ever guests and the majority of our rooms didn't have furniture yet. But of course! The next day, our guide/friend woke up with the worst case of food poisoning any of us had ever seen, so he ended up being stranded in Arusha (with Craig, being an excellent friend and trooper) for an extra day while the rest of us caught a packed-to-the-gills, hot-as-hell bus back to Moshi... but only after getting totally mzungued by the cab drivers that brought us to the bus station.

In conclusion, I love traveling (when you're with a good group of patient, flexible, and fun-loving friends, like I was) and can handle juuuuuust about anything. Of course, I don't remember a time that I was more exhausted than I was after that weekend... except for perhaps the first Friday of 2011. Now, here's where the hail comes in.

Since I cannot even come close to having enough money or time to climb to the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro during my three months here (it takes about a week and well over one thousand dollars), a group of friends and I decided we would do a day hike of the mountain, conquering the entire first (of four) layers -- ALL rainforest! The goal was to hike up to the first base camp near the moorland above the rainforest, and then turn around and head back down the mountain, all in about 7-8 hours. We arrived in high spirits, sweltering in the hot sun and humid vegetation; we left drenched, sore, and freezing.

The hike up was full of blue monkeys, waterfalls, and trees upon trees upon trees, so I obviously loved it. I wouldn't have been surprised if Steven Speilberg swung down from a branch and announced we'd entered Jurassic Park. The higher we got, the more of a work out it became, with the path becoming more steep and rocky with each passing minute. After stopping for lunch and breaking to watch male and female porters pass up and down the path, each carrying approximately 20 kilos of gear in packs atop his/her head -- no joke -- we continued to climb. Suddenly, the sun disappeared and we found ourselves surrounded with the sounds of thunder and lightening. Commence the crash-course in exactly why it's called a RAINforest. Not entirely surprised, I whipped out my raincoat and we all continued upward... but that was the least of it. To say that it "poured" would be an understatement -- we nearly drowned in rain. Determined to reach our final destination, however, (even if we shattered our tailbone or ran into a velociraptor along the way) we pressed on... our large group of friends slowly breaking up and climbing at our own pace as the temperature began to drop as quickly as the rain.

After slipping, sliding, and charging my way up, I reached the base camp with the first group of friends, only to find that the second we hit the clearing, the rain turned into HAIL. Here we were, in the dead heat of summer in Africa, and we were getting hailed on -- incredible. Let it be known, I haven't run as fast or as much in the past three years as I did in that one afternoon, making my way down Mt. Kilimanjaro. Get me wet and cold enough, and I guess I'll do anything! One hour later, the very first of my group, I emerged from the forest, drenched, cold, and utterly incredulous. Somehow, I lept, ran, and barrel-rolled my way down that steep, mudslide path without breaking a leg... or my neck. Amazing.

Anyway, that particular story ends with my not knowing how long I would have to wait for my friends at the bottom of Kili, meanwhile quickly turning into a human popsicle, so I hopped into a car with my new hiking buddies from Germany (who I met literally 8 hours earlier) and catching a ride back to Moshi and the home base. There, I stood under a blisteringly hot shower until I could feel the blood reenter my fingertips and toes, debating what kind of chores I could get done while under the spell of an insane adrenaline rush. Needless to say, the rush didn't last -- I did nearly nothing for the next two days, as my hips and legs were so sore I felt like I was 90 years old.

Like the broken record that I am, I will conclude by saying it was an epic misadventure of a "T.I.A." day that I wouldn't trade for the world. Way to keep me on my toes, Africa. Touche.

Teaching Adventures: Tuleeni Edition

There I was on Christmas Eve afternoon, watching twenty or so Swahili-speaking children in purple and blue singing "Feliz Navidad" in Tanzanian accents, trying not to completely lose my cool over the hilarity and cuteness of it all, when a brilliant and exciting lightbulb (or twinkle-light, if you will) went on inside me. Suddenly, I knew exactly where I would be volunteering for the next two weeks while my nursery school was out for the holiday (if they would have me, of course): Tuleeni Orphanage, located in the Moshi neighborhood of Rau.

Nothing more than a small dirt compound with a few tiny bunk rooms, an outdoor kitchen, and a small, empty school room, Tuleeni Orphange certainly looks like it has more have-nots than haves, if you catch my drift. When I started volunteering there with Randi and Karen (two other CCS volunteers) the Monday following Christmas, the clean, crisp purple and blue outfits from Christmas were long gone, replaced instead by tattered, dirty, and ill-fitting rags that might have been, at one point, actual shirts, shorts, and dresses. Nothing, however, shined more brightly than the smiles of those kids (ages one to fifteen) upon our arrival.

Still, I spent much of the next two weeks cringing, crying, and holding back aggressive frustration and indignation over the many plights of Tuleeni. Incredible amounts of filth, danger, and destitution hang around this haven (I hesitate the use the word) like a persistent plague... so much so, I can barely begin to describe it. But a "haven" it is, in that it provides a place for the kids of Rau to find one another and become an instant family. Children as young as five and six carry around their younger "brothers" and "sisters" on their hips as if they are their own. The teenage girls of the compound take turns cooking each meal for the dozens of others and run into town to buy each other school supplies and pay the building's bills. Boys years before puberty haul the orphanage ax out front to chop bits of wood, and tiny Queeni, probably no more than age five, suds up a rag herself and wipes down the bright blue front gate. Everyone has a job, everyone takes care of everyone. It's both beautiful and horrible.

So, I don't know... picture the worst possible habitat for a group of children to live on their own that you can imagine -- and you're nearly there. I routinely plucked rusty nails out of kids' mouths because they were just laying around everywhere. Regardless, the kids were everything I knew they'd be -- adorable, ambitious, and more often than not, incredibly bright and eager to learn. Bahati had a smile that could melt my heart, and Joyce (in her second year of secondary school) is so smart and hopeful, she is number 6 in her class of 104 and dreams of going to university, moving to France, and becoming a doctor/lab researcher who cures diseases.

Enter volunteers! For two weeks, Randi, Karen, and I tag-team taught everything we could (which was a decent amount, considering the kids were all on break from school and had more ants in their pants than we had pencils and paper). Integrating alphabet lessons with stretching exercises, sign language with Swahili, and casual conversations with impromptu map explorations, we exhausted every bit of the minimal resources we had to make learning in the sweltering heat and cave-like classroom as fun and far-reaching as possible.


In general, my favorite experiences were getting to plunge out of my comfort zone by working with the teenage girls (in addition to dozens of other instances wildly outside my snug box of solace), dancing around with baby Jonathon on my hip, reading a book to the children every chance I got, and schooling some kids with my mean soccer keep-away skills (haha). In addition to teaching and playing with the kids every morning, we also organized an opportunity to return one afternoon with Nurse Annie from Australia (another CCS volunteer) so that she could hold an educational discussion with the older children (particularly the teenage girls) about HIV and AIDS -- an eye-opening afternoon for all. We were impressed by the number and quality of questions asked, and yet had barely even begun to imagine the depth of ignorance and malignant rumors that have been spread to and pushed upon these young women about disease, as well as rape and sex. Truly terrifying.

All of these children are so vulnerable... not just to poverty, malnutrition, and disease, but to exploitation, violence, and, heck, their own memories, conscious and subconscious. Some were abandoned, others abused... all of them harbor so much. I grieve and ache for them. Even so... I don't regret a second of being there. Tuleeni Orphanage: an invaluable experience within my own personal education, as a teacher and as a human... in perspective, patience, succor, and compassion, no matter what. It's a weighty lesson, sinking and settling into my suddenly heavy bones.


Big Love to Randi for letting me join her there for as long as she did, and for all those who give their hearts and energy to the children of Tuleeni. Upendo na Amani. (Love and Peace)

Teaching Adventures: Jailbird Edition

In honor of the first day of the new school year here in TZ, I think it's only appropriate that I update you on some of my "extracurricular" teaching endeavors in the last month, sawa?

Being that my nursery school was closed for two weeks during the Christmas/summer holiday, I needed to find somewhere else to volunteer. Previously, I wrote about my day at Msamaria Street Center for Children, but as of yet, I've neglected to fill you in on my time at Magereza Nursery School & Tuleeni Orphanage. Fellow volunteers Craig & Randi (as well as Eduardo and Theresa) were kind enough to share their/these volunteer placements with me for a short while and it was a complete blast.

Magereza, in Swahili, means "prison" or "jail." Cool name for a nursery school, no? Actually, it has more to do with the location of the school than the school itself. Magereza School is plop in the middle of the jail compound/community in Moshi -- yeah, no, for serious. Preschoolers + Prison + Africa = Whatever. Prime real-estate. On the day I visited, two prisoners in dirty orange jump suits strolled into the school grounds ahead of us and started doing some unidentified yard work. NBD (That's "no big deal," Mom).

To its credit, in my limited African-school experience, Magereza has a pretty great set-up. Three operational swings, one wooden slide, and an odd assortment of jump ropes and soccer balls can be found in the large, grassy yard out front, and the school itself has three classrooms (two more than mine, haha), an office for teachers and supplies, a "sick" room, and a brand-new "porridge" building. Heck yeah! Upon arriving, we spent the first hour of the school day playing outside, which I was all about after weeks of meticulous lesson planning and teaching on the Amka porch. After endless turns of the jump rope and laps around the yard singing "Lou Lou, Skip To My Lou" with little girls on either arm (sweating under the already ridiculously hot morning sun), the learning half of the school day began (after a rousing rendition of the national anthem, sung by the children all lined up outside of their respective classrooms).

I spent most of the morning facilitating and refereeing Teacher Craig's brilliant math games and high-fiving various children as they practiced writing their names with crayons. After an hour or so more of learning (during which I totally geeked over a teachable moment with a handful of kids and a fabulous world map), it was time for porridge (i.e., more playing outside), so I was pretty much exhausted by the time our van pulled up to take us home. Terrific day, all-in-all. Tune in to the next post to learn about epic times at Tuleeni!

Painting at Amka = MISSION COMPLETE

Actually, painting at my preschool here in Tanzania was officially completed right before Christmas, but in the true spirit of the holiday, everything (including Blog entries but excluding everything having to do with tinsel, trees, and carols) fell to the wayside, so I haven't yet been able to update or upload anything on the subject. So... SURPRISE! It's DONE! I could not be more pleased and proud of the results. See pictures HERE for before and afters at Amka school.

From grey and sad to colorful and happenin' in only a few short weeks! Suddenly, preschool in Njoro with the mzungu mwalimu (white teacher) is where its at! "Teacher Sarah" didn't do it alone, however, that's for sure. BIG ASANTES to all the fellow CCS volunteers who helped me along the way (with paint purchases, paint parties, and paint clean-ups and hook-ups, etc. etc.), as well as the staff at Step Up. And, of course, Josie, Nickson, and Rogers, for without their genuine heart and talent, the gorgeous tembo, twiga, and punda milia on the "summer blue" wall that my students love so much would not exist... not to mention that epic Tanzanian sunset. Nothing short of a miracle.

The new school year starts on Monday, friends and family -- wish me luck with the tiny watoto! I have ridiculous first-day-jitters like you wouldn't believe. Embarrassing.

Sincerely, Teacher Sarah (painter extraordinaire)

Tanzanian Heaven in Twenty-Eleven

Happy New Year all! I hope that you had a clamorous, maniacal, and yet somehow safe night and morning ringing in the New Year, wherever in the world you may be (especially those friends in the Pacific, Central, and Eastern time zones... go 'Mericuh)! It was certainly an eventful evening here in the future (being that we began our countdown about 9 hours earlier than all you coolest cats in Chicagoland). Aside from that time we drove truck-top-up under the endless blue sky of the Serengeti... and that other time I watched the sun rise over the Ngorongoro Crater... I've never felt more close to the heavens.

The remaining volunteers and I (Side Note: Fifteen more newbies start this weekend! Ahh! Quiet home-base no more!) kicked off our celebration immediately after finishing our morning volunteer placements by going out to lunch at Chrisburger (a small, outdoor restaurant in town mere feet away from the loud street and foot traffic, but blanketed by a a thin wall of ivy, where I adore eating my weight in samosas). That evening after dinner at home (complete with fresh mango pie), we strolled over to Mzungu Bar across the street from the home-base to wish dada Grace ("sister" Grace, who lives next door and runs Mzungu) a happy New Year.

After putting away a Tusker and spending way too much time chatting and reminiscing about all we have done together in 2010, we hopped in cabs and prepared to get "mzungued" (i.e., overcharged because we're foreign -- awesome) at the front gate of Glacier Bar, where, allegedly, every man, woman, and child in Moshi would be celebrating the New Year with food, strobe lights, and a giant bonfire. Incidentally, that wasn't an exaggeration; the place was packed, as whole families showed up to "shakey shakey" on the dance floor... our family of CCS volunteers being no exception (we're really, really good dancers, by the way... obviously).

By the time midnight rolled around, I was surrounded by friends from across the US, Australia, and Tanzania, including (much to my surprise and excitement) two of my new younger kaka (brothers), Nick and Josie (pictured below)! (For those of you who haven't been tuning in regularly, those are two of the three teenage guys who have helped me paint my classroom at Amka.) As a group, we counted down the final seconds of 2011, hugging, high-fiving, bouncing around (me), until we became totally drowned out by the sound of gunfire (yup, everywhere) and booming, beautiful fireworks... all under a clear, humongous sky of stars. (I cannot get over the night sky in Africa. It's phenomenal.) A New Years Ever I will never, ever forget. Asante sana, Tanzania, for your heart and hospitality during the last few months... Kwaheri 2010, Hujambo 2011! Most sincerely, Sarah

I am a MONSTER

A WORD-monster. I truly am, and ever since I realized/accepted it, I've been talking about it non-stop (further proving that I am as bad as I think). No wonder it took me so long to fill out my intern survey paperwork for Cape Town! No wonder it takes me so long to compose a proper email to anyone! And no wonder I cannot keep up with my blog! I write for DAYS! I write and rewrite... and then I write again! Truthfully, I recently checked out some of my friends travel blogs, and their posts aren't nearly as long as mine. Worse yet, Blogger informs me that I have ONE follower (Thanks Rachel, I love you, too), haha, so who on earth cares if the wording is decent?

Ugh. I do. And it still never is quite right.

Thus, in an effort to catch everyone (i.e., Rachel) up on my current Tanzanian events (my one, semi-realistic 2011 resolution), I now present you with my life in PHOTOS... the latest, anyway... with a few full-blog-worthy exceptions... and with minimal captions. Sorry. I am, after all, a word-monster.

My Last Day Teaching at Amka before Christmas break: I made them the Alphabet necklaces, and they helped me "decorate" the Shape & Number tree!



Christmas Eve: Play ("A Trip to New York City," written by the teenage girls), Carols and Gifts from the volunteers at Tuleeni Orphanage!



Christmas Day: Brought other Moshi orphans out to Glacier with friends for some holiday food and fun!