This weekend I went and had my weekly Sunday lunch with my Tanzanian Family, the food was delicious as always (beans and rice) and small changes of had been made around the home. New screens on the windows, two new plates, two new GLASS drinking cups, and a new pair of shoes for Mama Rachel; most women after having their first daughter change their name to Mama ‘first daughter’s name’ because of the pride in being a fertile women, so hence my sisters name is Rachel. The new things around the home sound very minimal to our culture in the States but are a big deal for my family here. My Tanzanian father had started his new job with the city of Morogoro in the pay role department in January, and now the reality of what it means for the family is materializing. The excitement on my fathers face when he served me lunch with the new dishes it was like a average student coming home from school with his report card and showing his parents his first ‘A’ on his report card, he couldn’t wait to see my expression. After I commented on the two new sets of dishes we were using, he eagerly got up and with great pride showed me the new shoes he had bought for Mama Rachel. My family is the new “Robinsons” on the block, not many house holds in my family’s village drink with real glasses.
After dinner while looking through the new calendar with my father and telling him of my excitement on getting a new bed made this week for my home he informed me that my mother’s brother was ill. He had been ill off and on for some time and he was now in the hospital very ill. The family had been urging him to go see a doctor for some time now because many believed that he had AIDS, because of his frequent and numerous illnesses. This time he had fallen ill to Malaria and his immune system was so weak the typical medications weren’t working. I asked how the family was dealing with it and he told me it was really hard because he is still young at 30 and the family had to keep at his bed side at the hospital to take care of him. The constant travel from their village in the Uluguru Mountains and the time away from their farms’ during this crucial time of the year before the rains was going to take a hard toll on the family emotionally and financially. After talking with the family some more and giving my condolences to Mama Rachel I knew I should help, my time is consumed at school so I gave them a little money. Tanzanians don’t have health insurance here and the only type of insurance comes by means of family and community support, so as part of the family I felt it was my place to help.
That week my friend who is from the same tribe as Mama Rachel, Luguru (the people of the mountains) we decided to try and make it to the top of the peaks near my home of Mzumbe. The peaks have sat and taunted me since the day I had arrived in Morogoro much like Long’s Peak back home on the front range in Northern Colorado. So this was the day we would make our attempt, he nor I didn’t know if there is a trail to the top or not but we would go as far as we could to find out. We started early in the morning and rode our bikes as far as they could take us and left them at a friends hut to watch until we would return in the afternoon. On our way up I wanted to stop and give my condolences to Grandmother Rachel, I was able to find her waiting for the daladala (public transportation: vans stuffed like sardines with people) to go and care for her son at the hospital. She was very happy to see me there and after talking to here for some time and expressing my grief for their situation we were off.
I have gotten a sense of what a celebrity might face going out in public in the States. Being white and walking through small mountain villages in Tanzania where they only see white people in town we didn’t walk by anyone with out the double or triple glance. Little school children running after us and following us up the mountain, with many people wanting to talk/ask for money and wondering why I want to walk to the top if I don’t have a purpose. You just want to walk? Yep, just want to see how far we can go! A culture that spends long hours on the farm and only walking the mountains when they have to bring fruits and vegetables to town for the market and return with supplies for the village they couldn’t understand I wanted to go for fun. It was hard to try and describe ‘fun’ because Swahili lacks the vocabulary for ‘fun,’ this helps to give a deeper understanding of the forthright culture the Tanzanians have. By early afternoon we had now gotten passed the many homes and farms that scattered the mountain side and were getting closer to the top and the pitch of the land was getting much steeper. I started to realize that the water I had brought was not enough and would have died to have a Powerbar… my prayer was answered by a local porter coming down the mountain from the village on the other side of the mountain. He was doing the hike with a large basket of cassava roots, these of which were carried balanced on his head which is the customary way. We stopped and talked to him for a bit and he offered us some cassava root; delicious when eaten raw once you get passed the ‘woody’ flavor and packed full of nutrients much like a Powerbar, and spoke of a cold water spring inside the forest on the other side of the mountain. He said he didn’t know of a trail to the very top and said it was impossible because of the land. I was momentarily disappointed accepting that we might not make the summit, but now that my 1.5 liters of water was down to drops the mere mention of COLD WATER was ringing in my ears. So we continued on making our way higher and higher at points using my hands to help up the trail the whole time thinking to my self that the villagers on the other side do this a couple times a week and with huge baskets on their heads… I was impressed to say the least. At the top of a small pass adjacent to the summit the rain forest had started to thicken up and only momentary glances of the summit or at least what I thought was the summit, were only possible when the thick forest offered a window and the pitch of the land was just right. I was starting to understand why without a trail to the top the summit was a fantasy and would involve better planning, large machetes, and ropes and tackle.
At last we reached the legendary COLD WATER spring on top of the ridge. Now the question at hand: Do I drink un-boiled water in a land of some of the worst parasites known to man? or go thirsty? …The water was brisk, COLD, and refreshing! When we arrived at the spring some of the porters where there eating sugar cane and drinking water on their way back to their village, they were very friendly and begged for us to continue on and come and visit, with promises of a wife for me and many other gifts. They said that their village never gets guest because there is no road and it is very difficult to get to. They informed us that it was about another two hours, and when we asked if we would make it back to our bikes before dark they just laughed… We continued on our way to get some more pictures of the forest and the beautiful landscape and a hope to get a window past the trees and a panoramic look of my school down below, but decided to return after the trail started dropping down the other side of the mountain and fear we wouldn’t make it back before dark. I was able to make it back right at dusk dead tired, sunburned, thirsty, and feeling thankful for the day in the Uluguru Mountains.
The following week I got news that Mama Rachel’s brother had passed away and I brought the family an assortment of fruits and my sympathy for their loss. My feeling of bewilderment and invisibility that I hadn’t fallen ill from my game of Russian roulette with the COLD WATER was disparaged by the gratitude of the life I live, when others aren’t as fortunate.
