TZ Update #7: Habari za Safari

First things first: I climbed to the top of Kilimanjaro and made it back safely. It was pretty incredible and also the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I am behind on the blogging and photos due to school wrapping up and getting ready for that trip, so I'll give a re-cap on Kili in a week or so. This post is about the safari I went on over the December 9th weekend.

“Habari za Safari” actually translates to “How was your vacation?” in Swahili. Thus here in Africa, you can go on safari without it meaning looking at animals from a jeep. I, however, went on a vacation in which I looked at animals from a jeep.

When you’re living in a country like Tanzania, every now and then you get what I like to call “3^rd-world’ed out”— frustrated with the living conditions. I don’t say that meaning to sound spoiled; it’s just inevitable. The majority of my safari weekend was awesome and exciting, though I had to deal with some serious third world headaches at times. Looking back, some things were my fault for not being prepared and some things that were not so funny at the time are now hilarious.

I started out by waking up too late on the Friday I left, thanks in large part to a barbecue hosted by one of our English teachers the night before. I was due at my bus at 6:00 AM and it was to pick me up at the Impala hotel down the street from school. I got there at about 6:07, and it had just left. I considered running into town where the bus was idling until 6:30, but I wouldn’t have made it. At about 6:15 I called a taxi, but they wouldn’t have been able to be there for another 20 minutes. The next bus to Arusha (where my safari was departing from) would not be until 11:30. I managed to flag down a man driving an SUV and his son, and they gave me a lift. We pulled up to the bus right as it started to move down the street and thankfully they let me on. As I boarded I noticed Rosemary, one of the teachers at ISM who is from Kenya and was on the way to Nairobi to visit family for the long weekend. “Did you get on just now?” “No, I got picked up at ISM,” she said. “They’ll pick you up at school?” I asked.“Yes, if you tell them ahead of time.” I spent the following five minutes cursing under my breath and receiving looks from the other passengers. Eventually, I moved on.

There had been a bit of a problem with money leading up to the safari. I ended up switching dates a little late, so once I got everything finalized, I received word that the company wanted me to do a wire transfer. Just like everywhere else in Tanzania, they do not take credit cards. This was only 3 days before I was to leave. I looked at my wells fargo online statements and could not figure it out. I went to the bank in Moshi in which the safari company had an account set up, and they could not figure out how to do the transfer either. Finally, I went on a colleague’s fancy google phone and called Wells Fargo, who told me that I would have to come into a branch and set up the international transfer function. That’s going to be a problem, I said—I’m in Africa. I called the company and told them the situation, and they said it was not ideal, but it would have to do. I would have to pull out roughly 2,200,000 Tanzanian shillings from the ATM.

Fast-forward to a couple days later and I am arriving in Arusha, 8:00 AM. I meet Fred in the hotel parking lot, my guide. He’s early 40s, speaks pretty decent English, tells good stories and has a very infectious laugh. I explain to him that before we get going, we have to go to the ATM so I can pay the company. He agrees and we head to the nearest Barclay’s bank. I get out 400,000 shillings—the max per ATM transaction. I put the card back in and go for it again. “Insufficient Funds”. I’m thinking that’s impossible. Especially considering Barclay’s has this advertising campaign that’s like “You can get out 1,000,000 Shillings!” which is followed up with instructions on how to do so: “Insert card. Take out 400,000 shillings. Re-insert card. Take out 400,000 shillings. Re-insert card. Take out 200,000 shillings.”

I decide to try another ATM—Insufficient Funds. Next one says the same thing. I proceed to go 0 for 6 on the next string of nearby ATMs. At first the insufficient funds thing worries me, but I get out a receipt and see that both savings and checking are looking healthy at around 4,000,000 shillings apiece. That’s great and everything, but I have only about 15% of the money I owe for the safari with the 400,000 shillings. I call Hagai (safari owner, Israeli) back and tell him what’s up. He is less than thrilled. We meet on the side of the road; I feel like a complete schmuck and let him know that if he wants to send me back to Moshi, he’s more than welcome to. No can do, he says—everything’s already paid for. After I apologize and sweat for about three minutes straight, he sends us on our way.

Fred and I get to Tarangire at 10:30 am. The first thing of note there are the baobab trees—the thickest trees I have ever seen. According to Fred, some of these trees are over 1,000 year old. Nuts.

I could tell that Fred was unsatisfied with the first hour of the game drive; we saw a big pack of impalas, a few ostriches and my favorite, warthogs. Personally, I found the warthogs hilarious. They all have long mohawks that stretch from their head all the way down their back and a set of horns near their snout that are comparable to a thick white Rollie Fingers moustache. Also, they constantly headbutted each other, and I consistently guffawed at it. Easily amused, I guess.

Tarangire National Park is well-known for its elephant population. Over the course of the day, I saw at least 200 elephants. It’s kind of insane how enormous they are when you are up close. I’ll let the pictures tell it. Also at Tarangire was an enormous troop of baboons at least fifty primates deep.

That night I stayed at the Tarangire Safari Lodge in a giant platform tent with two beds (I pushed them together) and a shower (I took one). The lodge sits on a ridge above the cliff and the view of Tarangire is just bananas. I could step out of my tent, take a few steps and look down onto multiple families of elephants 100 yards under me. It looked good at sundown but even better at sunrise…I got up at that time because I forgot to change the alarm from the previous morning. It ended up being a good thing. Again, I’ll let the pictures tell it.

Day 2 started with a successful trip to the ATM (‘’oh, hell yeah!’’ as my father would say). We then started on the ascent towards Ngorongoro Crater. This was at one time a volcano; essentially, the lava built up and the whole thing collapsed onto itself. There is a large rim circling the crater, so in order to get to it, you have to ascend and then descend. Because of the abundance of vegetation, there are loads upon loads of animal species, most prevalent of which are zebras and wildebeests. We got to see one cheetah from afar (very rare) and five lions including two males (more rare than females). I spied the cheetah for about ten minutes through the binoculars and it was being pretty stagnant. I let Fred look for a few minutes and said ‘’You know who I bet is being hilarious right now? Some warthogs.’’

Towards the end of our time at the crater, I fell asleep. To be honest, safaris take a lot out of you. Each game drive is around 5+ hours in a hot car. In fact, I ended up with an outrageous left arm sunburn from dangling it out of the passenger (backwards from America, remember) side window.

The final day was at Lake Manyara, renowned for its blue monkey and hippo population. I had, in my haste, forgotten my camera battery charger at home Friday morning. However, it managed to last all the way up until the final 45 minutes at Lake Manayara—a pre-Hanukkah miracle, perhaps? Though they were far away, I got a little bit of decent hippo footage and took my favorite video, a troop of about 50 baboons, 1 by 1, jumping over a small puddle rather than simply walking around it.

I was supposed to stay in Arusha Sunday night, but I was far too cashed, so I hopped a bus to Moshi and made a plan to deliver Hagai the remaining balance via a teacher that works at both our ISM campus and our ISM-Arusha campuses. I got on the bus at 5:00 and paid around $2 for the ride that would be around 1.5 hours, in theory. Not so much in practice. We stopped several times on the side of the road to fill the 18-capacity bus to around 40 people, until around 3 or 4 people were actually hanging onto the side. We had four separate breakdowns until the driver and his crew realized the issue. They had run out of gas. After much deliberation, body odor and a couple of crying babies coming to grips with the situation, they managed to start the car up long enough to get us to a gas station. We got in around 7:30 and I grabbed a cab home to ISM, a good hour later than I expected to return.

Gotta love the 3^rd world sometimes, yeah?

Tz Update #6: Training with Yujang

Sports! Sports! Sports!

December 2^nd marked the 5^th annual ISM Sports Weekend, in which 3 schools apiece from Arusha (1.5 hours drive) and Dar-es-Salaam (7 hours drive) descended onto the campus in order to play for bragging rights of all Tanzanian secondary schools. 6 of the 7 (ISM, ISM-Arusha, St. Constantine’s, Aga Khan, Haven of Peace Academy and International School Tanzania) are private schools, while Orkeeswa is in only its 3^rd year, and is a village school for sons and daughters of local Maasai tribes (the traditional folk who herd cows).

(Sorry for the parentheses attack up there.)

The 300 students and staff that came along slept in tents on campus, in classrooms that were re-arranged for mattresses, and if they were lucky, in empty rooms in student housing. In the past, the massive arrival of these students has led to many weekend hi-jinks, but apparently there were very few infractions this go-round. I kept very busy during the weekend.

After lunch in Moshi with some colleagues on Friday afternoon, I decided I would run some errands and catch the bus back with the boarders, who are given the opportunity to go into the city center every Friday from 2:00-4:30. The bus was parked outside of the post office at 4:00 and the last errand I had to run was to register my phone #. Apparently, once you are assigned a phone number via this thing called a sim-card, you have about two weeks to register your number with the company. The main cell carrier in Tanzania is called Vodacom, and they have shops all over the place for you to purchase credit for your phone and go through the registration ‘’process’’. I went and talked to a couple of the students on the bus, who guided me through the routine: Make a copy of yourdriver’s license or passport, go to a Vodacom booth or store and have them get you set up.

When I got to the booth, they took down my number and took my passport copy and then started, from what I could tell, calling each other’s phones and then pressing in a bunch of codes and eventually calling Vodacom. I just kind of watched, bemused. Then the guy said ‘’okay, all set. Now you have to pay.’’

Hold up. I knew from what everyone had told me previously that it is either free or next to nothing to register a phone here in Tanzania. Friends, I was in the process of being Mzungu’d. I was too exhausted to try and fight with him in my very limited Swahili, so I paid the 5,000 shillings—in the grand scheme of things, it’s only $3.

When I got back on the bus and told a few of the junior and senior boys what had happened, they lost their mind. They were furious. I told them its fine; I can deal with it. Before I could say anything, they were off the bus, led by my buddy Olias, who plays in the steel drum band with me. At the booth they started yelling Swahili at one another and pointing fingers. As it turned out, the gentleman who had my 5,000 shillings had ducked out the back of the tent during the argument, so when the guys asked which one it was, I said “He’s not here anymore.” I took it as a lost cause (again, not a lot of money). Olias and Samwell told me later on that the fellows in the tent were saying “We don’t know him; he doesn’t work here,”to which they replied “How in the hell can you not know who works here?”Whatever. It was pretty cool to say the fellows jump to my defenses, and especially hilarious to see Erick lean out of the window and shout Swahili at the guys while pointing his finger like DeNiro in Raging Bull.

Sports weekend started Friday night with the boys’ basketball tournament. Ste and I were tasked with the scoring table. ISM was favored to win, as they had never lost a tourney before. They ended up dropping the contest to the far more superior, far more agile Aga Khan out of Dar-es-Salaam. Three of the teams including ISM finished 3-1 in the tournament, but Aga Khan, having smoked us, won out on point differential. During the dar rivalry between Aga Khan and HOPAC, there was a bench-clearing brawl that ended up basically right on the scorer’s table, so we had to jump up and play heroes. Saturday featured the swim gala, complete with 60+ races, along with volleyball, cricket, field hockey, ultimate Frisbee, and the girls’basketball tournament, in which I reprised my role as scorekeeper. The girls from the Orkeeswa Maasai school were just unstoppable, and they dismantled opponents with the discipline and efficiency that only cow-herders in training would possess.

The main event for me, however, was the girls’ softball tournament late Sunday morning. My squad had become 17 girls, and I was told rather than split the team in two, I’d have to find a way to sub people in and out. One of my better accomplishments at the school to this point had to have been coaching the girls softball team; I’d like to think I was responsible for something akin to a Mighty Ducks-like turnaround for them. By the practice leading up to the game, everyone was hitting lights out and had even turned a couple of double plays. I was confident—perhaps a little too confident.

People had said Ste would be the most animated coach on the sidelines with his senior football (soccer) team, but I put him to shame. I was given warnings for my behavior on at least two occasions. I just got so damn excited. The first game, we played Orkeeswa, and it looked dicey as we went down quick 4-2. A couple of innings later, Naya (my Prince Fielder) slugged a two-run home run and all of the sudden we were tied. We took it to extra innings, strung a few hits together, got a key double play on a girl who forgot to tag up and took home the win. We all went bonkers. It really was ESPN classic material.

The next game against the inferior St. Constantine’s did not go as planned. I fell victim to having 17 players, so I ended up having to start the B-team. I foolishly put Pooja (unfortunately yes, that’s really her name) at 3^rd base and she bobbled line drive after line drive. To her credit, she was blocking the ball considerably for a petit, skinny Indian girl, but she just got overworked, y’know? The big killer was that I had a usually consistent fielder named Neema let a fly ball go over her head in left field. After we got through the atrocious 9 run 1^st inning, we clawed our way back, but were penalized with three outs over two innings for girls letting go of the bat. as they swung. We ended up losing the easily winnable game 12-6 and not taking home the sweet, sweet trophy. There’s always next year, I suppose. We’ll work out a way for me to coach them via skype.

One of the funnier sports stories of the weekend involves Matt , a teacher, and Yujang, an chunky 10^th grader. Yujang, at age16, has already had a stomach staple procedure done. Now, I tend not to poke fun at big fellows, but Yujang is a little bit of an exception because he is outrageously spoiled. He broke his iPod and received an iPad in its place. He is getting an $8,000 laptop upon his return home for the holidays. During sports weekend, he bought a box of 20 apples from the parent volunteers in an attempt to help his diet (commendable) but was then seen with a plate of 4 hot dogs and fries later that evening (less commendable).

Matt, himself an experienced marathon runner, has taken on the hapless task of training Yujang. This usually involves a 4:00 PM after-school jog of a couple of kilometers and some light weight training. They're honestly like the odd couple. On the afternoon in which the two new director candidates were visiting campus, Matt and Yujang got into a bit of a spat. Matt had asked everyone “have you seen Yuyang? He’s meant to be at training.” No one had, until Yujang showed up on the main concourse, soda in one hand, personal pizza in the other. As you can guess, Matt lost it.

“Yujang!” he shouted from the parking lot. “What in the 'ell are you doing? We were supposed to run at 4 PM!''

Yujang, absolutely dumbfounded, looked at his pizza and soda. ''Sorry Mr. Aris...I uh...forgot.''

''What do you mean, you forgot? You well didn't forget about the pizza, did you, Yujang? I have invested time in you! Do you want to die from consumption, Yujang? Is that it, because you bloody well...''

At this point, the majority of the staff that were doing a Q & A session with the new candidates for the director of school position were now watching a 45-year old marathon runner breaking up with his training partner. Once Matt saw that 15-20 people were looking at him from out the window, he nodded, said ''Well then, carry on, Yujang,'' and jogged away in the opposite direction. Yujang shrugged and walked towards the dining hall with his pizza.

Next time I'll tell you about my safari and show you a bunch of close up pictures of African animals. It will be awesome.

-Ben

TZ Update #5: Tanzagiving

            This blog post won’t take a whole lot of time; I am saving my writing energy to be able to write about our annual sports weekend and my upcoming safari (I leave Friday at 6:00 AM).

            This was the first Thanksgiving I’ve ever missed in my life, and it turned out to not be a big deal. The whole family piled into a room and talked to me on skype for about an hour and although the picture was frozen on the Madison end, I could hear everyone perfectly and it ended up being pretty fun. Initially I was mad that I’d be missing the Packers-Lions game because I thought it would be a challenge, but again the Packers made short work of their opponent. Also, Ndamukong Suh is an idiot. A talented idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

            The American teachers (there are 8 in all, 6 of us who live on campus) decided we better put something together to commemorate the landing of ships on Plymouth Rock, so we decided to have a Thanksgiving potluck on the Sunday following Thanksgiving. In Tanzania, it is nearly impossible to get a turkey, but incredibly possible to purchase a chicken. In Tanzania, you have to improvise sometimes. Theron cooked up beer-can chicken on the grill. Shelby made a chess pie, essentially a pecan pie without the pecans. Minh made a yam dish (obviously not terribly tough to find in Tanzania). I made a green bean casserole with green beans I picked and cleaned from the student garden, a couple of cans of cream of mushroom soup from the Highway store and crunchy wonton noodles and cassava crisps instead of the French’s crispy onion strings. Blasphemy, I know…but it actually ended up tasting awesome. And the rule was, if you weren’t from America, you had to bring beer or liquor/wine. Countries present at Tanzagiving included Peru, New Zealand, South Africa, The Netherlands, Great Britain and Tanzania.

            Also purchased at Highway groceries: A fan. Believe it or not, I had been sleeping without one this entire time, unless Ste was gone on an outdoor pursuits trip or wherever and I would take his. I finally broke down and got one. What had been stopping me before was the price. Fans here are very expensive because they are imported—they usually run about $40. For a fan! When I was in the Highway superstore, I noticed there was a small-ish fan out of the box with a sticker for 26,500 shillings ($15) on it. Upon further inspection, the sticker was for a giant container of ghee. I brought it up and had it rung up; the lady behind the counter gave me a “no way this fan is $15” face. But she let it go, and off I went, proud owner of the most discounted air-dispersing device in all of Tanzania. Plus—Shirley, one of the younger teachers, told me she wants to buy the fan from me when I leave. Score!

            Anyway, the first inaugural Tanzagiving was a great time, and for basically everyone non-American in the joint, it was their very first Thanksgiving celebration. We had a fun time trying to explain the significance of the event to them, some of us taking the traditional “Pilgrims and Indians worked together and survived the very first winter” route, while some of us took the Howard Zinn “The Pilgrims basically ran through the Native Americans land and supplies like termites” route.

            One last note of interest: There’s a book called Exile by Jakob Ejersbo that recently got translated to English, but for the last three years or so, it has been atop the bestseller list in Denmark. It is a dark, funny, nihilistic coming of age story that takes place in Moshi, and at least half of the action takes place at the International School of Moshi. Jakob Ejersbo himself was a student at ISM in the late 70s, and again in ’83-’85. I had a long chat with our head of campus Keiron White on the topic because Keiron has been in his position for just about 30 years. He said that as he paged through it, that though the names had been changed, he knew exactly who each character was based upon. I’m closing in on the halfway mark in the book, and it’s very interesting in that he constantly mentions the student dorms by my house, the assemblies we still have every other Monday morning, and taking trips up and down Lema Road, among plenty of other things I see just about every day.

            The popularity of Exile has caused a strange phenomenon at ISM. Every now and then, you’ll be walking around campus and see a few young blonde backpackers walking around in awe of the place. That’s because they are Danish, and are trying to take their own self-guided Exile tours. It has become a hot topic for the administration because theoretically ISM is private property. Also, the book, while not blatantly hating ISM, is certainly not very complimentary. Thus, they are currently figuring out how best to handle this big influx of Mzungu, and it’s pretty interesting. There was also a book written about ISM in the 70s called The Foot of the Volcano, and apparently it’s really quite negative about ISM, and really poorly written. I guess I’ll have to write a book on this place.

More to come...