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Energy plans often leave me stumped

I was recently walking home from work when I looked-up to see that my walk had become a little sunnier. The trees lining the road leading to the post office had been chopped down in the name of road expansion; women were hacking the stumps to bits with axes and machetes, stumps elsewhere smoldered to make charcoal, and women walked into the distance with bundles of wood on their heads.

With those trees gone, where will people go to get wood next? This morning – when I woke to the sound of a woman pulling branches out of a tree in my backyard – I may have been given an answer.

Before catching a flight to the US recently, a friend of mine stopped by my house to ask a few questions about his destination. He had fascinating and insightful questions, including whether there are roads in the US like the wavy dirt road to Lugufu (a local refugee camp). I assured him that there are roads like that in the US, but to give him a better sense, I showed him photos I had taken back home. One was of a long, empty highway headed in the direction of Crater Lake. “There is no dust on the road,” he said, “no garbage. Is that primary forest?” “Yes,” I said. “Here, people would use a road like that to get firewood,” he told me, “they would cut down all the trees.”

One challenge is that while people need trees to stabilize watersheds and protect soils (not to mention for carbon sequestration), they also need wood to cook dinner at night. And the short-term need to put dinner on the table naturally trumps long-term concerns. Forests in the Northeastern US once shared a similar fate.

I have often pondered what will happen when the world's oil runs out, even while sitting behind the steering wheel of an idling vehicle. In a similar way, people here must see fewer trees and furl their brows at the thought that they will have to walk farther to get their wood – and know that one day those resources may be ashes, too.

Tanzania County Fair

It was just like any other July 4th, really, except that it was on July 5th.

This year a few friends and I celebrated the 4th of July at the US Embassy. Stepping through the metal detectors and out into the hot air of Dar es Salaam, it felt oddly like we had been transported to our own personal county fair. Concrete planters were painted with American flags, tall pillars were decorated with blue stars, and in the distance a woman announced that she needed more participants over the age of thirteen for the pie-eating contest.

I felt like I had been blown halfway around the world in a matter of seconds.

We rounded the bend. A dunk-tank sat unused. There was a line for overpriced hamburgers which passed a table selling cheap beer. Little flags were handed to visitors as they arrived - my Swiss friend got the last one.

And then: the fireworks. To the tune of "I'm Proud to be an American."

Boom. Pop. Sizzle.

It was good to be in America on the 4th again, even if it wasn't really America, and it wasn't really the 4th.

Star-spangled spider

This not-so-little critter slept on the balcony outside the room I occupied while in Dar over the July 4th weekend.

Friends told me she was harmless, but I bolted and locked the door just in case.

Ants in my pants

Siafu stand guard while their colony is in transit

I made the mistake of admiring these ants recently; the mistake was that I did so before joining a prayer circle.

I joined hands and bowed my head. But before I could begin praying, I found that I was being preyed upon.

Three siafu ants (apparently a sacrilegious bunch) chomped into different parts of my left leg at the same time; perhaps a coincidence, but I have heard they communicate via chemical signals and attack their prey in a simultaneous shock-and-awch manner.

But I had bigger problems on my hands, or rather, my leg. One siafu was headed up my leg toward what I considered dangerous territory.

You see, I have taken meditation classes, which I felt applied to this moment and more generally to prayer. They say the deepest meditation is done through discomfort, joint pain, loud sirens, etc. They teach you to meditate through the pain. But those people haven't met siafu ants.

I politely rubbed my legs together. My hand instinctively veered toward my inner thigh, creating distress for the elderly gentleman with whom I was holding hands. I flinched, but I didn't break hands. Instead I chemically communicated with the Pastor, who wrapped-up the prayer - allowing me to spin in circles while slapping my thigh.

My only hope is that someone said a prayer for the ants. They won't be praying or preying again for a while.

In a faroff land

Mount Urugulu

Today is the last day of my Kiswahili language program. I spent the afternoon session telling a story and trying to incorporate a variety of the vocab and tenses I have learned.

This story is inspired by three things: the mountain near the campus, the large baobab trees clustered around our sleeping quarters and, apparently, prolonged solitude.

"Upo katika kipindi kingine, kulikuwa mlima mrefu ajabu. Kilele cha mlima hakikuonekana kwa sababu mawingu mengi. Niliamua kupanda mlima ili nione juu ya huo.

In another time, there was a marvelously tall mountain. The peak did not appear because there were clouds. I decided to climb the mountain in order to see the top of it.

Kupanda kulikuwa kugumu, kwa sababu kulikuwa na matope mengi ingawa jua lilikuwa kali. Usiku ule, nilipika chakula juu ya moto, lakini pepo ulivuma kwa kasi na moto ulikufa mara nyingi. Nikaenda kulala na njaa na chini ya mti. Nikalala vibaya, kwa maana kulinyesha nusu usiku, na suati za pori ilikuwa kubwa sana.

The climbing was difficult, because there was much mud even though the sun was fierce. That night, I cooked food over a fire, but the wind blew with high speed and the fire died many times. I went to bed hungry and under a tree. I slept poorly, because it rained half the night and the sounds of the forest were very loud.

Asubuhi ijayo, nilipanda tena na kwa bidii. Jua lilikuwa kali, lakini niliendelea. Halafu, nikafika mawinguni. Niliweka fungu la wingu mfukoni la kumpa rafiki yangu.

The next morning, I climbed again and with effort. The sun was fierce, but I continued. Then I reached the clouds. I put a piece of cloud in my pocket to give to my friend.

Halafu niliendelea tena. Ilikuwa giza, kwa sababu mawingu yalikuwa mapana sana. Kwenda mbele ilikuwa vigumu sana. Nilienda kushoto kidogo, halafu kulia kidogo na labda kuzunguka maduara, lakini nikaendelea kupanda.

Then I continued again. It was dark because the clouds were very thick. Going forward was very difficult. I went a little left, then a little right and maybe around in circles, but I continued climbing.

Wakati ulipita. Majani yalianguka kutoka mitini. Halafu, nikaliona jua tena, baada ya kupanda juu ya mawingu. Niliwaona ndege na nilianza kuimba na hao.

The time passed. Leaves fell from the trees. Then, I saw the sun again, after I climbed above the clouds. I saw birds and I sang with them.

Ndege waliruka kaskazi na niliwafuata. Waliniongoza mpaka jiti refu ajabu na kama upana wa tembo. Jiti lilikuwa na matunda mengi. Nilipata majani ya jiti na nikaweka hayo mfukoni pamoja na wingu. Udongo ulikuwa kama mchanga. Nilitumia kijiti na kuandikia jina la rafiki yangu katika udongo. Niliketi pale na nikala matunda matatu. Nikajiambia nitataka kumtumia rafiki hadithi hii.

The birds flew north and I followed. They led me to a giant and wonderfully tall tree [which was] wide like an elephant. The tree had many fruits. I took leaves of the tree and put them in my pocket together with the cloud. The dirt was like sand. I used a stick and wrote my friend’s name in the dirt. I sat there and ate three fruits. I told myself I needed to tell my friend this story.

Kijiti kilachwa na mimi, na udongo pia. Lakini jina lilikaa moyoni.

The stick was left by me, and the dirt, too. But the name resides in my heart.

Hata leo, mimi hurudi pale."

Even today, I return there.

Baobab tree

The mountain shows its face

Not exactly Charlotte

No really, you can have the tree

I thought the above spider was remarkable and strange as it dangled from a tree. I had a strong zoom on my camera. We were the perfect distance, really.

Last week, I was studying outside and heard a loud, short bird call, unlike any I had heard before. I set down my books and headed to the tree where it was perched. The bird was near the top of the tree, it's underside camouflaged with the tree's leaves, even with the light shinning through them. I needed a better angle.

I backed-up, but other trees blocked my view. I tried to spot it from below again, but there were too many branches in the way. I decided to circle the tree one last time, head toward the sky, with nothing but birds on my mind.

Then it hit me. Or rather I hit it. A spider's web right in the face, stuck to my hair, trailing down my sweater.

As I picked and pulled at strands, I began to wonder whether I had collected the web alone, and not perhaps a spider along with it. Then I noticed him: a foreboding spider like the one above. Perched on my shoulder, tapping a leg and wondering why I had wrecked his web.

Suffice it to say, the conversation didn't last long. Pretty soon he was airborne and I was nearly airborne myself.

I have circled a couple trees since then looking for birds, but now I look to see what is in front of me, too. I am guessing the spiders are keeping an eye out for me as well.

Forever and ever (amen)

Swahili hymnal

“What does one wear to a Maasai wedding?” I asked the other morning, trying to picture the day ahead.

The idea of a Maasai wedding was full of intrigue for me. A friend told me that cattle and chicken would be blessed at the end of the marriage, thereby bringing a higher price for them at auction; another led me to believe that cows’ blood and milk would be served. I was writhing in anticipation.

But the one I attended was different. No cows’ blood, only Christ’s blood.

A white short-bed truck arrived with Maasai singing in the back. Behind the truck was a four-wheel drive vehicle containing the bride and groom, both of whom were carried into the church and seated adjacent to the altar.

“Is she wearing a wig?” a man asked as we peered through the cinder-block windows. Apparently the minister – who is American – threatened not to marry her if she wore a wig. “He likes to keep things traditional,” the man explained to me.

But I became confused as to which tradition they were trying to preserve. Attending a service led by an American, reading from my Swahili hymnal, taking communion, commenting on how white the bride’s dress was: it just didn’t feel Maasai enough for me. Where was the ceremonial necklace?

“Does the church have a stance on the dowry system?” I asked another minister, knowing the bride had been purchased for twelve cows, which seemed more offensive than whether the bride wore a wig or not. “I think the church tries to stay out of local customs,” he told me.

But I wasn’t placated. I was torn between two things: wanting to know that Maasai traditions are able to coexist with German ones, and yet wanting to believe that Maasai traditions which counter basic human rights (i.e. the dowry system, female circumcision) are no longer practiced. And while my logic seems straightforward, it is the same logic invoked by many other well-meaning people. The fallacy that my strongly-held beliefs should be imposed elsewhere.

I needed to talk with someone about this, so I sat down privately with the minister tonight. I explained my conflicted feelings and asked about how the church incorporates Maasai culture into its services. His face lit up. “I was as disappointed as you were,” he said referring to the wedding. He expressed concern that people may think that because they are getting married in a church they need to have a “modern wedding,” with make-up and wigs and mosquito netting around the bride's face. He wants to ensure that Maasai culture continues to thrive in local churches - a tall order, but I am hopeful he can accomplish this.

He also told a story: a few days ago he was walking in a village and was called over to attend a ceremony. It was a coming of age ceremony for young girls. “As many cattle are slaughtered now as ever, so the grandma’s are happy,” he explained, “but they don’t circumcise the girls anymore. That’s a decision they made as a congregation. We just advised them.”

And whether it’s right or not, I feel better knowing this, too.

So what does one wear to a [Lutheran] Maasai wedding?

• If you’re me: a button-up shirt and the cleanest pair of trousers you can find.
• If you’re the choir: beautiful purple and blue fabrics with long beaded earrings and heavy jewelry with jangly bits.
• And if you’re the bride: a white dress and veil – and yes, a wig. Because it’s not up to us to decide how she should spend her wedding day.

Manchuria must be missing a candidate

This is an excerpt from an article which recently appeared on the front page of a large news outlet in TZ (SundayNews). As for the incident it depicts, I have a very good alibi.

"Tanzania's beliefs of the occult have finally forced Parliament to form a special probe committee to establish the truth about one of its members suspected of having performed 'withcraft ' rituals within the premises of the...House in Dodoma, the Speaker of the National Assembly, Mr. Samuel Sitta has announced.

"Mr. Sitta...told a seminar...that the committee...was set up over the weekend to look into allegations that an MP conducted 'superstitious practices' within the Parliament building.

"Mr. Sitta explained that the six cameras within Parliament were switched off at the time the 'witchcraft' practices were said to have taken place, but added 'there was one camera on in the studio.' He fell short of saying it actually happened when he alluded to 'hazy pictures' the police 'were working on to create a better picture.'

"...the Speaker admitted that...the MP for Kyela, Dr. Harrison Mwakyembe, last Thursday 'felt weak' and 'lost strength' in the course of the day's Parliamentary session.... some powders were found where he was sitting.

"Mr. Mwakyembe is famous for leading a Parliamentary probe committee on the multi-billion emergency power supply scam which implicated the Richmond Development Company - which subsequently led to the resignation of former Prime Minister Edward Lowassa, [the] former Minister for Energy and Minerals... and [the] former Minister for East Africa Cooperation...

"The committee [led by Mr. Mwakyembe] had also urged the government to take action against the culprits within three months."

New analysis: Millions were stolen. Top officials were involved. The scam was discovered. The Prime Minister resigned. Witchcraft was performed. The man leading the investigation became weak. Powders were found.

You should see what was on page two.