this is a vegetable

My friend Lydia is teaching me Swahili.  She is also helping me do nearly everything else.  It is thanks to Lydia that I am able to make phone calls and send emails.  She's reactivated my security card twice and organized my flights home and back.  She has let me borrow her bicycle, though it was too big for me.  She will only print for me if I ask her to do so in Swahili, but I think it's a fair exchange as I must ask her to print something for me twice a day, on average.

Lydia has also outfitted me with a hard hat and safety glasses.  She has tried her best to also get me steel toed boots and a bright orange "Bulyanhulu" shirt.  The boots are a full-size too small, but I don't mention it.  She brought me a swath of fabric and suggested we make a shirt out of it.  When I asked her how, exactly, she told me she'd take me into the village and we'd have one made there.

She's gotten us drinks and lunch.  She has cooked us land nuts.  She comes by our little office to make sure we're getting along okay.

I love her, even if we don't always understand one another.  She's constantly explaining something to me, very patiently.  I'm sure I'm giving her a blank stare on a regular basis.  Sometimes it's because I don't understand the words she's using.  Sometimes it's because I don't understand why one would microwave peanuts.  Sometimes it's because I don't know why the warehouse doesn't have six 6 work boots or size M work shirt.

Today it was because she was holding a grasshopper.  These three or four inch bright green guys showed up as soon as (the real) rainy season started here.  They are beautiful.  Saturated lime green and translucent, with bony little legs and wings.  They get eaten almost immediately.  I've seen at least three carried off by birds and I'm not sure whether it's because they are so noticeable or because we have an abundance of birds on the mine site.

Anyway, greeting Lydia the other morning ("mambo"), she's holding one of these bright green bugs.  I'm ignoring her, as it's clear than giant African bugs and I are not getting along, no matter how pretty they are.  But she holds it out to me, as it's crawling over her hand.  I say, "Yes, I saw a bunch of them this morning on my way in."  Very excited, she'd like to know where.  So I point back in the direction of the little schoolhouse, a little confused, but not for the first time.  And she explains, "We eat these."  "Those?" I ask.  Yes, she's nodding.  "Do you cook them?" I'm certain my face is giving me away.  "Fried."  "Oh, so they crisp up?" I try for clarification.  "Yes, very crispy.  Very tasty." She's clearly thrilled and I'm not sure she won't just pop that live thing into her mouth.  I'm still making faces, I can tell.  I turn away, so not to truly offend her, because I love Lydia and if she loves eating grasshoppers, then who am I to say otherwise.  She didn't ask me to eat one (not yet).

I'm walking away, to begin a meeting, and she laughs a little.  Very sensibly, as if commenting on the weather... "This is a vegetable."  I'm sure I paused a moment, but then we laughed together.  Of course.  A flying vegetable.

Later that day we saw another giant African bug, with pinchers at least an inch long.  And I stopped and squealed at Lydia. "What is that?!"  And she shrugs, "I don't know.  A bug."  And, not being sure of anything anymore, I ask if she eats that too.  And she gives me sharp look, "No. We kill these."  And she stomps it.

negative

I am really terrible at killing mosquitoes.  You'd think that I'd be better, considering I've been clapping at them for a solid month now, but I'm not.  I'm still miserable at getting them.  Now and again I'll get one, but I've heard that there is an illusion of improvement right after the area's been sprayed.  Just my luck.

Regardless, thankfully, I don't have malaria.  I'm taking pills and bathing in bug juice and there is fogging around the camp three times a week, but the people-who-know suggest you get a malaria test every two weeks.  I went a full month of being in Tanzania before they caught me (I don't much like doctors or clinics), but I have had my first malaria test and it is negative.

It is worth noting that once you detour through the security compound and travel along a barbed wire fence through the secret passage to the clinic, it is actually a good time.   No one comes to the clinic for a headache - there's a serious issue by the time you get to the clinic.  There was someone in physical therapy outside the front doors, re-learning how to walk.  A fair number of foot and toe injuries.  I also saw a guy with big black open blistery wounds on his swollen legs - yikes!  Now, I just require a finger prick and I made an appointment, so... apparently none of what is going on in the waiting room is an emergency and I am passed right on back.

The doctor is very happy that I have come in for my malaria test and the lab technician, an old man named Wilfred dressed in burgundy scrubs, is also quite happy to see me.  I'm not sure if this is because I am a pleasant person or I'm the least of their worries today (black wounds, man, that is a problem!) or because my attempts at Swahili are so funny.  Wilfred calls me "mami" the whole time, which means I love him.  Also, the finger prick is the lightest thing I've ever felt.  I actually asked Wilfred if he missed me, which only made him like me more.  Wilfred, in fact, is the person most amused by me since I got here.  As I was wondering if I was only being humored back in the States, I am pleased to find that I can truly be entertaining.  After the finger prick, I asked if I could sit and watch my malaria test "change color."  I thought that meant it was like a litmus test, but it's more like a pregnancy test (at least the way pregnancy tests work on commercials.  I don't have first hand knowledge of this.)  Wilfred talked me through the specifics of the superficial malaria test - which lines mean what, what happens if it's invalid, the whole nine.

Then there was the second round of testing, which involved a microscope and which I was not involved in.  All the same, no malaria.

Malaria, by the way, is apparently unmistakable.  The symptoms are discussed as "flu-like," but anyone who has had malaria said it is definitely not like anything normal... you feel like you are DYING.  Vitaliy believes he has malaria twice a week on average.  He's tried to diagnose me with malaria at least half a dozen times since we arrived.  Neither of us have malaria.  No one in camp has malaria.  We will not get malaria.

But we will get tested for it every two weeks.  I'll be going just to visit Wilfred.

crazy awful giant monster flying african bug

I went to my office this morning at 4 am.  All inky black African darkness outside and strange stars.  I'd been awake for an hour and a half.  When I couldn't get back to sleep, I decided that tossing and turning was not going to do me any good, so I may as well just start the day.

Because I was in the office, I did get to straighten my hair in a mirror this morning (ah, the little things).  My bathroom in Africa doesn't have a plug in it and my bedroom doesn't have a mirror in it, so I've either been using my computer camera as an ad hoc mirror or I've been doing it blind and hoping for the best.  My office bathroom has a plug in it though, so cheers.

Also because I was in the office at an ungodly hour and no good every comes of that, I was attacked, by both mosQUEEtos that kept regenerating (honestly, I swear I clapped some that sprung right back up after just being stunned)... AND this bug.

I was Skyping (at something like 5 am) with Nick when that bug came in through a hole in the window screen (right behind my desk) and I was screeching.  It's a really loud bug - it sounds like a helicopter (no really), I've seen them before (or I thought I had), so when it started buzzing at the screen, I started telling Nick about it.  And, now, in the wild, they are totally interesting because they aren't bouncing around at the light directly overhead, they are just loud flying things way above my head, so all was fun and games.  And I'd even noticed the hole and been like, eh, there's no way it'll come in... and then suddenly I was screaming.  Holy crap!  It's inside, and I was running around my fairly sizable office, and still yelling to the Skype and hiding under my desk at some point.  It was ridiculous.  Then it disappeared, but obviously didn't get out... and that was worse for a while.  I was throwing a roll of toilet paper (this is all I could find that I was willing to sacrifice, there not being many extra supplies here in the wilderness of Africa) at anything that the bug might be hiding in or near (this is a shocking amount of things to hold your breath and chuck a toilet paper roll at, even in my fairly sparse office).  Eventually I found it on top of this electrical box and was able to get a photo, a number of them in fact.  I'm pretty sure it's dead and I almost wanted to try and move it, so that I could better photograph it, but decided not to chance such a thing.

So, post-photo op, I'm googling to try and figure out what this thing is, because of course Nick thinks I'm just afraid of nothing, and that two-inch bug (okay, so maybe inch-and-a-half, but seriously, a monster) is NOT nothing.  To identify it, I made the mistake of googling giant African bugs, which was a terrible horrible mistake (I don't suggest trying it, not even to understand more completely what I mean.  Just use your imagination.  You'll come close enough).  So then I changed it to giant African flying bug.  I think it might be a carpenter bee, but then I was distracted for the second time that morning by the hole in the screen of my window...

... by an incredible sunrise. So, I grab my keys and take off running.  Like the office is on fire.  No one runs in Africa.  I don't know why, but I haven't seen anyone even move quickly here and it's 6:15 in the morning and I am booking it, in the most professional outfit I brought out here mind you (I'm wearing a jacket today, no joke), to the sunrise.  I'm pretty sure that everyone working next door is concerned about me, which is only if they didn't hear the "I f'n hate Africa!" comment while ducking to avoid a giant flying buzzing African bug.  Otherwise, they think I'm completely crazy already.

And I took pictures that don't do it justice.  I said a little prayer (RWE) and curtsied to the Creator and then went back to work.

Maybe two hours later, the giant African bee bug came back to life and started buzzing around again for a good 15 minutes until someone came to my rescue, told me they'd been dealing with these things all their life, and after being unable to successfully catch it WITH HIS HANDS (what?!), trapped it in our garbage can and set it free outside.  Also, this dude's name is Spy.  How awesome is that?

NOT AS AWESOME AS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

So I'm walking home to grab my trusty duct tape-and-leatherman combo that Jak insisted I have so that I can patch up the hole that the nasty bug came through in the first place and I wave at one of the cleaning ladies.  She's carrying a mop and a bucket, so she needs to put down the bucket to wave back, but she isn't close and it's just a sweet moment.  Anyway, she calls to me as I'm almost past her and asks me in I live in House 2.  Which I do.  And she's the one who has left me flowers and the swan sculpture of towels on my bed.  Not every day, but now and again.  And I leave Asante Sana notes (thank you) and flowers about laundry and fixing my water pot and whatever else.  So, she's all excited and I'm excited and we're not really speaking to each other because I speak English and she speaks Swahili, but for some reason we both end up nearly crying and we're hugging like crazy.  So I grab her hand and ask her what her name is... and it's Elizabeth, which she says "Lizbet."  And I'm even more excited now, and we're still holding hands, and I explain that it's my sister's name and so we too are sisters.  Goodness.  I managed to hold it together for a couple more hugs and walking away, I had the biggest smile on my face.

All in all, there's nothing like a good scare, a good sunrise, a good talk, and a leatherman and a roll of duct tape to make all right with the world.

do it big

Just wanted you to know that I got in to Tanzania last night and I'm safe and sound and have a full day's work behind me already. I'm here, in Dar Es Salaam at a nice hotel (you wouldn't know I wasn't in the US if someone didn't tell you) with a coffee maker and a hair dryer and an internet connection. Everyone has been very nice so far - a handful of people from the company met us at the airport to get our visas and our stuff and bring us to the hotel, and one of the women offered to take us to the marketplace, which was unexpectedly sweet of her.

My hotel room is lovely (though I think I'll miss very hot showers and I may have already blown my hair dryer this morning) and none of the food has made me sick yet - I'll be in Dar Es Salaam for two weeks and then onto the mine site. We're having regional strategy sessions and workshops to begin the project, and I'm trying to take it all in, while also being totally fascinated with the cultural differences (we went to Mwuenge, a Tanzanian market, today... and I wanted EVERYTHING!), working with Swahili (Asante is thank you, but I keep wanting to default to Gracias), feeling a little jet lagged, and being blown away by the scenery. Literally, I had business meetings today while sitting in a cafe on the Indian Ocean. My partner in crime has a photo of hot air balloons rising above the Serengeti that he took himself. Insane. He speaks very highly of the mine site - it's got great food and a gym and we have a small stand-alone office building. I'll be excited to see it.

As an update, I not only left the country for the first time two days ago, but I did it after quitting my job before having a passport to be here and I'm now an advisor to a gold mine. No halfway here, my friends.