Happy belated Thanksgiving to everyone ... I missed being home for the McSweeney festivities a great deal, but I was pleasantly surprised (and very amused) to find that my cousin Kyle managed to use his facebook account to let many family members say hello to me after dinner! That was pretty awesome. Dinner just doesn't feel as indulgent without an entire course of AMAZING cavati beforehand. *sigh* I can't believe I missed it.
I was lucky enough to have not one, but TWO great Thanksgiving celebrations here in Arusha. The first one was held at our house, and Erica invited all 35+ volunteers and staff members from her organization to have dinner. The volunteers stepped up and made some AMAZING bread stuffing, candied sweet potatoes, tomato/cucumber salad, and mashed potatoes. I made corn muffins, and we ordered a huge quantity of Swahili-style chicken with super-hot chili sauce. It was a true feast shared by many people, and it was really fun.
Then, on the actual day of Thanksgiving, we were invited to the home of an American couple from Minnesota who have lived here for a long time. Mark, the husband, runs Selian Hospital, the best hospital in Arusha, which receives funding from the Lutheran Church. I made lots of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and we ate real turkey, ordered from Nairobi (!). It was delicious and they were kind people all around. One of the older ladies at the party whipped out her guitar after dinner and sang some hilarious Americana campfire songs for us ... it was wonderful.
Everything is well here -- this week promises to be one of the busiest of the year, as we've got two performances coming up. On Friday, we teachers are performing in a benefit concert for Umoja (I'm playing some solo Bach, and some fun tango-style trios). On Saturday, our kids are giving their final performance of the semester at the annual Christmas Fair ... so it's sure to be intense.
I'm counting down the days until I fly home for Christmas. Lots of love to everyone!
P.S. Our cat hasn't been killed yet ... we gave the Mama next door 10,000 Tsh (about $10) to compensate for her lost chickens, and promised to try to address the problem. We haven't had Rock Star deported yet, because he seemed to have stopped his hunting spree. Yet lo and behold, this morning, there was a scattering of black feathers in the kitchen. It seems his days here might be numbered, or his days on Earth will be instead. Poor guy!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
the neighborhood hit list
Whoa. Looks like our cat Rock Star is causing serious shidas (problems) in the neighborhood. Should've seen this one coming: this morning, during lazy hours on my day off, I heard a distressed cheeping coming from the living room. Sure enough, Rocky had dragged an entire live chicken into the house and proceeded to eat it in the corner. It was disgusting. He left nothing but a scattering of feathers. And this definitely isn't the first time he's preyed on neighborhood fowl.
Fast forward about seven hours; I'm home alone. There was loud knocking on our gate and an angry-sounded woman speaking rapid Swahili was on the other side. Our dog Kili was barking. "Fungua mbwa kwanzaa!" (something like, "take care of the dog first!") I put Kili inside, opened the gate, and saw an irate mama standing there, holding, well, a dead chicken. I understood from her language and gestures that I was to come with her, so I hurried inside to grab my keys and rejoined her outside the gate.
As neighborhood children looked on with interest, she angrily told me that this morning ("leo asubuhi!") alone, MY cat ("paka yako!") had slain four ("nne!") of her chicken ("kuku!"). She frequently used the dead chicken in her hands for emphasis, showing me its limp neck and spreading its dead wings. Chickens here are quite scraggly, and no one has the money to pump them with feed like we do at home, so it was a pitiful sight.
Though she spoke too quickly for me to truly follow, I got her drift. I tsk-tsked, shook my head, and looked grim. "Mbaya sana, mama. Samahani sana, mama." (It's really bad ... please forgive me, Mother.) But that was definitely not enough. Her response was something along the lines of: You can samahani all you want, but I am PISSED!
She led me to her house, a one-room shanty-type house right next door to ours. A young woman sat nearby with a few kids, and soon the woman's son emerged, and people's speeches began to include the universal symbol for murder: the finger drawn across the throat. The dada (sister) introduced herself in English as Mary, and translated for me: "She wants you to pay for these chickens. And if you do not do something, he will kill that cat!"
In broken Swahili, I explained that I don't speak the language very well, but that my sisters Erica and Liza do. "Atarudi kesho asabuhi," I said -- "She'll return tomorrow morning."
These kuku are probably this mama's livelihood -- she may sell eggs to neighborhood vendors, and certainly must eat the eggs and meat -- and it makes sense to pay for them. But now I'm stuck in the house, with no idea about Rocky's whereabouts, just hoping he doesn't go next door for his FIFTH helping! Jamani!
... And now my electricity's out. This has been the most African hour of my week, hands-down.
Fast forward about seven hours; I'm home alone. There was loud knocking on our gate and an angry-sounded woman speaking rapid Swahili was on the other side. Our dog Kili was barking. "Fungua mbwa kwanzaa!" (something like, "take care of the dog first!") I put Kili inside, opened the gate, and saw an irate mama standing there, holding, well, a dead chicken. I understood from her language and gestures that I was to come with her, so I hurried inside to grab my keys and rejoined her outside the gate.
As neighborhood children looked on with interest, she angrily told me that this morning ("leo asubuhi!") alone, MY cat ("paka yako!") had slain four ("nne!") of her chicken ("kuku!"). She frequently used the dead chicken in her hands for emphasis, showing me its limp neck and spreading its dead wings. Chickens here are quite scraggly, and no one has the money to pump them with feed like we do at home, so it was a pitiful sight.
Though she spoke too quickly for me to truly follow, I got her drift. I tsk-tsked, shook my head, and looked grim. "Mbaya sana, mama. Samahani sana, mama." (It's really bad ... please forgive me, Mother.) But that was definitely not enough. Her response was something along the lines of: You can samahani all you want, but I am PISSED!
She led me to her house, a one-room shanty-type house right next door to ours. A young woman sat nearby with a few kids, and soon the woman's son emerged, and people's speeches began to include the universal symbol for murder: the finger drawn across the throat. The dada (sister) introduced herself in English as Mary, and translated for me: "She wants you to pay for these chickens. And if you do not do something, he will kill that cat!"
In broken Swahili, I explained that I don't speak the language very well, but that my sisters Erica and Liza do. "Atarudi kesho asabuhi," I said -- "She'll return tomorrow morning."
These kuku are probably this mama's livelihood -- she may sell eggs to neighborhood vendors, and certainly must eat the eggs and meat -- and it makes sense to pay for them. But now I'm stuck in the house, with no idea about Rocky's whereabouts, just hoping he doesn't go next door for his FIFTH helping! Jamani!
... And now my electricity's out. This has been the most African hour of my week, hands-down.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Check out the website I've designed for Umoja. It's definitely a work in progress, as it includes a couple of text problems, some silly pictures of the faculty, and one incongruous photo of a person in a snow outfit. That being said, it's exciting that our server's finally working: www.umoja-arts.org. Just please don't show it to any of our potential funders yet.
Lots of work to be done surrounding the January opening of the arts center ... legalities with the Tanzanian government, getting furniture, setting up our teaching schedule, and easing the transition for our expatriate families, who are used to US coming to THEM at their international school. Tables have turned a little on that front, but we still really need their support, so hopefully nobody freaks out about having to drive a little further for their lessons.
Our first benefit concert is November 30, and I'm performing 2 movements of the Bach D minor Partita as part of a fairly short program. We three violinists are also performing a couple of trios arranged by Michael McLean, a fantastic arranger and Suzuki teacher whom I met while at Ogontz this summer. His pieces are wonderful pieces for advanced students and they're also nice crowd pleasers.
In the meantime, I'm dreaming about all the things I'm going to eat during my three-plus weeks at home. On the agenda, for sure, is Asian food; specifically Thai, Japanese and Vietnamese. Also real bagels with cream cheese. Also everything that's involved with McSweeney/McCrorie Christmas festivities: that amazing chocolate bark stuff with peppermint chunks ... my mom's fudge ... antipasti ... shrimp cocktail ... and, of course, anything Tyler cooks for me.
Somewhat in secret, I am training for the Kilimanjaro half-marathon in March. This isn't as impressive as it sounds -- it mostly just means I'm running four times a week -- but it feels really good to work towards some kind of athletic achievement. We'll see how all that goes once I get to the frozen tundra of Massachusetts in wintertime. I'll be happy to see it, however gray and cold it might be then.
Lots of work to be done surrounding the January opening of the arts center ... legalities with the Tanzanian government, getting furniture, setting up our teaching schedule, and easing the transition for our expatriate families, who are used to US coming to THEM at their international school. Tables have turned a little on that front, but we still really need their support, so hopefully nobody freaks out about having to drive a little further for their lessons.
Our first benefit concert is November 30, and I'm performing 2 movements of the Bach D minor Partita as part of a fairly short program. We three violinists are also performing a couple of trios arranged by Michael McLean, a fantastic arranger and Suzuki teacher whom I met while at Ogontz this summer. His pieces are wonderful pieces for advanced students and they're also nice crowd pleasers.
In the meantime, I'm dreaming about all the things I'm going to eat during my three-plus weeks at home. On the agenda, for sure, is Asian food; specifically Thai, Japanese and Vietnamese. Also real bagels with cream cheese. Also everything that's involved with McSweeney/McCrorie Christmas festivities: that amazing chocolate bark stuff with peppermint chunks ... my mom's fudge ... antipasti ... shrimp cocktail ... and, of course, anything Tyler cooks for me.
Somewhat in secret, I am training for the Kilimanjaro half-marathon in March. This isn't as impressive as it sounds -- it mostly just means I'm running four times a week -- but it feels really good to work towards some kind of athletic achievement. We'll see how all that goes once I get to the frozen tundra of Massachusetts in wintertime. I'll be happy to see it, however gray and cold it might be then.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
They pulled the trigger!
I received a tremendously exciting email yesterday from Mom ... my parents are coming to visit in Tanzania! When I saw the British Airways confirmation number in my email box, I pretty much freaked out. Now, when I return from the States on January 12, Mom and Dad will be with me. I'm so, so happy and excited. My immediate instinct is to begin planning trips for them, asking around with all my friends whom I should hire to take us to some of the most beautiful places around. They may have to travel some without me, since I won't have a lot of time off from teaching. But I think we're also going to try to schedule one of our benefit concerts during their visit, so the Arusha community can hear some real classical singing. =) YAY.
Yesterday was also momentous because I drove a car here for the first time. I know ... it's sort of ridiculous that I hadn't yet. But I've never been a big fan of driving, I'd only had a handful of lessons on the stick shift (thanks parents), and the traffic situation here is pretty daunting. But it was actually the prospect of having guests, like Mom and Dad and Tyler, and being unable to drive them anywhere that really gave me a kick in the butt. The driving lesson with Liza went really well. I didn't stall, the gears were easy to use, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I remembered about the necessary foot action.
Of course, there's the whole British driving rules thing. The driver sits on the right and drives on the left (and, er, tries not to cling to the edge of the road, where all the fruit carts, bicycles, and zoned-out pedestrians are). I forget -- is the clutch on your left in the States? It is here, and obviously you shift with your left hand. Jasper, the giant 1986 Landcruiser that Liza drives, doesn't have power steering. Turning that wheel is a serious arm workout. His brakes are also extremely stiff, and Liza usually uses the downshifting technique to get him to slow down. It's like riding a huge ... elephant? With a REALLY strong engine.
In case you can't tell, I'm excited about learning to drive.
Happy rainy Monday.
Yesterday was also momentous because I drove a car here for the first time. I know ... it's sort of ridiculous that I hadn't yet. But I've never been a big fan of driving, I'd only had a handful of lessons on the stick shift (thanks parents), and the traffic situation here is pretty daunting. But it was actually the prospect of having guests, like Mom and Dad and Tyler, and being unable to drive them anywhere that really gave me a kick in the butt. The driving lesson with Liza went really well. I didn't stall, the gears were easy to use, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I remembered about the necessary foot action.
Of course, there's the whole British driving rules thing. The driver sits on the right and drives on the left (and, er, tries not to cling to the edge of the road, where all the fruit carts, bicycles, and zoned-out pedestrians are). I forget -- is the clutch on your left in the States? It is here, and obviously you shift with your left hand. Jasper, the giant 1986 Landcruiser that Liza drives, doesn't have power steering. Turning that wheel is a serious arm workout. His brakes are also extremely stiff, and Liza usually uses the downshifting technique to get him to slow down. It's like riding a huge ... elephant? With a REALLY strong engine.
In case you can't tell, I'm excited about learning to drive.
Happy rainy Monday.
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