Bomba

The rainy season has officially begun. Unfortunately, there is no break from the heat. The rain clouds are only acting as an incubator in which to make us sweat at an even greater rate.

Last night, we got another volunteer from Boston. Ashley was thrown into our room where she was faced with the three of us, all of who haven’t showered the entire weekend or left the room for that matter, huddled around a bag of Raisin Brand that I had just discovered in the fridge from a previous volunteer. We all paused, mid stuffing the next handful into our mouths to give an awkward smile and slip out the word “Hi” without spitting out any of the cereal that was crammed in our mouth. I’m not sure what she thinks of us but I know what I would think if I was her.

Monday morning Jordan and I headed up to KCMC to sit in on a class at the University. We jumped on the first daladala that we saw, which just so happened to be fifteen people past it’s maximum capacity. We were forced to feel our way through a mess of hips, legs, heads, arms and hands to find a pole inside to hold onto while the rest of our body hung outside the small van. Shutting the door wasn’t even an option seeing as there were two other people besides us hanging out with us. We received a handful of cheers from people on the street as well as others shouting at the driver for making us hang on instead of sitting inside. We were somewhat skeptical about the likelihood that we would be able to sit-in on a class but even after thorough persuasion from Junior and Nathan that there would actually be a class today, we arrived only to be informed that the teacher was in fact not showing up until Thursday.

So, instead we found a table under a tree and decided to attempt to learn Swahili. After about an hour, they claimed we were horrible students while we stick to the story that they are horrible teachers and we decided to just eat lunch instead.

KCMC is about fifteen minutes away from Upendo Orphanage, where the rest of the volunteers in our house work. Since there was nothing more to do, Nate, Junior, Jordan and I thought we would spend the remainder of the day there. Thanks to our wonderful guides, we somehow made the fifteen minute journey into an hour journey at the hottest part of the day. When we made it there, we met up with Ami and Francisca who were playing with the kids outside. Despite how cute they might be, I discovered that the getting peed on, boogers wiped on, dirt thrown in the face, hair pulled and endless crying was not the right match for me.

I was happy to be back at the hospital the next day with the blood and puss. Nothing huge happened throughout the week. Lots of stitches, babies, abscesses, broken bones and dressings. One man who has elephantitis of the scrotum finally was operated on. When he came in a few months ago, his….boys, were honestly the size of two small watermelons. He couldn’t fit into any pants and he would walk around holding one in each hand. After his operation, they were reduced to the size of two large mangos. I was the lucky one chosen to dress him with another nurse. It was a long process seeing as he had drainage tubes, catheter changes, stitches the entire length of his stomach and then the actual scrotum area itself. The doctor said he was progressing well but the next morning when we came to work, Kische, another head doctor, said he had died in the night and wasn’t sure why.

That night, Jordan and I headed back up to KCMC to watch a football (soccer) game with the medical students. Little did we know that the game didn’t start until around 10pm and got over around midnight. Before half time even rolled around we were already struggling to keep our necks from going limp and our burning eyes even half way open. I’m not even sure if our team won or not.

Poor Jordan has been sick for almost a week now. She will be fine one day and then horrible the next. Friday was a bad day for her and I was also feeling pretty awful. We spent the day fixing our clogged sink with a coat hanger, Listerine, a toothbrush, an injection needle, a bucket, a rag, a flashlight and duct tape. Our sink now drains perfectly, smells minty fresh and doesn’t leak at all. The remainder of the day was spent curled up on Jordan’s bed watching episodes from our new found obsession, How I Met Your Mother.

Saturday night Rachel, Jordan, Ashley and I went with Philipo to a random, private club in the middle of nowhere. We stopped at a twelve foot gate which was open by a guard. We got out of the car and walked down a kerosene lantern lighted path to a covered outside balcony. The whole place was poorly lit with eerie, fluorescent green bulbs which were hazed over from the cigar smoke of greasy, unshaven European men who made you shiver when they glared at you. Their hard eyes all followed us as we sat down at a nearby table and ordered sodas. I felt like I had committed some sort of crime just being there. Philipo explained to us that The Watering Hole is owned by a German-American who started a hunting business here in Tanzania. Tourists from all over come here to this club/lodge to relax before going on a safari to fulfill their urge to express their masculinity by killing the exotic animals of the Serengeti purely for sport. A tag for a lion alone is $30,000.

I couldn’t handle staying there much longer so we went to La Liga to dance away our troubles. Jordan sadly had to go home before we even made it there because she still wasn’t feeling well. I fell lost without my dancing partner and vowed that night to never go out without her again.

The next morning was Sumaia’s birthday. She had a couple of friends over and we celebrated with dry cake and Colgate flavored ice cream. She was all dressed up in an orange and white dress that she couldn’t stop twirling in and a smile that couldn’t be wiped from her face. In the middle of bringing the lit cake to her and singing the “Happy Birthday Song” she blew out all five candles. We all stopped mid-song not knowing if we should finish or just start cutting the cake. After we stopped laughing we decided to relight them and try again.

Zawaidi left us this weekend to go to her new home in Marangu with Craig. We just couldn’t handle her and he could provide a much better home for her. We’ll get to see her next weekend though when we head up for a camping trip in Mishiri. I don’t think I’m going to miss her.