modes

confusion and an misunderstanding of purpose is a recurring theme in my travels, an i know for certain that i am not alone. often people here do things that to me and many outsiders seems inexplicable and at best we accept the cultural difference and at worst we proclaim the entire country full of illogical people. more often than not there is a simple explanation that we, because of language barriers or some other communication glitch just don't get. an amazing example of this dynamic for me is clothing. i have always been somewhat humbled by the way tanzanians present themselves, there's no better way for me to put it than fancy. everyone looks nice if it's possible. there were innumerable times when i was asked why wazungu look like they don't care-why is that mzungu walking without shoes in the city when he can obviously afford shoes? this is unthinkable to the tanzanians who in general are not only well-dressed in matching tailored outfits but always seem to have ironed their clothes. even if i have nice clothes it never occurs to me to iron them, i just walk around with wrinkly clothes and hope the wrinkles work themselves out. this was an inexplicable difference to me. i figured tanzanians have more self-respect than westerners or value what they have more than we do. which may still be true but i learned a more than reasonable explaination for the prevailance of ironing: parasites. apparently there is a paracite which lays it's eggs on clothes while they are drying in the sun. when a person wears the clothes, the larvea somehow get under their skin, wait a few weeks, hatch and then eat their way out. ironing kills the eggs. so logical! so i had come-up with this whole cultural explaination for something that turns out to be a parasite. i would make a great anthropologist i think.

so i continue to make or stumble into revelations about my life here and discover the reasons for seemingly inexplicable events or actions. but there are still so many mysteries such as: why is that stool sitting in the middle of that patch of barren earth and why are those nice-looking shoes sitting on the stool? what is the driving force behind frantically screaming wazungu? will i ever stop fearing the old man who sits with the scales and yells incomprehensibly as i walk past? will i ever understand what he's yelling?

i had a quite a lovely thanksgiving here, despite my initial apprehension. i went the the market in the morning, as i do everyday now, but this time bought loads of food for a classic thanksgiving meal instead of food for the neema cafe. having become familiar with a number of sellers in the market, i felt comfortable walking and explaining to them about the american sikukuu. (a brief explaination is that if you want to make anything bigger in swahili you add kuu: siku is a day, sikukuu is a holiday. mkuu is a boss or important person) i spent the day cooking at the home of an scottish ex-pat cooking two apple pies, stuffing, vegetable pot-pie, gravy, sweet potatoes, and green beans. the other contributor to the meal did the mash potatoes. then we moved down to andy and suzie's house, they started neema craft and are a lovely family with two small girls. our tanzanian host-parents came and it was almost everyone's first thanksgiving. i think we did the holiday justice and i felt amazingly thankful for being here, despite missing my own family quite a lot. that's one holiday down, one to go.
happy birthday mama.
love. annie