Tanga, Mount Meru, Ngorongoro n A-city...

well this blog has kind of gone to shit... there's no way i can write bout the ast 3 weeks without boring everyone out of their minds... so I'll try n be quick-

My dad came to meet me in Dar Es Salaam, met him at the airport still drunk at 7am in a bajaji (a glorified motorbike with a hood). We passed out on the beach (maybe he'd been hammering the free drinks on the plane too, who knows...), and woke up with palm tree shaped burns on our backs. Showed him the hgihlights of dar, which mostly involved beer, meat and getting money-swapped in kariooo market.

Then we headed to Tanga, a sleepy Islamic coastal town famous for beautiful henna-covered women, who use witchcraft to handle their mulitple lovers... With a promise like that I guess my dad could only have been disappointed. We pitched up bang in the middle of Ramadan, so everything was closed and the streets were empty. As he pointed out, pretty much the only female we saw was the gender quesitonable receptionist at the hotel. Tanga is a kind of magical place though. We cycled through the villages to the Amboni Caves, a laberynth of tight tunnels and earthy caverns set in the hillside. It is a place famous for witchcraft. Women go there, and leave bottles of sweet-smelling nectar in holes in the rock to pray for children. During the maomao uprisings, kenyan gorillas hid there for weeks on end. A few years back, a couple followed their dog into the caves, and fell 200 metres to their death. The dog was later found alive in Kilamanjaro, hundreds of kilometres away, having been washed along by an underground river.

After Tanga, I subjected my Dad to another long sweaty coach ride to Arusha. We hooked up with Elias, a friend of mine f rom last year, Elias and with the help of him, his uncle, his cousin and his little borther, as well as lors of others, we climbed Mount Meru. Meru is 4600 metres high, so not as big as Kili, but a lot of people who have climbed both, say it is harder. It takes three days. The first two are quite easy going, fields of buffalo, ancient twisted forssts of trees, birght little flowers, and sharp clear air. The third day however, you wake up at 1 in the morning to start walking, scrambling and climbing towards the final peak. There are moments where the darkness is blessing- descending the next day, I saw that I had stumbled half blindly over some scary rdiges with big drop-offs on eithe side... When we reached the top just after sunrise, we could see Kilimanjaro poking out of the clouds in the distance. It was beautiful and worth it but really fuckin hard...

Then Ngorongoro... lots of animals. Ask Rama about the buffalos. The Oldapai gorge... shifting magneic sands, and the driver joy riding trying out his driving tricks... ah im running out of time. back home on monday though, I'll tell u about it then...

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dar Es Salaam

So I'm staying with some friends in Kijitonyama in Dar Es Salaam. The water has been cut off, and I'm murdered by mosquitoes, but I'm loving it here...

{Apart from London}, Dar is probably my favourite city in the world. I love the buzz of life here- beautiful girls, heads covered with colourful scarves, streets filled with people selling things; orange soap, red packets of washing powder, green peppers, purple onions , yellow containers of water, sodas and sweet menthol cigerettes, everything bright, gaudy broken yet still somehow working. We spend alot of time sitting around outside at reed plastic tables talking about whether Kilimanjaro or Tusker is better. At dusk the sky is silvery blue, and the palm trees make exotic silhuettes, couples walk out together, and the muezzin calls the time for the people to sit and eat, and break their daily Ramadan fast.



My friends are here are mostly ex-SPW volunteers. Tom is running the Tanzanian part of an NGO called grass roots soccer, which trains football coaches to teach reproductive health as part of football skills and drills with young players. http://www.grassrootsoccer.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=360&Itemid=244, or http://apps.facebook.com/causes/996

Willy and Ally amd Asura have just finished studying at the Instititute for social work here in Dar, and Rama is just about to start. Jasmin and Clare, wazungus who decided to stay on after our programme finished, are working with these guys, together with a guy called Adili and some otehr big names in music production here, to set up an NGO called Kijana Chapakazi (hardworking young person). It's a really inspiring project, which has drawn in a lot of young, motivated people with a rainbow of different skills and talents, from film productionto hiphop, art, social work and health sicences...Their aim is to facilitate television music and film projects which educate and empower young people. At the moment there are in the early stages of this project. They are already registered, and are now searching for donors, and partners to work with. (If you're interested, and want to know more or donate money, let me know and I'll send you more info.)

The other day we had a party to celebrate the birthdays of Tom, and Nelly, a friend of Clare's who has been out here visiting her. We bought five crates of beer, lots of konyagi, two huge fish, an octapus and a goat... Nelly is an artist so she spent most of the night painting everyone's faces, and around a two in the morning we all decided it would a good idea to go clubbing. It was alot of fun... We woke up dazed and confused on the floor in the living room when the dada who cleans the house came at 7am. She didn't seem all that impressed by the debris of beer and partypoppers, mud goat, bones and god knows what else... I passed out again, and when I woke up a couple of hours later, she had cleaned the whole house.

lots of lurve, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Going back to Lugalo

Hey everybody hows things?

I'm now writing to you from Mwenge in Dar Es Salaam. Since I last wrote, I made a short but very sweet visit to the village where I worked last year, and caught up with my Tanzanian partner Loveness in Iringa. The last week has been very different from the rest of my journey, as I am now back in places I have been to before, surrounded by friends instead of strangers. Having said that, it was lonely arriving back in Iringa, because I had so many memories of hanging out there with the other spw volunteers last year... HastieTasties is still there, Neema crafts is new and improved, but our konyagi fuelled parties were sadly absent... Having said that, I couldn't help going back to the disco where so many of our messy nights took place- I went with my friend Ntenje, a zambian ex-spw volunteer who is now working in the iringa office. There were a few new songs but they still blasted out Cher do u believe, at the end ofthe night... thankgod...
I was kind of nervous about going back to Lugalo- this year the final set of volunteers have been working there, but I couldn't stop worrying that one of the school girls who showed much potential last year might have dropped out of school or got pregnant... Arriving there, I was strangely relieved that from superficial appearances absolutely nothing had changed. The catholic church, the secondary school girls' hostel, and our ramshackle house all stood in exactly as we had left them the year before. Theo, the little boy who used to play in our house every day was still wearing the same lurid orange and green tracksuit, the trousers of which now ended half way up his calves. Asha and Furaha, two of the schoolgirls we worked closely with last year were still around, Asha still as coy as ever, andFuraha with the same dry sense of humour.

Loveness and I spent the afternoon catching up and telling stories with the new Tanzanian volunteer in our village, Suzy and the mama from next door. The big change from last year, was that the pervy headmaster of the secondary school (who some of you might remember from last year...), has now refused to let SPW teach in his school because he says that sex education encourages teenage preganancy. He claimed that this decision was based on a vote cast by the students, but i seriously doubt this democratic device ever left the staffroom. As result, the student health club is now no longer able to run. I was upset to find this out- it was less bout education and more about empowerment. By the end of last year,those students were beginning to take control, plan meetings and events, and feel like their ideas were worth something. All that has been stamped on by their demogogic headmaster, and the rigid backward nature of the school system here.
The good news however, seemed to be that in the primary school the kids have really taken on board what they have been taught- Suzy said that the students who were in our classes last year, remembered a lot when they recapped again this time. With a solid basic education in reproduction, HIV and lifeskills such as assertiveness, I am optimistic that those kids will go on to make better decisions regarding relationships and sex in a few years time.

The three year cycle of volunteers in Lugalo has now ended- physcially, nothing we achieved will be visible in the near future. The health magazine library has already deteriorated, and the health club is no more- but hopefully some of things that we taught will have stuck... only time will tell....

think this entry has been long enough... Iwill be in touch soon to tell you about Dar Es Salaam and the inspiring things my friends are up to here.
lots and lots of love xxxxxxxxxx

the islands, sugar smugglers, Mbamba Bay

So... this last week has been an adventure.

After the last time I wrote, I took the ferry out to Chizumulu and Likoma, the islands in the middle of Lake Malawi.
The ferry itself was like a tropical titanic waiting to happen, if you swap the icebergs was crocodiles... Getting on was insane- people with babies, bags of maize, cardboard boxes of godknows what, were all fighting to get into economy class. People were shouting pushing shoving, about ten people at a time trying to fit through a door which could hardly let one person in. Guys were even scaling up the side into second class. The ferry only goes once a week, so people's livelihoods literally depend on them getting there stuff on that ferry. Inside, it stank of petrol was boiling, babies were screaming- it was a little bit how I imagine hell might be... Luckily for us wazungu, we could afford the 2600 kwacha fare (about a tenner) to sit on the first class deck. Some people pitched tents and got in their sleeping bags. I'm travelling light so I don't have either- I just a couple of jumpers on and watched the shooting stars, and the strangely orange moon.
Me and the people I was travelling with, deicded to go to Chizumulu, the smaller of the two islands, first. At about one in the morning, we were thrown into an overcrowded motor boat, a little offshore of the island. I found out later that the week before it had capsized... Bearing in mind that the majority of Malawians can't swim, you can see the risks people take to scrape a living.
Although the ferry experience was somehow stressful waking up the next morning ad seeing palm trees,smooth grey rocks, and aquamarine sea made it all worth it. The island itself was tiny and incredibly peaceful. We walked around the whole thing in a couple of hours. People there spend most of their time in the lake or on the beach, fishing, washing clothes, washing themselves. The kids there, though skinny and dirty and dusty like everywhere in east africa, seemed really happy, shrieking, running in and out of the water and playing on the rocks.

After a couple of days there, mostly swimming snorkelling drinking beer and reading, we decided to cross onto the bigger island. We took a local dhow, a small sailing boat with tattered ripped sails. it meandered across the 12 km in about two hours, and as we docked, the boom fell of completely. On the boat I discovered that the local language chitonga, was a little bit like Swahili- so we managed to find out where the backpakcers was on Likoma island, a 3km trek from where we got off the boat, with all our bags...
Likoma island was one of the first stops for the missionaries. As a result, it has the biggest cathedral in central africa in the middle of it, and also some of the best schools in malawi. Incredible since the island itself is so small. The cathedral is by far the most beautiful human construction there- its hardly surprising that every sunday, the vast building is packed. Its beauty is only spoiled by an ugly corregated iron roof- clearly the original slate could not hack the climate, or they could not afford to repair it. Likoma island is my favourite place that I have vistied in Malawi- so laid back and beautiful, the perfect place to read and relax.

After the islands, I needed to plan my route across to Tanzania from Nkhata bay. Luckily for me, I boat carrying contraband sugar across to Mbamba bay in Tanzania, was due to leave the next day. midday sharp, they said. So I arrived at the beach with my bags, and sat in a ramshackle self service bar with a man who said he was the capain. I watched him get wankered on some alcohol that comes in kerosene containers for a couple hours, and managed to change some money on the black market into tanzanian shillings. About four in the afternoon, the motor boat was finally loaded with 2.5 tonnes of sugar. I got on, with some other Mamas and a lairy old swahili guy. The captain was nowhere to be seen. We left without him...
The sunset from the boat was marred by the lurching of the waves. The sugar, which at first had seemed quite comfortable, soon felt like lumps of concrete. As it grew dark, i realised what I had gotten myself into. All you could see was blue back sea, and blacker sky studded with stars. If i sat up, I could sea the retreating black shapes of the mountains in Malawi. A few times, the engine cut out, and all we could hear was the water, and in the absence of forward motion, the boat would align itself with waves and rock sickeningly.
Finally, around midnight, we saw the dotted lights of fishing boats, and drew into Mbamba bay. Blinded by the light of torches, we waded to shore, and stood, bemused on the beach. I befriended one mama who was on her own, and escorted by another guy, we walked down the dirt road into town, guided only by the light of the stars. As we reached the guest house, we hear a choir of teenage girls singing plaintively, sitting on th ground, surrounding a lantern. Mama Lucy and I discovered that it was a night vigil, held to mourn the death of a school girl who had died trying to abort her baby. That night, I shared a bed with Mama Lucy in the guesthouse. She was sick and said she had travelled all the way from Mzuzu in Malawi to reach a cheap hospital in Tanzania.
The next day, I was shown around Mbamba Bay by Tupac, the sugar smuggler. Mbamba bay is a pretty little fishing town. I was told that you can walk to beautiful beaches from there, but I didn't have the time or energy to do much but wash my clothes in the lake, and walk around town.

The last couple of days have been less fun and less excited. I sat on stuffed half-broken buses for two days travelling northwards up to Iringa.
I was forced to spend one night in Songea, and having spent the afternoon wondering around aimlessly eating a coconut, I spent the night in a skanky guest house by the bus stand. The chair was covered in the standard semen stains, and there were the customary brownish (blood?) stains on walls. Was awake most of the night listening to Mamas and their children who were sitting on the ground outside my window all night. The hacking of one child's tb-ridden cough, the fact that none of those kids were complaining or even crying, really got to me. I felt ridiculously priveleged to be able to be in that nasty room rather than outside.

Travelling alone in Tanzania has given me the chance to talk to alot of people, and hear there stories, but they are nearly all the same. 'I want to study but I don' t have the money'. It's depressing- other travellers I have met have critisized Africa for lacking the entreupenurial spirit of India or South East Asia, but it is all to do with the percieved feasibility of any effort an individual makes coming to fruition. Here, even whe something looks good it often flops due to a loack of infrastructure; I'm talking businesses, roads, social initiatives, but the same applies with people's lives.

Anyways, sorry for going on for so long. Hope everyone is gd and enjoying the summer, lots of love xxxxxxxxxxx

Chizumulu and Likoma

Lilongwe, Mzuzu and Nkhata Bay

Hey everyone,

I am writing to you from Nkhata Bay on the Northern shore of Lake Malawi. So far I have been in Africa for four days. I flew to Lilongwe, which is one of the bigger towns in Malawi, and my final destination is Nairobi, Kenya. I have not really planned any part of my trip, so I am just trying to move in a vague, northward direction, whilst seeing the things I want to see. I have six weeks to get there, via Tanzania where I will probably spend the biggest part of my time.

For those of you who don't know (probably noone as I never shut up about it...) I spent nine months there last year, volunteering in a little village called Lugalo just outside a town called Iringa. Part of the purpose of this trip was to return to Lugalo, and see what, if anything, has changed since I left. Most of all though, I just wanted to explore this part of Africa a little bit more. I am travelling by myself, but so far I have hardly spent any time alone at all. I have met some very cool, and very strange people on my travels so far! I spent two nights in Lilongwe, a slightly dull african town, with not much in the centre apart from the usual banks, mosque and market. Malawi is not known for its cities. Its small population and chilled out atmosphere does not lend itself to the buzzing, heaving metropolis of Dar Es Salaam or Nairobi. People laugh a lot, and smoke a lot of Malawi Gold, the famously potent strand of Marajuana grown here.

My first stop was Mabuya camp in Lilongwe, a backerpackers haunt where I got the chance to milk lots of departing travellers of advice, and plan my next destination...
Thanks to a noisy night in a tent, a hangover, and my failure to listen properly to some of this advice, I found myself on very slow very dodgy old bus, which took 9 hours instead of 5. Asthe bus (having lost a pane of glass out of one of its windows en route) crawled up into the mountains towards Mzuzu it was getting dark. Malawi is for the most part an incredibly safe, soft country, but travelling alone at night is not cool. I was pissed off cos i wanted to get the lake as soon as possible, but I knew I'd have to spend the night in Mzuzu. I found myself in a run down, practically deserted backpackers lodge, which looked like the African version of an American horror movie. The manager, however, an old south african guy called guy, turned out to be a mine of information... word of mouth is the only way to find out anything here. Ever since we visted the Tanzanian side of the lake last year, I had dreamed of taking the ferry across. I was just looking for someone who would tell me it was possible... since the ferry runs twice a week/maybe tomorrow/never. Ray told me, however that lots of smaller boats cross, carrying trade between Tanzania, Malawi and Mozambique, even when there is not enough cargo to send the ferry across to Malawi. So, fingers crossed... Ray directed me a bar by the port where I should some tanzanian sailors (smugglers), so with a little swahili charm I should be able to get a ride across. I plan to cross over to Tanzania in just over a week's time.
Tonight, I am heading out to Likoma and Chizumulu, the two islands in the Mozambican waters of the lake, by ferry. I am travelling with two girls I met at Mayoka Village, the english traveller party haven where I stayed last night. The lake is incredible, and though I have not realy been living a hardcore African experience the combination of swimming, beer and Malawian Reggae is pretty irrestible. The ferry should bring us back in 5 days time (fingers Xd)... So I'll be out of contact for a little while.


lots of love
Jessie xxx