Weekend Survey

Dirty faces after the long ride

We had a bit of an adventure this weekend. On Saturday four of us took off on our crappy Chinese motorcycles (I say that with the deepest affection) for a three day cross country language survey. The country director of our organization is paying us a quick visit and we decided to take advantage of his experience to get a better picture of the linguistic situation in this area. The plan was to do some basic linguistic survey to assess what languages are spoken by whom around here and how we can reach the most people when we begin our language projects in the near future. People here have formed communities around small isolated mountains and when asked what language they speak they tend to answer with the name of the mountain, the name of a larger language family or even the name of ancient pre-colonial kingdoms. All of that is really cool, but it makes it nearly impossible for someone from the outside to know how many languages we are really talking about, especially when many groups that seem very different claim to understand each other, or groups very close to each other claim not to. I won't bore you with the details, but from a social linguist's point of view, it is a complicated, exciting, intimidating, beautiful mess of a situation to try and understand.

Because it was only a three day excursion, the trip was a l0t of fun. (Any longer and it would have moved from "fun" to categorically unpleasant.) Bryan and I were on one bike while our director and a guide were on the other. We just took a change of clothes and mosquito nets but our little Senkes still groaned in protest (much like their riders) at every ditch and pothole. We rode through miles of tall yellow grass and scrubby forests and occasionally had to cross rivers of sand. When we reached a village we had come to survey we would meet with whomever the community leaders thought appropriate, usually on rope beds under a tree, and talk for a couple of hours.

It's hard for me to know what all to say about this little trip. There were so many things that were fascinating to me about the people and places we went but I am completely at a loss to describe or explain them. Nothing dramatic happened on our adventure and there were no life changing encounters with people. The whole things was just so much fun to me. I think I felt like it was one of the first times I was really getting into what we have come here to do. We have spent so much time just trying to establish ourselves so we can actually live here that it felt really good to be out doing a bit more of what we came for. It's hard to explain. If felt good though. (Even though my bum is still a little sore.)

Dust

Last night when we went to bed it was so excruciatingly hot and still that I fell asleep with a soaking wet kanga wrapped around my back and stomach. The air was so parched though that it was dry within an hour. At this point in the year almost all remnants of the last rains in November have disappeared and everything looks thirsty. The stain left on the ground by dirty dishwater is covered in trembling swarms of mud-colored butterflies within minutes of it being tossed out. Candlelight showers are getting better and better as our bathwater, brought on donkey carts each day from the hafira, gets browner and browner. My nasal passages have been cracked and sore every morning and I have to slather in lotion after every shower to keep my skin from looking like the the bark of all the leafless trees outside. We have even heard UN reports of lions on the main road out of town, only ten kilometers away. People wonder if they are moving in to look for water.

I left my watch in the shower last night so I don't know what time it was that the wind picked up. Now that we have our tent staked into cement, we have been sleeping more soundly through the occasional wind gusts. But last night things got crazy. In my half-conscious state I felt like the mouse from one of my childhood story books who took his bed out to sea and got caught in a storm. It felt like we were trapped between the open water and a invisible coral wall. The wind would roll in like a tidal wave, wide and long and loud. But once it hit our tent it would shatter up into a hundred smaller waves crashing into each other from different directions leaving us bobbing around, trying to keep our heads above waterless air. The tent shuddered and shook so violently that the poles themselves screeched and threatened to snap. Tent straps rattled, cans of bug spray clanged around on the floor and the curtains knotted themselves together, allowing dust to spray freely in through the windows. A couple of times I thought I saw flashes of heat lighting, but that may have been my imagination. Like my mouse alter-ego, I eventually just pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I really did. It went on like this all night long.

This morning we stepped out onto a different planet. Chairs and wash basins were strewn around the yard and a chunk of our fence had fallen over on one side. Half the Sahara was deposited in our kitchen (okay, that one really is an exaggeration) and our poor chickens looked like they had lived through a tornado. The really bizarre thing though was the dust still hanging in the air. Mountains we can normally see at least four tiers of had completely disappeared in the haze. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the yellow full moon setting on the horizon, but later realized it was actually the sun rising out of the dust.

Bryan and I walked around this morning a little dazed and a little amazed. Just when we think this place is beginning to feel like home, we have humbling moments of wondering, "Where in the world are we?"

Chicken Poop for the Woman's Soul

Oh my goodness it's been a while since I have done this.

So many of you have asked for details on the Kili climb that I have delayed blogging until I could put some thoughts down about our hike, but now I realize that I might never blog again if I wait for that. Hopefully I will write about it here eventually, but until then I can only leave you with the words of a friend (who has also climbed the mounatin) which so completely capture how I also feel about the experience: "It was the greatest terrible thing I've ever done. It has made me humble and given me reason to boast. It was far too expensive and worth much more than it cost. I would do it again, in a heartbeat, but never again in this lifetime."

We have been back home for four days now, and unlike you might expect after weeks of tropical weather and mama's cooking, we are so happy to be here! Our two room cement kitchen building is finished and I cannot tell you how dramatically this has improved our quality of life. No more cooking in the sun and wind! The only probably with having no doors right now is that our chickens have a tendency to sneak inside and make a mess. We only have two chickens now instead of the original three we left. Apparently, while we were gone, a "wild mountain cat" (we suspect some kind of genet) came down from the hill, snuck into our compound a pulled a rooster out of the coop. This has apparently traumatised our two remaining fowl enough that all they seem interested in doing is cowering in our kitchen and pooping all over the place! About the tenth time I have shooed them out they give me the most offended ruffle of the feathers and march across the road to our neighbors house where they spend all day sulking.

Even so, it is good to be back. Our Arabic is a little rusty, but still seems to work; people are happy to see us and we are happy to see them; the coffee is still strong, the tea is still sweet and the sun is still hot. Just like we left it.

At the start of this new year I can't help but remember six months ago when we first came here. I told Bryan many times that I felt like I was at the beginning of a dating relationship. I was curious and interested and trying to make a good impression, but also guarded and cautious. If you don't let yourself fall in love in the first place it doesn't hurt so much when it all goes badly in the end. This is a big year for this country and people are making all sorts of predictions about what will happen and what that will mean for us. We are praying for peace and taking it all a day at a time. But coming back from a month away has made me realize the first few dates are over. I'm invested now, and not too proud to say I don't care. There is the risk of a broken heart this year. But I thinking (hoping? praying?) that instead, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something really beautiful...