Garden

The weather has changed as dramatically as if someone somewhere pushed the big red "RAINY SEASON" button in the sky. Thick blankets of clouds have rolled over the horizon bringing long wet days and deliciously cool nights. Animals we haven't seen in months have suddenly crawled, hopped, squirmed and fluttered out of nowhere leaving us wondering where they have been for six months and how they all got back at the same time. Frogs wallow in the wet sand just off our porch and create a riotous symphony of croaks all night. Flocks of ibis fleck the dark skies with white wings in the evening and bright red velvet mites are scattered across the yard in the mornings like misplaced Christmas confetti. If we stay up too late after dinner, moths swarm our little kitchen island of light leaving us feeling like we are sitting in a lifesized zoo terranium. Last night was one of those nights where there were literally hundreds of moths swirling around us. I seriously almost expected to look out the kitchen window and see a group of fourth garders on a field trip peeking in. ("On your right children you will see the moth exhibit. Please note how interested they are in the fruit on the plates of the people who are trying to eat their dinner...")

There are so many things to love about the rainy season (mosquitos not being one of them). We are sleeping so comfortably in sheets unsoured by sweat and the hill behind our house is so intensely green it almost looks blue. But one of our favorite things about the rain has been starting a garden. Bryan and I know just next to nothing about gardening but have had fun rooting around in the damp earthiness with shovels and seeds and bugs. We have planted some local things - seasame, corn, hot peppers and potatoes, as well as some seeds we brought with us - lettuce, spinach, carrots, bell peppers and cilantro. And we are so excited to already see a few enthusiastic sprouts poking their heads out through the clods.

It is beautiful to see new life unfurling all around us. Especially beautiful is seeing is shake off the dust it is pushing through and growing out of. Along with all the weeds, the most common thing we have had to dig up and toss out of our garden is bullet casings.

Zanzibar

We’re back! Although some of you may think that we are suffering silently on the far side of the world, those of you with any skills of observation will quickly realize we are living lives of the spoiled rotten! Although this includes many day to day joys and blessings, one of the biggest reasons we are so lucky is that our lives and jobs allow us to travel to some of the most amazing places in the world. This month Bryan and I are celebrating four years of marriage and in honor of the occasion we decided to take a bit of a vacation on the island of Zanzibar off the coast of Tanzania. (Yeah, look it up. You will never feel sorry for us again.) Oh, my friends...

It. was. Wonderful.

We spent the first couple of days exploring the historic city of Stone Town. The town (at least the “historic” part of it) is a maze of old forts, museums, churches and mosques sectioned off by spider-web like - alleys full of antique stores, curio shops, fruit vendors and fish markets. We had a lot of fun just walking around looking at old things and eating copious amounts of sea-food in the open air market at night. The next five days we bummed out at a beach resort on the far North-Eastern part of the Island. It’s really good that Bryan and I are together in this because he keeps me from being a complete vegetable with a book by the pool, and I keep him from being fried at the end of the week from playing too hard. So together we swam, read, kayaked, played cards, scuba dove (dived?), napped, sailed, ate (and ate and ate), body surfed and slept. All week long. We were lucky with the weather because even though it was rainy season (which meant better prices and fewer people) we had mostly sunny days. In fact the only day it rained was the day we had decided to go scuba diving. And then it really ended up being something more akin to a tropical monsoon. I think we got wetter at the surface than we did under it. But we really did have a couple great dives and see some beautiful things (despite a decompression stop at five meters in which I threw up under water – that was a new one for me!).

Another blessing was a quick stop in at my parent’s house on the mainland on our way back home to say goodbye to my baby sister who is heading off to college in a few weeks. As sad as we are to be that much further away from her very soon, we are so excited for her and can’t wait to see her again at Christmas.

Bryan and I got home yesterday and are so happy to be here. The rains have started up so the world around us is in the early flushes of green and we actually slept with a sheet over us last night! We were so happy to see our teammates as well as Asad and Nimir, who I still think must be the most spoiled animals in this country. So now, it’s back to the daily grind, but we are back feeling a bit revived. It is good to be home – bucket baths and all.

Pretty

This week I did something that I have been wanting to do for a while but have been a little scared to try. Most women here wear tobes, long pieces of sheer colorful cloth that drape gracefully around their heads and bodies. They are appropriately modest in this conservative culture but also incredibly feminine and, in my opinion, very beautiful. For someone who grew up playing "dress up" in all manner of outfits and who has a secret (though often unexpressed) penchant for both the dramatic and girly, it's a wonder I haven't been wearing tobes every day here already. But I have been shy. I have suspected that a khawajia wearing a tobe into town would create happy chaos and I am still insecure enough in my Arabic to explain why I wanted to wear one in the first place. I just haven't been ready to take that step (though I have owned a tobe for months now!)
But this weekend we were invited out to the soccer field along with the rest of the town to celebrate the governor's reelection. I decided it was opportunity I had been waiting for - a party is a logical place to dress up a bit and a large distracted crowd meant I was more likely to go unnoticed. I had Zainab teach me how to tie the tobe at my waist and drape it over my head and shoulders. She had me walk around the yard a bit to practice too (which turned out to be a very good idea). In the end, the overall effect couldn't have been better. Over a thousand people were out at the field that afternoon, singing, dancing and cheering. During the three hours we spent baking out there with them most people hardly noticed me, and the glances of those who did seemed to say, “Hey look, she looks like every second person out here.” Those who actually spoke to me about the new outfit were very affirming. They told me how beautiful I looked and a few even took my picture on their cell phones.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about beauty here. I promise you, in the past ten months I have been sweatier, dirtier and stinkier (my computer tells me this is not a word…) on a regular basis than I have ever been before. My toe nails, head hair and leg hair hit the “disgusting” level several times a week. I do not have a full length mirror so sometimes I ask Bryan to take a picture of me to see if I like my outfit or not. The little round market mirror in the bathroom is fading slowly away and I glance in it maybe twice a day (and that is on a good day). In an effort to retain some dignity I have continued to wear a trace of makeup, but it is much less than I ever wore in the States. People here tend to be so tall and slender that when I buy skirts in the market I have to buy much bigger sizes than I used to and still get them hemmed six inches! That’s not good for a girl. But here’s the crazy thing – in spite of all of this, I have never felt more beautiful in my life. Isn’t that bizarre? Granted, day to day living here has insured that all my clothes fit a little more pleasantly than they used to and the sun has coaxed a little bronze and blond out of me. But I don’t think that’s what is going on. I think living somewhere far away from a thousand mirrors and magazines and TV screens is flattering. In a place where beauty is health and strength and happiness, I feel gorgeous.

Of course, like everywhere else in the world where women exist, on some level beauty is more than just being healthy. But that’s what I've got the tobe for.

Last Night

Yesterday I went for a run in the afternoon. I usually go down a trail that runs along the edge of the small mountain. It is a rocky and quiet path, with very few signs of life beyond some goats and the occasional little boy tending them, yet close enough to the main road that I feel safe when I run alone. It was a good run. I left a little later than usual so the late afternoon light was cool and I had enough energy to run past my usual turn-around tree, a withered looking acacia, to a huge baobab further down the trail that looks like a fat old lady at the beach, happily sunning her grey rolls of fleshiness. In view of what I hope will be a tropical vacation sometime in the next few months, she is a far more inspiring tree to run to. Another treat was that Asad, our puppy, got tired of sprinting next to Bryan’s mountain bike and decided to keep me company on the run home. This was his first long run and he was pretty winded by the time we got back but you could tell that being included in the “family recreation” absolutely made his day.

Within minutes of getting home from our bike/run we got a phone call from a friend in town saying that the results of the election for the governor of our state had just been announced. In many ways this race was far more precarious than other races in this country as leadership over this “contested territory” is being sought by people on either side of an intense political conflict. We were told that the incumbent candidate had just been declared the winner (which was what we had been hoping for, if you can call it that) and that many people in town were celebrating. In a move clearly against several UN advisory e-mails we have received in the past few weeks, we jumped into the ATV just as night was falling and drove into town to witness history with our own eyes. At the first dirt junction we had to yield to a pickup overflowing with young men shouting out political slogans and cheering loudly. They hung fearlessly off the sides of the truck in their Barak Obama or David Beckham tee-shirts, proud and happy for a reason to act brashly. When they had passed we eased into the road behind them choking back the dust they left in their wake. In the shadows beyond the brown haze of our headlights we could make out the silhouettes of many more people running down the sides of the road, their pink soles flapping and white teeth flashing in the dirty darkness. As we passed we could hear children singing and women ululating loudly. We made our way into town and joined a river of people pouring towards the market square. The crowd was so thick that we eventually just pulled over, parked in a dark corner and slipped into the swirling current of people. The shouts and chants were deafening. Flags and tree branches waved above the throng like flotsam caught up in a flash-flood. I was grateful for the dark and my headscarf which made us a little less conspicuous, though it was not enough to keep many wild-eyed boys from actively trying to pull us into their rebel chants. We just smiled and stuck with a more neutral, though apparently less satisfactory, “Mabruk” (congratulations).

In the midst of all the singing and dancing, yelling and ululating, I found myself crying. I wasn’t crying because I was especially happy or sad, scared or relieved, though facets of all these emotions were present inside me. Sometimes I cry not because of one particular feeling but because my physical body doesn’t know how else to respond to the emotional place that has been touched. It feels something deeply, and not knowing what else to give it offers tears. That’s how I felt last night. In fact, that’s how I have often felt here. Tearful because this place makes me feel something deep and strong and sad and happy inside that I am not sure quite what to do with. So I cry.

The crowd eventually stampeded on to another part of town and we went to our favorite juice shop for a cold drink. There were plenty of people not joining in the revelries of the night and it was interesting to sit back and watch faces and hear snippets of conversations. As we were leaving to go home last night a man drunk on adrenaline and maybe something a little stronger yelled after us, “So you are loving this country, eh?” And as we walked away I thought to myself, “God help us all, I am.”

Green fingers

After five days of voting, the polls will close this afternoon. Though we laid low for the first few days of the week, things have been quiet enough that we have made several ventures into town. Very little has seemed out of the ordinary. Like rubble in a stream, lumbering army trucks in the town square and clusters of soldiers playing dominoes with guns slung over the backs of their chairs seem to have little effect on life flowing around them. There aren't quite as many vegetables available in the market put people are still out and about, shopping, selling, milling and chatting. It has been remarkable to see so many people voting for the first time in their lives. I am amazed by their patriotism. Zainab, the woman who helps me wash laundry and dishes went to vote on Monday morning. She got to the polls at 6am along with hundreds of other people. She wasn't able to cast her vote until noon. When she came to work she proudly showed me the green dye between her hennaed fingers that marked her as one who had voted. This single mom waited six hours in the blazing heat to vote in an election that, quite honestly, scarcely can claim even the veneer of democracy. While she scrubbed the dried rice off my dirty plates with her colorful hands Zainab briefly mentioned the candidiate she optimistically hopes will be announced as a winner in the days to come. I didn't have the heart to tell her he dropped out of the race altogether a few weeks ago, before voting even started. But in some ways, I'm not even sure that it would have mattered if I did. For her, like many other people I suspect, simply being able to walk to a voting booth, make her mark and drop it in a box to be counted was incredibly empowering. Whether of not her voice will ever be heard, she was able to speak.

The UN security officer came by this morning to collect the names of our "relocatable staff" so they know how many helicopters to have on standby in case people are unhappy with election results that may begin leaking out as early as tomorrow. It's a bit of a roller coaster. After the flurry of preparing for anything last week we have relaxed into the calm and even happy excitement of this week. Now we are back to needing to be ready for anything. And I have to shush my naive/optimistic side that believes so easily nothing will happen and we will be able to go on living here alongside everyone else for years to come. (She talks far to much sometimes.) All I know is right now, I am so proud to be here witnessing this firsthand. And I know that next time I vote, I won't be complaining about the lines.

Easter Olives

On Sunday morning Bryan, Dan, Laura and I woke up at dawn and hiked in grey light to the top the hill behind our house. We sat on the rocky remains of crumbling fox-hole walls and looked at the town spread out like a child's imagination below us. Sleepy smoke from early morning fires hung low and still over yards full of chicken specks and very small women moved slowly, preparing food for hungry things. The air was so still that I felt like I could hear the whole world waking up in the silence of those moments - the rustle of cotton cloth, the clink of a dropped spoon, the padding of bare feet, the gurgle of boiling water - all far below me and yet whispers in my ear. When we had caught our breath we sang a few songs. Then we prayed and watched the sun rise out of a mound of silver clouds and blue mountains. It was a very beautiful morning.

On Sunday afternoon we traveled to the town four hours of North of us for a supply run. The four of us went with Jon and Heather, a couple from the organization next door with a Land Cruiser and generous hearts. The road has improved significantly in recent months but is still rocky and dry with frequent detours through river beds and massive herds of sheep. We must have been quite a sight as we finally pulled into town and over to the only ice-cold-pineapple-milkshake-place in town covered from head to toe in a fine layer of red dust. We plopped down at a plastic table in front of speakers blaring shrill music and ordered several delicious rounds of ice-cold water before starting into the milkshakes. Oh the pleasure! Another delight of our little weekend trip was the fact that all the regular rooms at the local hotel were full, meaning we had to be put into the "safi" rooms with air-conditioning and TV. The only irony is that local custom provides merely a single sheet on top of the mattress itself so we ended up freezing to death both nights we were there. (Heaven forbid we would actually turn the blessed thing off...)
Despite our "couples retreat" mentality, being in this town made the reality of the elections all the more stark. The roads were filled with hundreds of police carrying AK s and long plastic pipes. Some were buzzing down the streets in the back of pick-ups saddled with heavy artillery weapons. Others were in alleys trying on riot control gear. Small blue cars with loudspeakers strapped to the roof inched down streets while the political rhetoric of whatever party they represented tumbled out loudly behind them like excess baggage. Despite the fun of being in the "big city" there was an uneasiness that all the Jackie Chan movies dubbed in Arabic couldn't quite shake.
We got home safely last night and everything seemed normal here. Even after air-conditioning and MTV Arabia, our toasty tent and bootlegged copies of "Smallville" didn't feel so bad. The stars are brighter and the night quieter than they are four hours North of here. And, we now have enough olives and Happy Cow cheese to see us through just about any crisis.

Coffee anyone?

I hate it when I haven't done something that I love in a long time but the longer I have been away from it, the more daunting it seems to pick it back up again. That's how I have felt about blogging this week. In the time that I have been away from this I have travelled to East Africa and back again, (and ate about half a dozen double espresso milkshakes while I was there), turned twenty-seven over Ethiopian food, met up with old friends, made a couple of new ones, had a ugly twenty-four hour stomach bug, read four books and re-introduced myself to running. I have come back refreshed and rejuvinated after a few days in a cooler climate but I am so very happy to be here again with my sweet husband, affectionate cat and occasionally psychotic puppy. It's good to be home.
It is an interesting time to be here though I will admitt. Many of you may know that our host country is holding their first democratic (quote unquote) elections in 24 years next weekend. These elections are leading up to a referendum next year in which the southern half of the country will get to vote on whether or not they want to become a seperate nation. We live in a state considered a "transitional area" meaning it was claimed by both sides fighting in the civil war that ended a few years back. We are in a particularly interesting place in a particularly interesting time.
Last week the president of this country made a surprise visit to our town. (Many of you may have read about his uniquely poor relationship with the International Criminal Court due to certain conflicts in the western part of this country.) We had heard rumors he was coming to town but didn't really believe it until we saw the presidential helicopter fly over our house and land on a road behind a line of trees. We jumped in our ATV to go and hear his campaign speech in town (it's not every day you get to see a president and someone wanted by the ICC right?) but were stopped on the way by some soldiers who politely suggested we stay home for a while (quote unquote). We later found out he stayed only forteen minutes because he was met by too many people throwing stones. Awkward.
A few day later we found out that all oppostion parties are boycotting the elections. So the whole "democratic" thing has kinda gone out the window. And people are bummed to say the least. This morning we woke up to the sound of soldiers marching and singing to the sound of shrill whistles as well as the cracks of a couple of gun shots fired into the air. We haven't heard whose army they were or why they woke up so energized but the relative calm of town suggests it was just a drill. We have stocked up on food and water just in case things go poorly next week. We have our cards and dominoes out in case we need to army crawl nextdoor for our weekly game night. And plane charter companies are on standby in case next week turns out to be a good time to take an early vacation.
I don't want to upset anyone by my nonchalant attitude to all this. I assure you, the seriousness of the situation does not escape me and every day we pray that God will keep us and this country safe from any harm. And for whatever reason, I really believe that he will. But I have also been shaped by my neighbors and friends in this place. Over and over again we ask people, "What do you think is going to happen? Do we need to be concerned?" And the response is almost always the same. There is generally a short laugh, a quick upward motion of the hands and words something along the lines of, "Who knows? We pray to God for peace, we mind our own business and take care of our families. We will all see what will happen soon enough. How about some more coffee?"
So we are trying that one out - praying, minding our own business and spending time with each other. And drinking sweet hot coffee. We'll all find out soon enough. And honestly, right now everything feels very comfortable. Life as we know it seems very normal (quote unquote).