WH Chronicle No. 12.3


Aug 10, 2012

FIRE UP THE PRESSES!!  THE SECRETARY BIRD HAS LANDED!  
 ("Huh?" You say.  Keep reading and you'll still have no idea.)


Welcome back!  After a long, dark, hiatus, your Whaleherdienda correspondent is finally able to construct run-on sentences without spewing anti-consumerism vitriol; but still happily reports with surprisingly little objectivity.   

While we were away the world kept turning so the following is a synopsis to bring you up to date. 

In order of increasing interest:
1.     Daryl had to trim her toenails a few weeks ago.  They were getting a bit too long and starting to poke through her socks (We’re starting at the bottom of the 'interest barrel' in order to lower your expectations). 

1.5  Jamilly is doing great.  She has decided that boys are a waste of time.  She reports that girls are better and more likely to be sober at 20 years of age.
 
2.     Both kids are now Camp Veterans.  Despite daily letters to us claiming severe homesickness, they report having had a great time especially after facing the boredom of home.
Daryl (with busted lip) and Sam at Brother/Sister Picnic

3.     Our friend Gary is home from teaching in Tanzania and brought a little kitty stowaway.  His blog is another beautiful view of Makumira and the music world we enjoyed. 
Gary's Tanzanian Kitty acculturating with his American Kitty

4.     Our friend Jacque and her family will be leaving in September to teach at Makumira.  Randy and crew are looking forward to having them.  I’m sure they’ll have a great time.

5.     We sent our beautiful Norwegian Princess back to the Viking Motherland.  We miss her.  She kept a lovely blog while she was here with us.  You can find it at:  Hilde's Blog 
Hilde swimming in the sunshine.

 
6.     New members to the clan:
a.     “Broke Beak” Louise
Louise, the broke-beak chicken, urr, I mean, cockatiel taking a bath in the fish tank.

b.     Posey the Pooch
We missed the kids so much while they were at camp that we got a dog.  True.
Posey--there's nothing unusual about her, yet.  She's just cute.

7.     We’ll be searching for a new place to hang our hat.  We’ve been back in our house long enough for the shower curtain to get moldy so it is time to move on to a new domicile.  Lord only knows where we’ll end up, but it will probably be closer to you than Tanzania (unless your last name is Stubbs).
A house is where you hang your hat and it is time for the next hat rack!

8.     Speaking of Tanzania, our new family member has arrived!!

Someone should rescue this poor man from our evil clutches!

Meet Kaghondi (Ka-goan-dee).  He is a graduate of Makumira University and has been accepted to The University of Texas’ Butler School of Music in the Music and Human Learning Master’s Program (cue:  ooooohhhh, aaahhh).   The program is two years long and will insure him a faculty position at Makumira University Music Department upon his return with a master's degree. 

Needless to say, he is up against a steep learning curve on American culture shock.  While driving to the airport Tom and I were looking through our ‘African eyes’ wondering what it will be like for him.   I kept questioning what bits of advice to offer.  Seriously, where do you start and how far do you go?  We’ll all live if there are elbows on the table while eating, but what about wearing a hoodie at night while walking down the street?  Or explaining not to follow too closely behind a nervous white lady?  And who's going to disclose the N-word?  And then there's high fructose corn syrup.  Oy, good thing we have two years to iron this out.  

Driving home from the airport Kaghondi points out the car window to the miles of consumerville along the interstate highway.  We happened to be passing a Home Depot and 20 of its closest box-store friends.  “Is that a government building?” he asks.  
“Nope, just a place where we buy things.”   I stopped there, as you all can imagine how hard that was for me. 

We offered him a wristwatch as a welcome gift.   I also refrained from diatribing about how often schedules and deadlines take priority over people and situations.

We ate at a Mamacitas on the way home.  They brought out his plate of carne guisada  and he asks, “Is all of this for one person?”   Of course, this is after the shock of free chips, salsa and tortillas.  He was full before his plate arrived, so imagine his concern when we requested a 'doggie bag'. 

Of course, Americans are extremely friendly even though very busy and distracted.   I just hope Kaghondi sees the truths and detects the distortions.   Money, technology, spray tans, and dog sweaters are only tools and not solutions.  But just to make sure, we've already taken him to  Target, Taco Cabana and Dave and Buster's Video Arcade within his first 24 hours.  We have earmarked Six Flags Theme Park and Costco for the next 24. 

How do these cultural differences affect someone?  We will all watch from the other side of the mirror this time.  

"I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed.  I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible.  But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any."  Mahatma Gandhi

"But in the Kalahari, it's always Tuesday, or Thursday if you like, or Sunday. No clocks or calendars tell you to do this or that."  Gods Must Be Crazy, 1980

"So, what games do ya'll play in Africa?  Chase the Monkey?"  Coming to America, 1988

Until my calendar says we meet again,
Daris

 

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WH Chronicle GHD Final Cut

Feb 2, 2012
Happy Groundhog Day!!

Go make the popcorn.
Get comfy.
Enjoy 9 minutes and 48 seconds of Whaleherd silliness.

for the infamous family Christmas newsletter, 
via video format, 
delivered on Groundhog Day.


Dancing the Punxsutawney Polka,
Daris and crew

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WH Chronicle GHD 2012 Trailer

January 25, 2012

To get everyone in the mood....


In case you have any problems seeing the above video, click here for an alternate link.

Counting down 'til the groundhogs,
Daris

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WH Chronicle No. 10.10


Oct 22,2011

Well,  with the lull in conversation, it might be time for me to stand up, awkwardly adjust my pants,  and apologetically tell you ‘this has been a whole lot a fun’.   We’ve shared stories despite 9000 miles, erratic electricity, and a pitiful African internet.  Hell,  we've practically held hands with you through modern technology while we were braving the exploding kitchen appliances and swimming through crocodile infested waters.    I'm glad you were there with us.

 But before we sign off--one last update on our way out the door:

We are at exactly T-Plus 9 weeks and counting.  Even though a bumpy re-entry for some of us --as we relayed in the past few Chronicles--things are going much more smoothly now.

 The dust has settled and the tears finally dried up for Sam AND his 2nd grade teachers.   Everyone involved has managed to create a more congenial situation.  Sam now presides over all of second grade as "Emperor" while employing the latest Star Wars technology and designating teachers (minions) to cannon fodder.    No wait…that was Sam’s vision of congenial—not to be confused with the actual solution which was not nearly as amusing or as dangerous for the teachers.

Daryl is going to the Taylor Swift concert with Hilde.

Hilde is enjoying her time in America as her transition appears to offer little challenge.  This week she is occupied with acquiring the appropriate attire for the Homecoming Dance.  When I saw her new dress I thought it was a fancy blouse.  Dresses are getting shorter or I'm getting older--or worse, both.  Last week she informed me that Norway has better Mexican food than Texas. 

Tom doesn’t complain.   You say, “Impossible!  Leaving a gig without bitchin’ about the conductor?  the trombones?  the VIOLINS?  IMPOSSIBLE!!!”   But it’s true—he’s happy to be back in a situation where he could easily bitch about the gig—but doesn’t.    I think this is out of fear that I will drag him back to Africa if he utters anything but contentment.

Me—I'm starting to return to my cheerful self.  My grieving, foot stopping and pity party have begun to subside. I'm even a bit relieved that I don't have to play 'teacher' for the former students that took care of me on my trip through TZ.  The ones that rubbed my back as my stomach turned inside out and helped conceal my backside when my skirt got caught in the train door.   They didn't ever have to carry me, but they would have.  They were my caretakers.  I know their life stories, their dreams, their hopes, their loves--lost and present.  Last thing I'd want to do is chastise a late paper from the ones that shared the tasty bits of a fish head with me.  If they had a tardy assignment it would probably be because they were taking food to their roommate in the hospital.  Oy...

I had a taste of my own medicine, too.   Our friend, Gary, was in a car wreck in Tanzania and all I could do was helplessly sit and read his blog from another hemisphere. He's doing just ok--I'm continuously concerned about his numb/tingly arm.  The last update I received from my spies was that this  self proclaimed "Iron Man" was forbidding the students from waiting on him and he types emails and  blogs with just one finger. 
Maybe this has ‘re-educated’ me to the joys of driving the kids around in our multi-airbag Volvo station wagon  complete with five point harnesses and crash helmets--on a road where I'd have to jump a 4 foot concrete barrier and a 6 foot deep bar ditch to ever have a chance at hitting a pedestrian (which is actually an endangered species in America).   Nonetheless, I’m happy to not be mowing anyone down.

While I don't miss the mad house driving,  I do really miss easily inspiring students. 
"Hey, everyone, this is a C major chord."  
"Ohhhhhhhh....Wowwww" the students stare in amazement.
"Now for my next trick--check out my sunburn." (Always a fascinating topic to Tanzanians)

Yeah...I can't really dazzle the American university students with my skin color.  I actually have to give it a little better effort.  But that's ok.

AND I miss the inspirational people.  The students and their lives--how the hell did they actually make it through that terrible system to the University?  I'm not sure I'd make it that far if I had come through the shitty misogynistic school system, had a few bouts of life-threatening malaria, had my mom and brother die when I was 10, and had my teachers use me as a sex toy in exchange for a good grade.  Yet--there they were sitting in front of me--exclaiming that they were as 'blessed' as Ritz Crackers on a communion plate.  That's inspirational.


Not forgetting all the expats in developing countries that have their cool, weird, stories, as well--I love it.  Their crazy sense of adventure--which, for Americans, is embodied by standing in line at Starbucks (opting out of the drive thru).  Oh well.  Sometimes I even take the large handicapped stall in the public restrooms when I'm in need some excitement.

But it's weird thinking that even though I can (and probably will) go back, it will never be the same.  Like trying to recreate that  one awesome time at summer camp--it might be better or worse, but always different.  

Although I might be recovering from this cultural vertigo for a while,  the improvement over time has been welcomed.  “I’m happy to be back,” even slipped from my lips the other day.

For those of you interested in tracking Gary, the Makumira students and the Stubbs family, check out the sites below.  Gary is also profiling the different music students (I wish I had thought of this).  His blog has an email sign up, so his new entries can appear in your in box.  

Turning the news and reporting at Makumira School of Music over to the professionals:

In addition to those electronic sources, Liz Tomorsky Knott started a non-profit to benefit the musicians of Tanzania after visiting us last year.  Right now she is in the middle of an instrument drive (donating unused instruments) for the music students at Makumira.   She will even reimburse the shipping cost if you decide to donate an instrument.  Check out her website for details and feel free to make a tax deductible donation.

Music for Tanzania   www.musicfortanzania.org 

For anyone wanting to keep track of the reality show at our house, you can now read Hilde's blog.   Just hit that Google translator button unless, of course, you are fluent in Norwegian. 


I’ll still be writing—but not so publicly—I have to admit since readership has grown it makes me a bit more shy about shouting my tainted opinions.   I also steal my own thunder when trying to share stories in person, especially now that I see all of you on a regular basis (most of you, anyway). But, don't worry, the Chronicle will fire up the presses again for any big news or African updates.

With a tug on my earlobe,
I'm so glad we had this time together
Just to have a laugh or sing a song
blah blah other words here... before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'So long'.


Daris


Fun times as Fiesta Texas:






Homecoming


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WH Chronicle No. 1.47

September 9, 2011

First, I need to sincerely thank all our loyal readers for indulging my perspective and kindly understanding our transitioning proclivities.   You have been very patient with me as I’ve been honest and expressive about termites, cultures, and monkeys.  Thanks for making the journey with us.  It’s been wonderful to have you reading over my shoulder. 

Since being home, everyone greets us with “Ahhh, we’re so happy that you’re back!”  I answer, “Thanks.” And, then, depending on how well they know me, they say, “You aren’t excited about being back, are you?”  At which point, I stare at the ground and apologetically shake my head.  

I briefly explain that Tanzanian teachers are often not dedicated to their profession.  Many are even abusive and the University system, when compared to western countries, is virtually ineffective.  So for Tom and I,  teaching in Tanzania and then leaving became the emotional equivalent of rescuing an abused puppy, instilling trust and confidence only to announce, “Golly gee, look at the time. Well, see ya later. “  then desert your most meaningful intentions. It feels very disingenuous.  Tom concurs.   It’s difficult to leave a beach full of starfish.

But even as I type today, Africa is becoming farther away.  I dislike admitting this, but the good news is that I’m finally starting to look forward rather than staring constantly in the rear view mirror.  That doesn’t mean that I’m fully adjusted, though.  Just ask the AT&T sales rep or even the one at T Mobile. 

After two weeks of befriending perverts surfing porn at the public library or sucking down frappacinos at the local Starbucks all for free internet—AT&T finally installed our home internet service, but it didn’t work.   While trying to explain this, my new AT&T phone overheated and shut down. My nonexistent patience melted into rage.  I authoritatively told them that they were not competent enough to even provide their services to a developing country.   Then our bill arrived…one could feed a developing country with that much money.   I went in person to the AT&*$%#@T store.   They refused to replace my faulty phone and then the sales rep encountered a very loud and colorful description of his company.  He nodded in agreement.  I blew the F-bomb no less than 3 times and I’m probably lucky I wasn’t arrested for disorderly conduct.  Did I mention that Sam was with me--witnessing this pinnacle of mature human behavior?

Which later lead me to T Mobile—proud to be ridding myself of AT&@#$T for better pricing and customer service.  I sign up only to find that they are charging me double the rates stated in the brochure.   I inquired about the discrepancy to hear, “Oh, yeah, they raised the price but haven’t printed new brochures yet.”  That was when I broke down into tears and sobbed like a hormonal teen inside the T Mobile store.   

Then there’s Austin Pest Control… When they offered a monthly “Rat-ridding” service, I sarcastically asked, “Do you do ‘Ghostbustin’ for a monthly fee, too?”  But because I don’t want to condemn Tom to chasing rats around in a dark attic with a broom—we now pay a monthly rat-ridding fee.  No Ghostbustin’ yet—maybe AT&T offers that service to their loyal customers.

The AT&T Sales rep, the T Mobile Sales rep, and the Austin Pest Control guy could all commiserate in wordless sympathy for Tom’s sake as he has to return home with this maniacal woman. 

I am like Don Quixote without a Sancho Panza.  Tom wisely just shakes his head and lets me fight.   Tom, more than anyone, predicted, endures and nurtures my re-entry adjustment.  Once again, he earns a gold medal. 

More lack of assimilation:   Sam is not happy either.  8 hours of sitting behind a desk scrawling epic novels with a fat pencil is not currently his greatest desire—but, in his eyes, appears to be his teacher’s desire for him.   He told us he worries about disappointing his teacher.  She told us that they are calling the ‘interventionist’.   Maybe that is between ‘executioner’ and ‘disappointionist’?  Tears and pleas flowed from the little guy.  Tom broke all the rules of the school (imagine alarms, lockdowns, SWAT teams) and walked inside the school to escort a hysterical Sam to his classroom in order to explain this trauma to the teacher.    Since Tom’s Wild West maverick episode—they added a TSA security station at the entrance of the school, and have also become more attentive to Sam.  He now looks forward to regular meetings with the school counselor along with the snacks and games that she provides.   When we questioned Sam about purpose of those meetings, he replied, “The counselor said it was because I don’t fit in.”   To which we responded, “Good job, Sam.  We’re proud of you.”

Daryl goes skating, swimming, and is angling to attend the Taylor Swift concert.  Personally, I’m not escorting her to any concert where people don’t wear wigs.  Dolly Parton, Hannah Montana—that’s different—I can sport a nice blond wig.  Taylor Swift?—wasn’t she my original inspiration to depart America?  No wait…maybe that was Lindsey Lohan or Miley Cyrus? Daryl still enjoys obsessing over things that her peers own and she doesn’t.  I guess we will have to stay longer next time.

Hilde is running in cross country at 6:30am each morning.  She is also hanging out with Jamilly’s old crowd from track.  It provided a spectacular conversation when they started telling Hilde of their dear friend from Kazakhstan.  Hilde also admitted that preparation for her year abroad included watching “America’s Funniest Home Videos”.

Rooster (the cat, not the chicken—Tom said no more chickens) has returned in his full glory-- all 18 lbs--with an educational pedigree, a G.E.D. (Gotta Eat Dinner).  Tammy and Casey were wonderful loving tutors who managed not to cry when saying, ‘goodbye’.

Reuniting with friends and family has been wonderful.  But I have to admit a slight buzz kill is suffered when we begin an exciting African story only to be thwarted by, “Oh, I remember reading about that in the Chronicle.”   Hmmm….next story…

Inquiring Minds Want to Know:
One of our astute Chronicle readers pointed out some loose story lines.

Baldy, the one-eyed chicken:  He became a mean little mofo. He stealthily waited by the back door in order to chase and attack the children.  He stalked the streets, charged me and would begin flogging or humping my legs (not sure which).   Had he been a less discriminating attacker, we might have kept him as a security chicken, but sadly, it was just our family he assaulted.  Baldy was relocated to a condo coop belonging to our gardener.  Much to Tom’s chagrin, I made the request that they don’t eat him, or at least wait until a high holy day.    Haven’t heard of his fate since then…


Kitties:  Well, “Cow”, the kitten factory, was also sent to live with the gardener.  We managed for find suitable homes for the many kittens she produced while mooching off our philanthropical tendencies.   But just a week before the family departed for America she showed up on our back porch after apparently having traversed at least 10 miles of traffic and wilderness to return.  Tom’s comment, “I guess she likes the food better here.”  So, Tom left money for the neighbor’s gardener to feed her until our friend, Gary, arrives in September.  Then she will be his problem.

Jenny and Sara, the Queen termites:  After Nathan busted up his piggy bank to purchase the two queen termites (a real delicacy), the boys created a termite palace for their royalty.  But little did they suspect their majesties demanding royal courts to serve their every need.  So, as with many of the tyrannical aristocrats in our history books, they suffered death by army ants. 

And one final comment from an inspired reader:
 I kept waiting to see a photo of one of those little monkeys swinging from tree to tree wearing a familiar blue [ASO] Building Blocks shirt.”

Sorry, we cut them up in order to celebrate the 4th of July.  Priorities….

Hi-Yo, Rocinante, Away!
Daris


And a Kitty video featuring the talents of the Biscuit Brothers and the music of the Wild Basin Winds:

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WH Chronicle No. 1.46


August 21, 2011

We’re back!  Many of you have already seen us in Austin, but until now I haven’t been awake or lucid enough to create even a marginally coherent Chronicle.

Since our last chat from the heart of Tanzania, I’ve returned from an exquisite adventure while Tom and the kids have arrived safely home from Bear Valley, CA.
 
From our field reporter (or the man out standing in his field), Tom:

“The kids proved to be travel veterans enduring the 36 hour trip from Africa to Albuquerque. Daryl only threatened to get sick once when we were landing in Washington because she forgot to go to the bathroom on the 8 hour plane ride. Santa Fe was the perfect landing zone to reacclimatize to the United States.  Lots of love from Grandma and family, good Mexican food and comfortable beds in which to sleep made our reentry most pleasant.  Following this was a warm embrace from friends in Stockton, California, and then the Bear Valley Music Festival.  Playing in the festival reminded me about my questionable career choice and how difficult it can be—especially after a year off.  Getting back into shape for Shostakovich 5 was not an easy endeavor.   Luckily, a few Giant Burgers and hikes through the snowy Sierra Nevada mountains made everything worthwhile.“
Kinney Lakes


Rope Swing

Sam's back with his girlfriend.

Meet the competition for 'said' girlfriend.



 Back to Daris in the studio:

I missed Tom and the kids after we separated in July, but had a phenomenal adventure across Tanzania.  Even though I had been living in Tanzania for 10 months, I finally stepped out of our American bubble and experienced real Africa; first evident by the fact that I lived mostly without running water and electricity for the better part of a month.  I ate things that I didn’t know were edible and swam in places I didn’t know were infested with crocodiles.   But undeniably, it was an inspired voyage as our trip unfolded in an incredibly divine manner.  My travel partners and I witnessed so much on this pilgrimage that I’ll be chronicling the whole event in installments over the next few weeks.  Here are a few teasers pictures:
Simba Rock in Dodoma


????

Lake Tanganika

 The only small one that wasn't scared of my white skin.


Back stage before a performance of Wagogo traditional dance.

The caterers have arrived. 

Yes, it's true--no joke and a worthy cause.

Food court outside of the train.  The train was established in 1919 by the Germans and appears to not have been updated since that time.

Only half full at this point.  
Beautiful sunsets in western Tanzania. 


RE-ENTRY
Tom trots around the house unpacking suitcases while whistling a little tune or humming a cheerful melody.  I receive random unexplained hugs and answer him with a mild grunt.  Tom drinks tap water for the fun of it and is in constant search of uninterrupted football. 
Me…well…it’s not such a pretty picture, as most of you readers (dear friends and loved ones) can imagine.  Tom spoke frequently of dreading my company upon reentry; and many of you even expressed concern over whether or not I’d even be on the homebound plane.  Then, of course, all are curious about how I’d fare while adjusting to our Americanisms again.   

Well, after all that traveling, my first groggy thought each morning is still about which village I’m awakening in--then I realize I’m at home (it was the lack of termites that gave it away), heave a big sigh, roll over, and try to dream about the mud hut where I’d rather be.  Most of the day, I’m either teary or hostile.  Maybe these are the predictable stages of grief; because leaving my post at Makumira was as fun as a funeral. Leaving those people, their passions, their extreme dedication and our combined sense of purpose makes my face shrivel up in not a pretty way.   Try to imagine being so passionate about your mission that payment (salary) is irrelevant and raising funds to continue your work is warmly embraced.  Communal endeavors and this altruistic sense of purpose are definitely not common American fare.

  
But now that I’m home, I sigh a lot and sniff sometimes.  Then I get pissed off about living in a consumer orgy.  It’s obscene really—and I doubt anyone would disagree with me.  Even myself, I think I’ve already been to Target twice in only 4 days of being home.  I want to respond, “Don’t mind me—I’m bored and I’m going to go masturbate with a credit card.”
I just feel shame for our country. We fight for our rights and ignore our obligations. The only consolation is that 2/3 of the world’s population doesn’t understand or know how pitifully we behave with our disposable income (something unfathomable to them).   Yes, we’ve forgotten about those who are hungry because we are interminably distracted by our own need for new (72” Flat screen HD) TV.     “You deserve it”—or so the advertisement states.   So what do my friends in Tanzania deserve?  To go hungry? 

And for those who will state, “There’s nothing I can do—I’m just one person”
Awake their imaginations.  Some of the most amazing progress in the history of our world was initiated by just one person.  In case they are not that one person—there’s a chance they could be the sponsor to that one person through the child sponsorship programs that are available online.
This is Rose.  She is my sponsored child since 2004.  She loves music and wants to go to University.  Her family lives on less than $1 a day.

And for those shaking their heads saying, “Daris needs to get over this.”
I’d like to suggest that that is the problem with us Americans.  We’ve all fallen asleep on our little island; our bellies are full and are minds are entertained.  We are properly distracted, obedient and complacent. 

So, with that all said, who wants to sit in on my ‘Introduction to Fine Arts’ class this fall?  I’ve been voted most likely to lose my shit at any time with all the entitled, hung-over, and indignant college students.

Driving in Tanzania has liberated me from driving on the right side of the road.  Anyone want to carpool?

Tom has a baby in Tanzania named after him. He wanted me to add that it wasn’t his baby, and that he is very honored by this gesture.   Tom is an amazing guy.  At Makumira he helped with brass ensemble, choir, men’s voice, music theory class, and private tutoring.  The students loved him—as do I.

Hilde (pronounced ‘Hilda’) is here.  She is from Norway and will be with us through May.  She’s a real sweetheart despite being a French horn player.


“You can never get enough of what you don't need to make you happy.”  ~Eric Hoffer

“Be glad that  you're greedy; the national economy would collapse if you weren't.”  ~Mignon McLaughlin,The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

“The poverty of our century is unlike that of any other.  It is not, as poverty was before, the result of natural scarcity, but of a set of priorities imposed upon the rest of the world by the rich.  Consequently, the modern poor are not pitied... but written off as trash.  The twentieth-century consumer economy has produced the first culture for which a beggar is a reminder of nothing.”  ~John Berger

“The gap in our economy is between what we have and what we think we ought to have - and that is a moral problem, not an economic one.”  ~Paul Heyne

“What do I think of western civilization?  I think would be a very good idea.”  M. Gandhi 


Grumpy about clean, fresh towels,
Daris


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WH Chronicle 1.45

August 2, 2011
Tom and kids are in California.   I’ve spoken with them only once since July 20th, though we've texted frequently.  Right before they left, we teased Tom about waiting at the airport days in advance of their flight.   Regardless of how early they arrived before their departure, they landed safely and happily in the U.S. with little hassles.  Sam shed a few tears over missing his buddy, Nathan.   When I asked Daryl, “Do you miss anything in Africa?”  She replied, “You!” and began crying.  But now they are surrounded with American comforts, friends, and families.
 
As for me, I’m missing them, too.    It will be wonderful to hug on them, again. 

I’m currently doing everything there is to do in Dodoma; including having a great time with Ed and Debra.   This is the last night before I step off into my deep country travels.  And, possibly the last Chronicle from Africa, as I’m not too sure about future access to items like running water, electricity, or even necessities like internet.  Toilet paper is a luxury long forgotten.

While writing the last Chronicle before our Makumira tour departure, I couldn’t have imagined the amazing experiences to be shared by our musicians.  We performed 8 concerts in 5 days—all with incredible receptions and responses.  We enjoyed ‘rock star’ status and I beamed with pride over my students and fellow colleagues.  Several times, in both Dar es Salaam and Dodoma, people continued to recognize a few of us as the “Makumira musicians”.  We were even asked judge a music competition (already in progress) while we were simply entering the music venue for a soda.   We politely declined the honor by claiming that we had dinner engagements at the U.S. Embassy.   This was actually true, but stating it made us snicker like school children.

My writing ability doesn’t yet offer justice to the experiences I had at Makumira.  I was always surrounded by love and music.  The last few days of the their company provided me with a volatile whirlwind of emotions.  Extreme happiness and joy laced with the bitterness of a looming goodbye.   All I could think was ‘had it not been so good, it wouldn’t be so painful’.   When it was time for their bus to leave me behind,  I waved a sniffley goodbye that quickly began melting into something messier. One of my sweet students pushed me inside the building while compassionately saying, “You don’t need to watch them leave.”  I appreciated it.  All of the students hated to see me cry.  Normally they were always chuckling at my jokes; so to see me in a less than cheerful state really bothered them.  They coached each other on the words to avoid when talking with me because it might trigger an undesired response.  The last night of the tour, two of the ladies even slept in bed with me.  I guess this would be really weird anywhere else in the world, but in Tanzania—it’s what you do.
 
Shortly after the departure of my Makumira family, my two admirable escorts (music students/ body guards/translators) took me on a bike ride around an artsy village on the coast, then to the beach, and then hired motorcycles to ride through the country to another beautiful beach where we lay in the sand staring at the stars.  It was a nice way to ease the pain.  
Since that time, we’ve been to music festivals, monuments, museums, public schools, universities, concerts, dinners, the national fair, on and on….  Tomorrow we ride a slow train across the country—sometimes this train makes it in a few days, but sometimes it doesn’t.   Either way is fine with me and that’s a good feeling.   My last obligation here is to board a flight to the U.S. on August 16th, just so Tom doesn’t have to come and get me.

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”  ~Albert Einstein

“There is nothing that wastes the body like worry, and one who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

A million miles away from it all,
Daris







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