There's a lot to learn about life here in Tanzania, and I've been quite busy over the past three weeks, be it teaching, cleaning, or killing cockroaches with a machete. So far here in Songea, however, the most challenging aspect of my life---and, by extension, the one I'm most determined to improve---is cooking. I'll be brutally honest: I have the cooking ability of an epileptic chimp suffering from an aneurysm... prior to my arrival in Africa, the closest thing I had done to proper cooking was chem lab, and I wasn't any good at that, either. Thus, becoming a decent chef has been the overarching theme of my last three weeks at site, and I've definitely had a bunch of thrills---and spills---along the way. So, without further ado, I present for your viewing pleasure "Three Weeks of Cooking with Paul in Tanzania---the Cookbook."
Paul's World-Famous Failburgers
Buy a kilo of meat. Realize the butcher gave you a crappy cut, and hack off 3/4 kilo of bone, gristle, and connective tissue. Run remaining meat through a meat grinder. Have meat grinder jam. Take apart meat grinder and remove more connective tissue. Reassemble meat grinder and try again. Have about 1/2 burger's worth of meat come out. Take remaining jammed meat and cut into tiny pieces. Break an egg over the pile of meat, accidentally getting bits of shell into the patty. Decide you're too hungry to care and fry the patty in a pan using too much oil. Have patty disintegrate the second you place it in the pan. Consume sullenly over a piece of bread.
N.Y. Strip Steak with Sauteed Onions, Green Beans, and Mashed Potatoes
Spend all day picking up the necessary ingredients. Get really excited for the feast you have planned. Come home. Have the power go out. Realize that the only stoves you have in your house are electric. Also realize that, while you own a kerosene lantern, you don't have any matches. Eat bananas alone in the dark.
Two-Day-Old N.Y. Strip Steak with Sauteed Onions, Green Beans, and Mashed Potatoes
Wait 36 hours for the power to come back on. Excitedly tear open the newspaper wrapping your raw meat. Sadly realize that the meat is now completely spoiled/full of maggots. Give meat to a hungry dog. Die a little inside.
Garlic Hash Browns... with a Kick!
Chop garlic, chop potatoes, chop hot pepper. Put too much oil in the pan. Don't think it's a big deal, and dump everything in. Have one drop of scalding hot oil splash out of the pan and land right between your eyes. Look like you have a bindi for the next three weeks. Also realize that, despite all odds, hash browns are actually delicious.
The Almighty Calorie Pile
Don't eat anything all day. Miss the last daladala into town. Return home and take everything remotely consumable in your kitchen (meat, eggs, potatoes, rice, spinach, tomatoes, onions, garlic, hot peppers, bananas, last night's leftovers, etc.), chop into fine pieces, and dump into a giant pot. Add some water for good measure. Cook the **** out of everything for 1.5+ hours. Pour resulting grayish mixture over rice. Serve.
Toast
Can't mess up toast! Oh wait, yes you can. Turn heat all the way up and put bread on a pan. Forget you're cooking toast and go out and work in the garden for 30 minutes. Be alarmed when you see black smoke issuing from your kitchen window. Come back inside to realize that you've almost burned your house down.
Make-Believe Grilled Cheese
Take two pieces of bread. Fry in a pan with a little bit of oil. Put one piece of bread on top of the other. Pretend you have cheese. Savor.
In all honesty, my cooking has, in fact, come along somewhat, and my meals are slowly becoming more palatable as I gain more experience. It's a growing process, I guess, and I have a whole two years to perfect my art. Now, if you'll excuse me, all this talk is making me hungry. I think I'll buy some more bananas in case my power goes out again.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
And Now, a Moment of Reflection
So, I've been at site for two weeks. I'm firmly out of training: I'm spending most of my time now teaching, drawing up lesson plans, exercising, and thinking about my next meal. I'm by no means an expert on Tanzania---I'm still about as green as they come---but these past two weeks have given me some perspective regarding life as a Peace Corps volunteer. In that spirit, I'd like to share a minor revelation I've had during my service thus far:
Despite my relentlessly cheery attitude in most of my blog posts, service hasn't been all smiles and sunshine. During the first week of CBT (cultural-based training in Morogoro), I felt surprisingly isolated and homesick, even though I had only been in country for two weeks. I was with a host family, for sure, but I still felt alone, separated from my family and friends back home. I even felt isolated from my fellow trainees, who seemed incredibly distant in their neighboring villages... none of us had cellphones and there was effectively a communication blackout until our first big meeting the following weekend. As time passed, however, these perceived distances began to shorten, and eventually I began to realize that my friends in Peace Corps weren't that far away---hell, we were practically next-door neighbors. I didn't realize until the second week, for example, that a whole other group of trainees was literally located across the street from my host school. As a result, by the end of training, we all were pretty much reunited in my mind: we could navigate the town, go to market together, or just hang out if we felt like it. The last week in Dar was especially fun... we essentially got to relive the awesome first week we had in country, only this time we all already knew each other. Plus, there was Thanksgiving dinner, which kicked ass.
For lack of a better analogy, it's kind of like your first time swimming as a little kid. You go through all sorts of preparation beforehand---you put on your floaties, you take one last whiz, and you take a few, cleansing breaths. But, no matter what you do, when you walk up to the edge of that pool and stick your toe in the water, you're terrified: the pool is huge, and the water is deep and full of the unknown. This situation is made considerably worse when your father finally gets fed up with your cowardice and pushes you in, at which point your oh-my-God-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here reflex kicks in and you desperately flail around in a panicked attempt at survival. After clawing your way to the surface a few times, though, you finally begin to get the hang of it, and, suddenly, the pool doesn't seem so big anymore. You begin to notice small comforts, like a passing pool noodle, a warm pocket, or the fact that your feet can touch the bottom (and, like an idiot, you totally didn't realize this until just now). Most importantly, you begin to realize that there are other kids in the pool who are enjoying themselves, and if you can join whatever game they're playing, then maybe---just maybe---life won't be so bad after all.
That's kind of how I feel about the current situation here in Songea. This time, however, it's as if I've been forcibly extracted from the kiddie pool of training (which, in and of itself, was not easy to get used to) and unceremoniously dumped into real life volunteerdom. I really shouldn't complain: my house is quite nice by Peace Corps standards, and I'm only a 15-minute daladala ride from civilization (of course, I sometimes have to wait an hour for this daladala, but whatever). Still, the first few days alone at site were really kind of tough... not knowing where anything was in town, getting called mzungu by pretty much everyone (even my own headmaster), and having to completely furnish my house from scratch---none of these elements of PCV life was particularly glamorous or enjoyable. I've spent countless hours wandering the seemingly endless streets and alleys of Songea, armed with only my backpack and a cheat-sheet of translated words for things I need to, well, live. These past two weeks have effectively been my "clawing to the surface" period, replete with self-doubt, insecurity, and, in some isolated instances, moments of sheer panic.
But now, after two weeks at site, I feel as if I've come to a turn of sorts... I'm finding the proverbial pool noodle amidst the waves of uncertainty. I can teach. I can clean. I can cook (kind of). I have worldly possessions (like my awesome new meat grinder). If I need a new pot, I know where to get one. If I need more avocados, I know a guy. And if I want to get out of the house, I know where the best view is. I'm beginning to experience the small comforts of life as a volunteer, and, slowly but surely, the swimming pool is getting smaller. It's only a matter of time before I start jumping off the high dive.
Granted, getting to this point won't be easy. I still have a lot to learn and a lot to experience before I truly feel comfortable in my surroundings. The process, however, has begun. All the other kids in the pool seem to be having a good time... I guess it would be rude of me not to join the fun.
And now, to go home and get back to work. Those giant winged termites aren't going to exterminate themselves.
Despite my relentlessly cheery attitude in most of my blog posts, service hasn't been all smiles and sunshine. During the first week of CBT (cultural-based training in Morogoro), I felt surprisingly isolated and homesick, even though I had only been in country for two weeks. I was with a host family, for sure, but I still felt alone, separated from my family and friends back home. I even felt isolated from my fellow trainees, who seemed incredibly distant in their neighboring villages... none of us had cellphones and there was effectively a communication blackout until our first big meeting the following weekend. As time passed, however, these perceived distances began to shorten, and eventually I began to realize that my friends in Peace Corps weren't that far away---hell, we were practically next-door neighbors. I didn't realize until the second week, for example, that a whole other group of trainees was literally located across the street from my host school. As a result, by the end of training, we all were pretty much reunited in my mind: we could navigate the town, go to market together, or just hang out if we felt like it. The last week in Dar was especially fun... we essentially got to relive the awesome first week we had in country, only this time we all already knew each other. Plus, there was Thanksgiving dinner, which kicked ass.
For lack of a better analogy, it's kind of like your first time swimming as a little kid. You go through all sorts of preparation beforehand---you put on your floaties, you take one last whiz, and you take a few, cleansing breaths. But, no matter what you do, when you walk up to the edge of that pool and stick your toe in the water, you're terrified: the pool is huge, and the water is deep and full of the unknown. This situation is made considerably worse when your father finally gets fed up with your cowardice and pushes you in, at which point your oh-my-God-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here reflex kicks in and you desperately flail around in a panicked attempt at survival. After clawing your way to the surface a few times, though, you finally begin to get the hang of it, and, suddenly, the pool doesn't seem so big anymore. You begin to notice small comforts, like a passing pool noodle, a warm pocket, or the fact that your feet can touch the bottom (and, like an idiot, you totally didn't realize this until just now). Most importantly, you begin to realize that there are other kids in the pool who are enjoying themselves, and if you can join whatever game they're playing, then maybe---just maybe---life won't be so bad after all.
That's kind of how I feel about the current situation here in Songea. This time, however, it's as if I've been forcibly extracted from the kiddie pool of training (which, in and of itself, was not easy to get used to) and unceremoniously dumped into real life volunteerdom. I really shouldn't complain: my house is quite nice by Peace Corps standards, and I'm only a 15-minute daladala ride from civilization (of course, I sometimes have to wait an hour for this daladala, but whatever). Still, the first few days alone at site were really kind of tough... not knowing where anything was in town, getting called mzungu by pretty much everyone (even my own headmaster), and having to completely furnish my house from scratch---none of these elements of PCV life was particularly glamorous or enjoyable. I've spent countless hours wandering the seemingly endless streets and alleys of Songea, armed with only my backpack and a cheat-sheet of translated words for things I need to, well, live. These past two weeks have effectively been my "clawing to the surface" period, replete with self-doubt, insecurity, and, in some isolated instances, moments of sheer panic.
But now, after two weeks at site, I feel as if I've come to a turn of sorts... I'm finding the proverbial pool noodle amidst the waves of uncertainty. I can teach. I can clean. I can cook (kind of). I have worldly possessions (like my awesome new meat grinder). If I need a new pot, I know where to get one. If I need more avocados, I know a guy. And if I want to get out of the house, I know where the best view is. I'm beginning to experience the small comforts of life as a volunteer, and, slowly but surely, the swimming pool is getting smaller. It's only a matter of time before I start jumping off the high dive.
Granted, getting to this point won't be easy. I still have a lot to learn and a lot to experience before I truly feel comfortable in my surroundings. The process, however, has begun. All the other kids in the pool seem to be having a good time... I guess it would be rude of me not to join the fun.
And now, to go home and get back to work. Those giant winged termites aren't going to exterminate themselves.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Mustaches, Celebrity Status, and the End of Summer Camp
Hey, folks! It's been a little while since the last post, and A LOT has gone down in the meantime. Luckily, now that I'm here in Songea, I've progressed from the incredibly structured life of the Peace Corps Trainee to the incredibly unstructured life of the Peace Corps Volunteer, which means I have a little more time to organize my thoughts. With that, here's a disjointed highlight reel of the past two weeks of my life:
1) Swearing in was a blast. A few weeks prior to the event, all the PCT males got together and formed a pact to grow the most hideous mustaches possible for the event (heretofore known as the almighty "Swear-In 'Staches"). The result was about 15 guys dressed in their most formal African-style clothing at an official US Embassy event, sporting the most ATROCIOUS mustaches imaginable. For the more facial hair-challenged (like me), this resulted in a pretty ugly crust-stache/Fu Manchu look. However, there were some real winners in the bunch: collectively, we rocked the "Tennessee Highway," the "Hulk Hogan," the "Dog the Bounty Hunter," the "Lightning-Sideburns," the "Muttonstache," the "70's Porn Star," the "Mario," and, of course, the "Ned Flanders," to name a few. The pictures are hilarious... I think they're going to post one on the official PC website, and if it's the one I think it is, it's a doozy. Here's hoping this tradition continues with the next trainee class.
2) As for the actual swearing in, things went pretty smoothly. My speech for our class, while nerve-wracking (I was giving it at a formal US Embassy event in front of ~100 people... completely in Kiswahili), went by without too many hiccups, and afterward people said it was pretty good. I was also recruited to play the Tanzanian and American national anthems on my concertina on stage, as well as a Kiswahili rendition of "Little Help from My Friends" for our class, and I didn't mess up---too much---on any of those numbers. One thing of note: during the proceedings, there were a few ITV (the Tanzanian version of CNN) guys with cameras, but I didn't think too much of them at the time. As I learned from our Country Director the following day, those guys apparently broadcast the majority of my speech/musical performance nationwide that evening. This has been both completely awesome and completely embarrassing. On the one hand, holy crap, I was just on the most-watched news network in the country speaking Kiswahili for ~10 minutes---a fact that has catapulted me to quasi-celebrity status (I've already had a bunch of people in Dar, on the bus to Songea, and in Songea recognize me). On the other hand, holy crap, this is so embarrassing: I look pretty stupid in my pre-pubescent crust-stache playing the concertina, I totally botched a few parts of all three songs, and my entire speech was filled with so-called "American Sarcasm"---squat toilet references, tongue-in-cheek criticisms of Tanzanian chicken-slaughtering practices, and numerous zings at Kenya. Well, I guess if my speech was good enough to be quoted in Majira (a national Tanzanian newspaper), I didn't offend too many people. In any case, I'm looking into getting a copy of the footage, so stay tuned.
3) Songea is great. It's a nice little town, pretty out of the way as far as the tourist circuit is concerned, but accessible enough that Dar is (in theory) a one-day trip. I'm a big fan of my house: it's big, it has electricity, and it has running water. Of course, the electricity and running water aren't on all the time, but who's complaining? The people here are also fantastic, and all of the Songea crew threw a big Thanksgiving bash to welcome my classmate Veronica and me to site, which was definitely a lot of fun. In all, things are looking up: good house, good site, good friends... hopefully this should be a fun two years.
4) If I must complain about one thing at site, though, it's the arthropod invasion that occurs at my house every night. In Morogoro, I was in a never-ending, losing battle against the dust in the area... here in Songea, I'm locked in a never-ending, losing struggle for supremacy with the local insect population. My house has the unfortunate combination of large windows and bright, incandescent lighting, meaning that every night I have to erect a zombie apocalypse-style barrier against the hordes of cockroaches, june bugs, mosquitoes, ants, spiders, and other creepy-crawlies that try to get in. It's eerie sometimes... once the sun goes down, I rush inside, draw my curtains, and simply listen to the soft pitter-patter of bugs smacking into my windows for most of the night. Of course, no defense is perfect, and there have been a few breaches in my homemade defense system. The first few days at site were spent murdering dozens of two-inch long cockroaches, followed by fending off a flanking movement of mosquitoes coming in through a hole in my bathroom. While I've mostly managed to stymie these two incursions, my house has recently been completely overrun with ants: a leaked ~3mL puddle of palm oil was apparently enough to summon a freaking legion of ants ACROSS the entirety of my house... I don't think I've ever seen---or killed---so many living things in my life. And I don't think this war is over, either.
5) Living alone at site has reminded me of how pitifully uneducated I am when it comes to food preparation. I've mostly been putting off cooking for myself as long as possible, eating cold samosas or simply going hungry. However, due partly to boredom and partly to shame, I've started making forays into the market to try cooking for myself. My first food run in town yesterday yielded a kilo of beef (note to self: a kilo is WAY too much), three unknown spices, some overpriced vegetables, and a whole bunch of flour (whether it's corn or wheat, I don't know). The idea was to make Chinese peppersteak per the instructions listed in the Peace Corps Cookbook, but I altered pretty much everything... I'm pretty sure, for example, that Chinese food doesn't have that much cumin in it. I can say this much: whatever I cooked last night has beef, onion, and green pepper in it... just like real Chinese peppersteak, only without the deliciousness. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to get heart failure from all the oil I've been using, or parasites from all the raw meat I've been handling. Such is life, I guess.
Okay, this post is long enough. I'm starting teaching next week, and I have to stop procrastinating. The secondmaster says that my first class is going to have ~200 kids, so this'll definitely be interesting. Wish me luck!
1) Swearing in was a blast. A few weeks prior to the event, all the PCT males got together and formed a pact to grow the most hideous mustaches possible for the event (heretofore known as the almighty "Swear-In 'Staches"). The result was about 15 guys dressed in their most formal African-style clothing at an official US Embassy event, sporting the most ATROCIOUS mustaches imaginable. For the more facial hair-challenged (like me), this resulted in a pretty ugly crust-stache/Fu Manchu look. However, there were some real winners in the bunch: collectively, we rocked the "Tennessee Highway," the "Hulk Hogan," the "Dog the Bounty Hunter," the "Lightning-Sideburns," the "Muttonstache," the "70's Porn Star," the "Mario," and, of course, the "Ned Flanders," to name a few. The pictures are hilarious... I think they're going to post one on the official PC website, and if it's the one I think it is, it's a doozy. Here's hoping this tradition continues with the next trainee class.
2) As for the actual swearing in, things went pretty smoothly. My speech for our class, while nerve-wracking (I was giving it at a formal US Embassy event in front of ~100 people... completely in Kiswahili), went by without too many hiccups, and afterward people said it was pretty good. I was also recruited to play the Tanzanian and American national anthems on my concertina on stage, as well as a Kiswahili rendition of "Little Help from My Friends" for our class, and I didn't mess up---too much---on any of those numbers. One thing of note: during the proceedings, there were a few ITV (the Tanzanian version of CNN) guys with cameras, but I didn't think too much of them at the time. As I learned from our Country Director the following day, those guys apparently broadcast the majority of my speech/musical performance nationwide that evening. This has been both completely awesome and completely embarrassing. On the one hand, holy crap, I was just on the most-watched news network in the country speaking Kiswahili for ~10 minutes---a fact that has catapulted me to quasi-celebrity status (I've already had a bunch of people in Dar, on the bus to Songea, and in Songea recognize me). On the other hand, holy crap, this is so embarrassing: I look pretty stupid in my pre-pubescent crust-stache playing the concertina, I totally botched a few parts of all three songs, and my entire speech was filled with so-called "American Sarcasm"---squat toilet references, tongue-in-cheek criticisms of Tanzanian chicken-slaughtering practices, and numerous zings at Kenya. Well, I guess if my speech was good enough to be quoted in Majira (a national Tanzanian newspaper), I didn't offend too many people. In any case, I'm looking into getting a copy of the footage, so stay tuned.
3) Songea is great. It's a nice little town, pretty out of the way as far as the tourist circuit is concerned, but accessible enough that Dar is (in theory) a one-day trip. I'm a big fan of my house: it's big, it has electricity, and it has running water. Of course, the electricity and running water aren't on all the time, but who's complaining? The people here are also fantastic, and all of the Songea crew threw a big Thanksgiving bash to welcome my classmate Veronica and me to site, which was definitely a lot of fun. In all, things are looking up: good house, good site, good friends... hopefully this should be a fun two years.
4) If I must complain about one thing at site, though, it's the arthropod invasion that occurs at my house every night. In Morogoro, I was in a never-ending, losing battle against the dust in the area... here in Songea, I'm locked in a never-ending, losing struggle for supremacy with the local insect population. My house has the unfortunate combination of large windows and bright, incandescent lighting, meaning that every night I have to erect a zombie apocalypse-style barrier against the hordes of cockroaches, june bugs, mosquitoes, ants, spiders, and other creepy-crawlies that try to get in. It's eerie sometimes... once the sun goes down, I rush inside, draw my curtains, and simply listen to the soft pitter-patter of bugs smacking into my windows for most of the night. Of course, no defense is perfect, and there have been a few breaches in my homemade defense system. The first few days at site were spent murdering dozens of two-inch long cockroaches, followed by fending off a flanking movement of mosquitoes coming in through a hole in my bathroom. While I've mostly managed to stymie these two incursions, my house has recently been completely overrun with ants: a leaked ~3mL puddle of palm oil was apparently enough to summon a freaking legion of ants ACROSS the entirety of my house... I don't think I've ever seen---or killed---so many living things in my life. And I don't think this war is over, either.
5) Living alone at site has reminded me of how pitifully uneducated I am when it comes to food preparation. I've mostly been putting off cooking for myself as long as possible, eating cold samosas or simply going hungry. However, due partly to boredom and partly to shame, I've started making forays into the market to try cooking for myself. My first food run in town yesterday yielded a kilo of beef (note to self: a kilo is WAY too much), three unknown spices, some overpriced vegetables, and a whole bunch of flour (whether it's corn or wheat, I don't know). The idea was to make Chinese peppersteak per the instructions listed in the Peace Corps Cookbook, but I altered pretty much everything... I'm pretty sure, for example, that Chinese food doesn't have that much cumin in it. I can say this much: whatever I cooked last night has beef, onion, and green pepper in it... just like real Chinese peppersteak, only without the deliciousness. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to get heart failure from all the oil I've been using, or parasites from all the raw meat I've been handling. Such is life, I guess.
Okay, this post is long enough. I'm starting teaching next week, and I have to stop procrastinating. The secondmaster says that my first class is going to have ~200 kids, so this'll definitely be interesting. Wish me luck!
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