This week I played a role in the fate of a six-hour baby, survived a midnight attack of carnivorous ants, and jumped out of a bus window.

I remember once when I was taking role for a class on AIDS and one girl would write "Lukia" as her first name one day, and "Rukia" the next. It unfailingly alternated. Spelling here is like the points on "Who's Line is it Anyway"; it just doesn't matter. So I shouldn't have been surprised when I asked the new mother her 6-hour-old baby's name, and the nurse recorded it without asking how it was spelled. Then, when I read aloud what she had written, she said "Oops! Oh well."

If I had woken up 20 minutes later, it probably would have been to the tune of ants munching away at my toes. Luckily, for some reason I scanned the wall, or what was visible of it under the wallpaper of ants, with my flashlight. Scanning the floor, I saw I would have to make a dash for the living room as they were starting to cover that too. Soon after my escape, they were marching across my bed as well. My entire courtyard was throbbing with them. Environmentalists, skip to the next paragraph: I draw the line at attacks in my bed. I had a spray can of Raid, and let loose on the ants, finally able to return to my bed about 2 hours after I was so rudely awakened.

Usually I like to pretend that I can blend in with a crowd here, but last Wednesday I didn't even try. The bus conductor's generally foul mood changed to astonishment when I motioned to him that instead of force my way through a thick crowd of people, chickens and donkeys (ok, no donkeys, but there could have been), I'd simply jump out the window when it came to my stop. The other passengers thought this was a riot. The pressure was on, and I worried a little bit about hurting myself or chickening out. Luckily, the only thing bruised in the process was my papaya.

For those who enjoyed the quizzes earlier, here's another:
Which of these have I carried on the back of my bike?
a. a kindergartener
b. 6 chickens
c. a pregnant woman and a baby
d. a Wisconsonian
e. an 80-year-old farmer
f. an 80-year-old nun

Here's a hint: There's only 1 wrong answer. Giving "liftis" is part of the culture here. I have never carried livestock on my bike (so letter b is out), but I can't say no if someone is walking down a hill that I am biking down. I wanted to ask the nun if I could try on her nun-hat (wimple?) but I was too shy. Probably for the better, but I couldn't help think that it would be a fair trade for the ride I gave her. There is constant controversy among non-nun villagers about what their hair looks like under there. I've never been friends with any nuns before I came to Tanzania, but the ones in my village are really cool. There's one who punches me in the arm if I say "Shikamoo"(the Kiswahili greeting of respect) instead of Kamwene (the tribal greeting) to her.

A Fish Tale

Generally whenever I try something new here, be it digging a garden bed, washing my clothes or adding salt to a dish, I get fired. My host family would take the knife from me if I tried to cut cabbage, or the jam-making instructor would snatch the spoon from my hands (who knew that stirring was a talent? Apparently I don’t have it). Finally I tried something that didn’t get me fired yesterday... and I’m taking it as a sign of my fate. I think I’m destined to be a fisherman (fisherperson?) in Tanzania.

Obviously the adventure was a spectacle: definitely the first time anyone in my village has seen a mzungu waist-deep in the water, covered in muck, grabbing at fish and wearing pants. Net-fishing in stocked ponds is a far cry from the idyllic image that the word “fishing” conjures of waiting patiently on the river for a bite, beer in hand, but it was one of the most fun things I have done at site. There are three fishponds in my village, the largest of which is about 6 meters by 6 meters. It took about 9 people every time we dragged the pond. Some held the net to the bottom of the pond, and others walked along the edge holding the poles at the end of the net. The excitement began as we all lifted together to see whether we’d gotten any fish. Then there was chaos as fish flew through the air: small ones were chucked into a holding pond, larger ones into a bucket for dinner. Frogs unwittingly caught in the net jumped to freedom, crabs scuttled away, some of the largest beetles I’ve seen (easily as big as the mid-sized fish) dazedly made their way back to the pond. It's tough and dirty work, and one of the fishermen kept saying "Its nothing like raising chickens!" over and over. I nearly gave the chairman of the fish group a heart attack by trying to hand him a frog instead of a fish—he has no problem with fish, but he acted like the frog was a handful of raw sewage. If only frog-legs were a delicacy here, the group could have been rich. It was a learning experience; we chalked up a poor harvest to the fact that we hadn’t let out enough of the water to keep the fish from hiding in holes on the edges. We got enough fish for dinner though (I fried mine up with butter and spices), and it was delicious!

Ten ways to know Tanzania is seeping into your subconscious:
1. The sight of a 20-liter bucket perched on a stool by the side of the road makes you salivate (obviously there must be delicious fried food for sale inside)
2. When a guest comes over, you immediately abandon him so you can prepare a meal or at least some chai
3. You sweep the dirt outside your house to keep it nice and clean
4. Elbows and determination are more important at the store than lines
5. You refuse to eat bananas before they’ve been washed
6. You feel uncomfortable leaving the house in pants, and shorts would be almost as bad as going naked (for girls anyway)
7. A kissing noise makes you automatically run to get out of the way (of someone on a bike with no bell)
8. You chop vegetables in your hand, and chop them really, really tiny
9. When kids come running at you with dirty hands outstretched, instead of fleeing, you bow down so they can touch your head (respectful way of greeting)
10. You turn down wedding proposals by telling the guys they don’t have enough livestock to satisfy your parents

And a good indicator that the Southern Highlands are affecting you is that you can’t give a handshake without bending your knees (the curtsey is something I’m going to have to work to kick).

On Monday I may have acquired a reputation as a pathological liar when I co-taught my first environmental lesson at the primary school. One girl sitting at the back wore the expression you'd wear if someone told you that in their country fish rode bicycles and spoke Chinese, and many others looked quite skeptical. I noted this just after I had explained hibernation and the fact that it's only around the equator that day and night are roughly 12 hours each year round. I tried to describe how cold it gets in northern regions, but all I could think of was to say "you have to wear loooooooooooots of coats." Most of the kids have never been anywhere outside of the Southern Highlands, have never seen ice or snow, and cannot possibly imagine anything colder than June in our district. I'm lucky to be teaching with a really energetic young teacher, who helps to explain things that I probably didn't grasp fully until I got to college (such as the relationship of earth and sun and its influence on climate). The class/meeting went much better than I expected (much better than attempting to teach English as a third language to a special education class using Swahili as the language of instruction-blog entry Sept. 18 2006), and most of the sixty-one 5th-7th grade students who signed up actually showed up.

Yesterday I had just finished an agroforestry consultation visit and the farmer I was visiting wanted to thank me for coming by giving me some eggs. So he called his 4-year-old son and hoisted him through a small window about 4 feet off the ground; the only entry into the grain storage hut to search for eggs. I realized a little detail about Tanzanian rural life: It is possible to rely on a structure that requires a small child for its use because there always seem to be plenty around! In my experience, the average family has 7 or 8 children, and they are always shocked that I am one of three kids in our family.

Today I'm getting a "shadower." This is a new Peace Corps trainee who comes to my village to see what I do every day. Compared to other Peace Corpses' houses, mine is not set up at all... I crouch next to a bucket to do my dishes and sweep with a grass handle-less broom, for instance. But I made a chocolate fudge cake, hoping to pull an “Amelia Bedelia.”