CAMP

Ouch, I’m disappointed with the lack of response to my SCREMBO challenge. I’m not sure why I found that word so amusing, as there are phonetically written misspelled English words all the time here. I guess it’s just that I’ve never even heard anyone use the word when referring to eggs [scrambled], so I was shocked that anyone would even understand what scrembo means in the first place…

After nearly a month, I’ve given up on growing out my pinky nail. It’s something quite a few Tanzanian men here do. I’ve tried to explore the cultural significance, at the same time sharing with very interested Tanzanians the meanings I’m familiar with from other cultures [i.e. East Asians who grew fingernails, all of them if I recall, as a status symbol to signify wealth, since obviously farmers would never be able to maintain them. The other meaning I’m aware of is pinky nail as a convenient method for snorting cocaine]. There seemed to be one hypothesis floating revolving around the very secretive tradition of some Tanzanian women wearing beads around their waist as a very sexual body decoration. Someone told me that the pinky nail was thus rubbed against these beads to create a sort of rattlesnake sound and provide stimulation. I’m unconvinced, and at this point leaning towards the theory of blind, ignorant imitation of other cultures. Plus it’s handy, because the meat here is really tough and there aren’t always toothpicks.

Catching up on news from the past few weeks, I spent the weekend before last helping out at a youth camp in nearby Usagara town. There were 60 some young people who spent the night learning about HIV/AIDS, watching educational videos, and trying nobly but not rather successfully to play Frisbee [I had a good time watching them, though]. It was a great opportunity for me to talk with some of these young boys and girls about various issues and answer questions that they had probably been holding onto for quite a while but were afraid to ask any of their teachers or any of the people who might actually have correct answers. And it was fun for me to just see young people having FUN.

But at the same time, I felt guilty. The camp members spent the night at the primary school talking, watching movies, and hanging out. I went home early, at 7pm, because I felt tired and not up for an all-nighter. Which led to the guilt. I can’t stand it here sometimes, the pressure can be excruciatingly intense. I feel like I’m always at work, 24/7, that just LIVING here is work. There are so many students teachers parents youth adults with so many projects questions activities lessons stories that I get overwhelmed by it all. Maybe there was a young boy at that camp who had important questions about using condoms, for example, and wanted to ask me when there were fewer people around. But I went home, so he didn’t ask, so now maybe he’s going to go have sex without condoms and could potential get a girl pregnant or get HIV. I think it’s a combination of how much work there is to do here, and how much importance the work has in terms the lives and futures of these people, that makes life here so heavy at times. It’s just one end of the spectrum of my feelings here, and it makes things rough.

The next morning I went back. On the way in, we passed by a small village that was having their weekly ‘big market,’ and I thought about how young kids at home in the States would be watching cartoons this Sunday morning, while young boys in this village were busy rushing up to our car with their wheelbarrows, eagerly greeting the businesspeople who had brought big bundles of goods to the market. These boys would gladly haul these bundles the 10-15 minutes to the site of the bazaar, for maybe a dime a trip.

The morning got heavier.

But I arrived at the camp and almost immediately felt much better. We played camp games [telephone, chain-tag, human knot type stuff] and continued with more lessons on STDs. There was time for Question and Answer, and informal discussions. One young man, a student at a nearby secondary school, had about 50 questions to ask me that clearly suggested he was sexually active and was NOT using condoms, or using them incorrectly. But he expressed interest in hearing what I had to say and getting some advice, which is all I can ask for when trying to do my job.

We also took pictures, a few of which are included here, which of course got them all VERY excited. I also found out that one of the young woman with babies [there were about 5 in all who brought children with them] had named her young son ‘Brian.’ Between that and the Dr. stuff, I’m not sure when I’ve been so flattered! It was a much lighter day, which I needed.

Some young people at the camp

Me being swarmed

Will try to get a picture up later of me and my namesake Brian, and his mother
[Just for extra clarification I am NOT his father...]