When Kesho (Tomorrow) turns to Kwa Heri (Goodbye)

I left Jifundishe and Ngongongare on October 13th. It already feels like a lifetime ago. Well, it feels longer than a week and a half, at least.

I struggle, when I write or talk about village life in Tanzania, with the idea of romanticising it. So I will say this; life here isn't easy, but it isn't difficult either. When you have never known a life without near-daily power outages, this isn't a hardship. It is simply your reality and you work with what you have.

My last night and morning in Ngongongare, I had clear views to Mt. Meru. I also had the joy of a 28 hour (at the time I left) power outage. Hey, solar power. I love you! Despite the cloudy days and draining my solar power a few days earlier so I could get some work done during the day - power was routinely cut during the day while Tanesco replaced a series of power poles - I had enough power to charge my phone and finish some computer work for Jifundishe.

Mt. Meru in the early morning of the day I left.

I headed to the office for the last time to put the finishing touches on the User Guides I created. As Anne and Deb were off doing work in other places, it was just Anande and myself seated in opposite ends of the staff house with the generator running between us. Conversations usually started with muffled shouting, followed by one of us giving up and walking to the other person's office.

My mornings and evenings were usually spent in this seat. Positioning it here meant I had
a ledge to rest my coffee/beer on, I was facing the right direction to watch the sunset, and
when someone called out 'Hodi' at the backdoor, I only had to lean back to see who it was.

I headed back up to the house to grab my bags and say 'kwa heri' (goodbye) to Frida. When I arrived, I found that she had still cooked lunch (although I told her I was leaving at lunchtime) and that the lunch consisted of all the foods I had commented on when she had cooked them. Frida is friendly enough but the word stoic is definitely one that comes to mind when I think of her. To find that she had done this meant a lot, and I wish I had been more diligent in my Swahili so I could have said more to her than 'thank you very much', 'I will miss you' and 'next time I will speak more Swahili'. Frida, of course, waved off my declarations of feelings as if a fly was hovering around her face, and then she walked away when I asked for a picture.

Looking at the kitchen from the living room.

Again, I don't want to romanticise village life, but I really do slip into it so easily when I'm here. As long as I have my Dial-A-Paulo when I need a ride somewhere (or a beer run on a Friday night...), I enjoy the quiet that comes with living in a small community. My time here just reinforced that I want to do an extended stay again at some point in the future. And while I enjoyed my time of Cradle of Love, my time at Jifundishe feels much more productive. I'm not just another volunteer passing through, I'm actually contributing something meaningful and lasting for this organisation.

My evening view. I'd read my book and either drink tea or beer until the sunset.

I had a few days before my Travel Companion (henceforth called TC) arrived and I really did not want to spend any more time in Arusha. I took the Friday to visit the Tanzanian Tourist Board office and get a bus ticket to Kondoa with the intention of seeing the Kondoa Rock Art. Dark and early Saturday morning, I hopped on a bus headed to Kondoa.

When I reached Kondoa, I contacted the Cultural Tour Guide I had connected with at the Tourist Office, and discovered that the price he quoted me was based on two people taking the tour. As a solo traveller, I'd have to pay the whole price myself. Even on the phone, he said "it's very expensive for one person." Yes. Yes, it is. I could arrange to visit the site myself, but I woke up Sunday morning with some stomach issues. I ventured out to grab some food and water, then returned to my room with cable. There would be no visiting the Rock Paintings on Monday as I had planned.

Despite this, I enjoyed Kondoa. I was feeling better on Monday and was able to walk around the town. It was just far enough off the beaten path that I was an oddity as a white person but everyone was incredibly friendly. It was also almost entirely Muslim which meant that my tattoo was a huge hit because they are forbidden by Islam. Everyone wanted to touch it, and one guy looked like he was going to throw up when I explained how a tattoo gun works. Pretty much everyone here is terrified of needles so the fact that I sat for 40 minutes getting repeatedly poked with one won me a few 'hardcore' points in their eyes.

As I sat on the bus to leave, I realised that I hadn't taken a single picture of the town.

Just a reason to go back, I guess!