Uhuru Peak Primary School

This post is out of order (as it happens over a month after my last post), but it is about my recent volunteering at a primary school in Arusha, Tanzania.
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Uhuru Peak Primary School


As I started my time volunteering in Arusha, I was skeptical of how much help I would end up being to my school placement. I’m not a teacher, and, apart from a few short-stay (day or two long) volunteer opportunities back home, I have never taught before. I’m also not the greatest with kids, yet kids always seem to get along with me incredibly well. They love me, despite my predispositions to try not to deal with children too much. Given what I feel are my negatives for attempting to assist a primary school, I do have a few things going for me.
First off, I am a native and fluent English speaker, which automatically puts me on top of any English program a Tanzanian school may offer. Much to my surprise, the vast majority (if not all) Tanzanian schools must teach in English (with Swahili combined until old enough to learn in English). This means that a vast knowledge of English is needed to properly teach the kids not only how to speak and write in English, but also how to learn in English. Being a native English speaker puts me at both an advantage and a disadvantage. I know the language, I know what sounds right and wrong, I know most grammatical rules, and I can certainly teach in English. However, how do I teach English? How can I explain to a native Swahili speaker why all vowels can have several sounds depending on how they are used, when in Swahili all vowels have one sound no matter what? I’m not an expert in teaching English, but damn it if I can’t try my hardest.
Second, kids seem really fond of me. Despite what I may think about myself and how I handle kids, I’ve been told that kids just have fun with me, that I’m good with kids (despite what I may think). This will allow me to at least hold onto their attention to try to learn what I teach them and to get them focused on their work. Remember, “try” is the important rule here. I am at a primary school after all, and kids will be kids, boys will be boys, and paying attention is not a child’s strong suit.
Third and finally is my passion and drive. I am a part of something much greater than myself, a part of something that can benefit the 140+ kids at Uhuru Peak Primary School, a part of bringing a stronger education to areas of the world that may never see what the west sees. I can teach them skills to excel later in life, I can assist where the need is great, and I can try my hardest to inspire learning in areas where it is both neglected and forgotten.
The rest is up to me. I will easily learn along the way, find out what is wrong and what is right about how to teach, and get a first hand, in depth opportunity to experience education in a developing country. How are the kids treated? What are the teaching styles like? Are students neglected? Are they getting a proper education? I hope to find all these answers and more during my stay in Arusha at the Uhuru Peak Primary School.

Let me describe a little bit about the school itself. First, the school is a low-income private school. All Tanzanian schools are private schools that run government education. The teachers get paid by the school, not the government, and there are different socio-economic levels of private school depending on what you can afford. When I first arrived, I made a mental note of the area in which the school was located. Situated 15-20 minutes outside of the Arusha city center, the school is nestled just off the main road that connects Moshi, Nairobi, and Arusha together. Just a few minute walk from the road, the school is built between banana farms on one side, and residential housing on the other. There is a strong difference in the building compared to those around it. On the main road lies a gas station and a few very small, very local bars. The residential housing buildings are a mix of simple concrete with tin roofs, to simple mud buildings with tin roofs, to somewhat proper, modern homes with tilled roofs, yards, and glass windows. Its an interesting mix for the area, and no distinct way to tell what socio-economic class the region would be placed into.
The school itself looks like a concrete shell painted over in an odd shade of yellow. Imagine a three story office building with no glass windows (just concrete frames and the occasional wooden shutters), no exterior plating or tiling, no proper roof (just a concrete slab) and some simple paintings and posters hung around the outside on the 1st floor. To the right of the building is either a completely dilapidated or under construction section of concrete stairs with missing floors and no roof, obviously not in use, with the exception of the 1st floor which is used for cooking meals for the kids.
Walking into the school gives a better look at the structure. The first floor is all administrative, though it only occupies half of the floor, as the rest of the half appear to be used for structural support. The main staff office is a single room with a storage closet for food, a table with a single chair, and a 2nd table that has stacks of notebooks and school books. There are posters all over the wall that details the school schedule and how well the students have placed on national exanimations in the past few terms.
There is a principal’s office, and easily the nicest room on the whole compound. Walking in there are shelves with books (though not too many), a proper desk and chair built like a traditional business desk, a single throw-rug, a nice window (one of the only glass windows in the whole school), and a door that properly closes and opens. I feel now is appropriate to mention that none of the class rooms have doors, which is a horrible travesty for a primary school as children can be loud and their voices can carry all the way down the halls.
The 2nd and 3rd floors are the class rooms. Each classroom has a wall-sized chalkboard with no ledge to hold chalk. This means that the teachers use the window ledges as make-shift cupboards for chalk and erasers. There are plenty of desks for all the students, but they are two seated desks, meaning it looks like a small bench with a desk space attached. These desks crowd the room as there are some 24+ students per class with not a single student getting his or her own personal space unless their desk partner is absent for the day.
Most classrooms have two doors, one at the back of the room and one of the front. At first I found this to be unnecessary until I realized there was actually a practical use for it: to get to the chalk board. Unless you are as small as the elementary school students at the school, you will not be able to squeeze through the desk space without ample effort, turning, and frustration. You can easily shave 15 seconds off of your travel time just by entering the hall and coming in the front door (if you had happened to be at the back of the class, where the teacher’s desk is placed).
The floors of every room in the building (aside from the principal’s office) are nothing more than the concrete slabs that lay out the building. They are cracked, dirty, and uneven, which can lead to trips and stumbles as ones foot can easily become snagged on a “pothole” in the floor. There are sections of the floor that clearly were meant for pipes at one point or another, and depending on the room you are in, they have not been properly plugged up. They are nowhere big enough to trip on, but standing over them you can easily see the head or two of a student directly below you. It seems impossible that students have not used this to their advantage in the past, dropping things on purpose between the holes.
The library is the grandest room on the whole compound. Situated on the 3rd floor, it serves as the staff’s break room, the lunch room, the grading room, the studying room, the assembly and gathering space, and a lookout onto the school grounds. I use the word “grandest” lightly, and given the condition of the rest of the compound, one can’t help but imagine this only has a bit of extra flare to it. The whole room is covered in a yellow paint the same shade as an off-ripe banana which likens it more to a manila-envelope, and the same shade of blue of the lightest sky one can see. The paintings on the walls are appropriately child-like: animals with human-like eyes, scenery depicting the few mountains which surround the area (Mt. Meru and Kilimanjaro being the only ones of conversation), and various scholarly symbols and pictures (as I recall, the use of angles in mathematics was drawn directly above the painting of Mt. Kilimanjaro).
The library has 3 large desks that can sit 8 or so people around them, but keeping in mind this is a primary school, they can fit 5-6 adults comfortably around the desks that have the proper seats around them. There are not enough desks to fill the room, and it seems empty, though this could also be for the fact that there are no books to speak of in the library. There are piles of student workbooks to be graded, teaching guides for each grade level, depending on the subject of the books, and a handful of empty notebooks. If one were to say this was a proper library, they clearly have no true understanding of the need of this school.


Getting to the school itself is a task on its own, and representative of how both the students and teachers travel to school. As I will explain later, teacher salaries are no where near sufficient enough for a teacher to own their own car (or to borrow their spouses, assuming their spouse works), and there are no where near enough school transportation vehicles. Like all the locals, students, and teachers, there are only two viable forms of transportation to the school. You either walk, or you take the local shared cab known as the Doladola (pronounced like the slang form of “Dollar”, such as “Dolla”, or in this case “Dolla Dolla”).
It is important to note that, while not called Doladolas everywhere in Africa, they are an incredibly common shared cab system I have seen in every African country visited thus far (with the exception of the sparsely populated Namibia).
Doladolas are mini-vans that look much like white vans and unmarked vans in thee states (you see them in movies all the time, the unmarked white vans). Inside the Doladolas is the drivers seat with passenger seat, and three rows of seats in the back. If you were to comfortably use all seats the way they were meant to be used, you could comfortably fit 13 individuals, including the driver, in the vehicle (remembering that the last row seats a very tight 4 people, and the remaining rows seat 3, including the drivers row). Much like bus-lines and metro-lines in western countries, there are colored stripes on these white vehicles which describe their intended arrival, though each Dola goes to more specific places, depending on the name pasted on the front bumper. Each Dola is personalized (which shows that they are individually operated). Taking hints from western culture, the top of the front windshield are usually individually named. I have seen names such as “Game Over”, “Cupcake”, “Adonai”, “Jesus Lives”, and “Nellyville” painted on the windshield. Many times there are random stickers and printouts posted throughout the Dola, usually having nothing to do with the name on the windshield. The name is simply used for more personalization.
Each doladola is operated by two individuals: A driver, and a passenger operator. The passenger operator (the name I have oh-so-cleverly given them) opens the sliding door to allow passengers in and off, and collects money. The driver drives the designated route and listens to the taps the passenger operator makes with his fists on the door frame. When in motion, two metal clangs means stop to pick up/let off passengers, while two taps on the metal frame tells the driver to begin moving again.
As Doladolas are shared cabs, they are incredibly cheap, costing anywhere between 200-500tsh, depending on where you are going (that’s less than 50 cents no matter how far you go, and as little as 15 cents!). Because of the low prices, the Dola operators cram as many people into one vehicle as humanly possible. The rows that once could only comfortably fit 3 people now fit 4 (and in many cases 5, with an option foldable seat), the front sits 4, and the ledge between the passenger area and the driver section (separated by metal bars) now acts as a bench. There are passengers that stand in every possible position to cram into the cab. At times the Doladolas become so full that the passenger operator leave the sliding door open as to hang onto to the cab from the outside to provide more room for extra passengers inside.
Most Dolas I have been in (especially during rush hour) house more than 20 people. On many occasions I count 24 people (keep in mind these are all adults) crammed into a vehicle that originally was only comfortable for 13.
Many schoolchildren use Dolas as their form of transportation to and from school, as do the teachers who can afford neither the cars nor the gasoline to run them. Outside of my home-stay in Arusha exists a big pick-up point for local school children who have been given money to get to school by their parents, though it appears that mostly secondary school children ride Dolas. Primary schools occasionally can afford the same sort vehicle that Dolas use, yet can only make a few trips, and thus students closer to school are either forced to walk or take the local Doladolas.
As a volunteer, I got a firsthand experience of Doladolas, and can attest to their usefulness for locals as an incredibly cheap form of transportation. While walking is the cheapest (though longest) way for school children to get to school (many of my students have to walk an hour to and from school), Dolas provide a great and cheap option for school children.
For a moment I must describe the teachers at the school. First of all, there are not enough teachers to cover all the classes properly. Some teachers have to give their class lessons to work on while the teacher goes off to grade work from other classes or provide other classes with more work to do. With volunteers in the mix, the teachers can rely on having an authority figure situated in the class room, and are thus more often to walk out of a class room the moment volunteers arrive to help.
The teachers are separated into two distinct groups, and it is evident which teachers fit in which group. The groups are simple: You either became a teacher because you truly wanted to teach, or you became a teacher because it was a paying job and a nicer and respectable alternative to other jobs in the area. Simply driving through Arusha, and Tanzania as a whole, one notices a surprising number of teacher colleges and teacher training schools. With all the possibility for paying jobs, I wondered immediately why there were not more teachers to fill the gaps where volunteers were needed. The answer, after having discussions with many teachers and individuals involved with education was simple: Teachers make a very low salary compared to the rest of the world.
I am unfortunately not privileged to the information from upper-class private schools in Tanzania, but what I can attest to is how little teachers make monthly. From conversations with teachers from my primary school volunteer placement to other low-income primary schools, the average salary for low-income schools hovers around 120,000 to 140,000 Tanzanian Shillings (Tsh, for short) a month. As of this writing the current USD to TSH exchange rate was 1400 Tsh to the US dollar. That means that the low-income private school teachers make less than $100 a month, or $1200 a year. The average elementary school teacher in the United States makes roughly $36,000 a year, and it is one of the professions with the lowest average salary.
Certainly school administrators make more than teachers, and thus there is room for movement amongst a teaching career. It is also important to note that the cost of living in Tanzania is dramatically less than the cost of living in the United States. For example, just over 1 million tsh can get you a car (about $1000 USD), housing costs drop dramatically the more rural you get, and local farmed goods are pennies. Even considering this, teachers can certainly struggle if they don’t have side jobs (a lot of teachers will try to pick up cash on the side).
Keeping this in mind, married women who teach, given that they have money coming in from their husbands as well, certainly show more of a drive to teach children than their male counterparts (excluding school administrators), due to extra funds being entered into the family.


Corporal Punishment is a norm in the schools, and the use of it is common not just in schools, but at the home as well. Children who are beaten at home for disobedience are a bit more obedient in the school setting, as they are taught to expect corporal punishment for misbehavior outside of the home as well.
On my way to Tanzania, I was aware that such punishment existed in schools, but I wasn’t sure to what extent. I expected to see teachers smacking heads of mischievous students or whipping the hands of students with rulers. I wasn’t too far off, but the extent to which it was used surprised me greatly.
To begin, all teachers I have met use corporal punishment in the school setting, and it is evident that some teachers use it more than others. In my experience, the male teachers are far more likely to use corporal punishment than their female counterparts, and it immediately appeared to be for the reason I have previously stated, which shows men more likely than not entered the profession for financial reasons more than scholarly reasons (though this is not always the case, and is only the result of my observations).
I have seen corporal punishment used for a number of reasons, from anything to misbehavior and class disruption to bad-handwriting and wrong answers (though, in my experiences, male teachers are more likely to use corporal punishment for the latter). In many classrooms there are sticks sitting in the corner, where in certain cases teachers will use them to whip students for bad behavior. Some teachers (and this must be true everywhere in Tanzania) will sit students down to go over their work, and when they come across a wrong answer, will pinch the student on his or her side, immediately getting the student to yell out “No, Teacher!”. It isn’t a lasting pain, but for the student, the teacher views it as a lasting memory to try harder in his or her work.
During several classes I have witnessed the teacher taking a student by his or her arm, twisting it around her head (as to stop the student from moving), and taking a stick to whip the student in the back a total of three times. Surprisingly, after witnessing all of the beatings, most students don’t cry or show emotion more than spouting out “Please, teacher!” or “No, teacher!”, though in instances of such harsh maneuvers, I have heard the wails of an unlucky 10 year old. It is truly a disgraceful teaching technique.
In many schools, speaking in Swahili (other than in designated “Swahili” lessons) is calls for punishment, and in many occasions, light corporal punishments, such as a smack on the head or a pinch on the body. As English is a part of the curriculum (and I will dive deep into the curriculum later), Swahili is frowned upon and thus punished.
It is unfortunate that teachers, whilst on their breaks, speak to each other in Swahili within earshot of students. This can never send a clear message to students who are both taught not to speak Swahili in school, yet hear their teachers disobeying their own orders. While I 100% disagree with the use of corporal punishment, such actions in front of students completely undermines why they use corporal punishment in the first place. How teachers can not see the fault of such teaching methods is beyond me.
Corporal Punishment is also a complete detriment to the volunteers who travel to Africa to help (and yes, corporal punishment appears to be the norm throughout most of Africa). I was not the first, and most certainly will not be the last, volunteer the Uhuru Peak primary school has seen. Coming from a western society with western values and a very western teaching ideology, seeing corporal punishment being used is a shock, and something I completely disagree with and would never, ever use. And herein lies the biggest problem with corporal punishment for volunteers: Tanzanian primary school students know that they will never be beaten by volunteers. The students thus have no reason to fully pay attention or adhere to the authority of the volunteers. Teaching a very stringent curriculum is hard enough without having to deal with students who only want to play and have fun once a volunteer has arrived.
In many cases a teacher will leave the classroom and I will be in charge of lessons, and immediately the students stop caring about their studies. No amount of yelling or the taking away of certain student privileges calms the students down or keeps them quiet. Only the return of their original teacher, and the threat of harsher, more physical punishment, do the students return to their quiet state. This is evident throughout most primary schools in Arusha, and can be assumed throughout Tanzania and most of Africa as well.
This is not to say volunteers are unsuccessful. Many times I can get the class to quiet down enough for the students who care to keep working, and more often than not I can get every student started on a lesson and positively affect a student’s learning for the day. However, corporal punishment is clearly a detriment to education and not an effective form of punishment in a school setting.

Like many private schools, Uhuru Peak provides its students with food. I unfortunately did not have the great pleasure of tasting foods at different schools, yet I am told that all schools try to stay uniform with local Tanzanian cuisine. My experiences showed me one thing about the food: They keep their students well fed!
It is something I least expected, especially coming from a school that has absolutely no funds to buy a single book for their library. The school administrators have the health and well-being of the student (and teacher) in mind when providing meals and snacks for the children as part of tuition.
Every morning before school, the teachers are provided tea, coffee, and a light pastry (usually a plain donut with no added frostings or creams). It is served in the only common room to which the teachers are guaranteed privacy from their students. This room is the Staff Room which houses a single desk and a single chair.
This is a great move by the school, as it is clear it helps boost the teacher’s energy as well as their happiness. I feel that such benefits to teachers at this school significantly lower the risk of corporal punishment being used, as teachers who are happier and more ready for the day are less likely to take out any ill-feelings on the student.
At 10:00am, the students in each classroom (and teachers) are provided a cup of crude porridge. My classroom faces the kitchen, which is just a small number of pots, pans, and fire pits located underneath a roof of the dilapidated building next floor. Due to lack of funds, the porridge is as simply as can be. It is incredibly grainy, awfully runny, and is, for a foreigner, very difficult to finish completely. The students and teachers down it in no time, while I struggle to drink half a glass! The taste is sweet at first, but then turns to grain and water, which doesn’t go down as smooth as the first few sips of the hot bubbling grain-soaked cup were able to.
At this time, the class goes on a 15 minute recess break, where the teachers converge to the library for a 2nd snack, which is a new pot of tea and extra pastries from the morning. There are purposely more than enough to allow teachers to have one in the early morning, and one in the late morning.
Lunch time for students includes basic meals to which no second helpings are allowed (though they are usually filling, especially for the stomachs of students). Lunches are usually a simple rice or corn dish (the corn dish is almost always Ugali, which is a bland, flavorless white mash), a sauce with some other vegetable, and once to twice a week, a light meat dish (two small chunks of beef seems to be the go-to meat dish).
It is hard to compare the lunches received by these primary school kids to those received by elementary school kids in the United States and elsewhere in the world. We have the funds, the resources, and the variety to give our students what they want and what they need. On the Tanzanian aspect, they have the ability to give their students what they need, not what they want. I do not see this as a complete negative, as the meals seem very low in refined carbohydrates and sugars, which leaves the meals astonishingly healthy and surprisingly filing.
The food is certainly an aspect to which the schools do well.
The school curriculum follows the same curriculum designated by the Tanzanian government. Many of the school books either state that they follow a government curriculum or are nearly word for word of their competing publishers. No matter what socio-economic private school you attend in Tanzania, you will follow, at the bare minimum the bare-boned version of, the government’s curriculum for students. At the end of each term there are examinations given to every student of that year country-wide that shows how students are progressing and how effective the government curriculum is. Thus, most, if not all schools follow the government curriculum to receive the best scores possible.
There are a number of subjects learned throughout the school day. For 1st through 3rd year, school goes only as late as 1pm (with lunch included), while 4th-6th year go closer towards 4pm. The 1st-3rd years learn English, Math, Grammar, Science, Handwriting, Spelling, Vocational Skills and Artistic Skills, Swahili grammar (basic), and do sports. These classes are spread throughout the week, with English, Math, and Science repeating almost every day. Handwriting and spelling follow the curriculum designed by the individual school, though the better they design these curricula, the higher students scores will be.
As my school is a low-income school (even medium income schools experience this problem) there are a lack of school books. There is one science book for my whole class, as there is only one math book, yet there are enough English books for every 2 students to have one to share. This situation is similar in nearly every grade level. In most private schools, as I’ve mentioned, it is frowned upon and even disciplined on if students speak in Swahili (unless it’s a designated Swahili lesson). Thus, every single class is taught in English. The value placed on English is seen throughout the continent.
Upon my discussion with various volunteers, teachers, and individuals living in the East African Community (Comprised of Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi), most students and children in general are beginning to refuse to speak Swahili in the household, or even at all unless completely necessary. I had the privilege to discuss this in depth with a native Kenyan. He informed me that his children refuse to not only speak Swahili, but learn it in depth. They understand English to be a language known worldwide, a language of wealth, and a language of prosperity, to the point where they see no benefit of learning Swahili past simply the ability to communicate verbally in it. It appears that the children still take pride in their homeland and their heritage, but western dominance has otherwise forced them to adopt one of the most widely spoken languages in human history.
With this in mind, it is no wonder that English is prevalent throughout all Tanzanian schools. A simple comparison in the United States rests on how most schools, at least in the past 20 years, taught Spanish classes in elementary school, middle school and high school as a language thought wise to know, given how many US citizens were native Spanish speakers to begin with, and our proximity to both Mexico and most Spanish speaking countries.
With English as the focal point of study, it gets the bulk of time spent at school. The subject that receives the 2nd most attention ties between Mathematics and Civics/Social Studies, depending on the grade level. All classes must be taught in English, which makes teaching subjects such as Science and Mathematics increasingly difficult. Complex multiplication and division, square roots and exponents, and roman numerals all become a challenge when the student you are teaching has no prior understanding or comprehension of the words associated with the subject.
It thus takes a few days for certain subjects to be learned, whereas it would take little time if they were taught in their native language first before moving on to being taught the subject in English. For most of my time at Uhuru Peak, all classes worked on the same subject matter. For example, my 2nd graders were working on multiplication and multiplication only for three straight weeks, whereas 5th graders had a solid 2 weeks of roman numerals before moving onto Exponents and Square Roots (perhaps not the most effective track, but it follows the government guideline).
In my original struggles to teach various classes how to do mathematics beyond their usual capabilities, I began to notice something very peculiar. Being neither a teacher nor a mathematician, my chances on being wrong on the upcoming topic are high, yet it still struck me as odd. The retention rate for Math and Science was not high at all. Upon weekend breaks, coming back to do, quite literally, the same problems as the Friday before, the students found themselves struggling just as if I had brought up the subject as new.
It appears that for the younger students (pre 4th grade) that teaching all subjects in English is more of a detriment than benefit, as students still struggle to grasp basic grammar, speaking, and writing skills that native-English speakers have the pleasure of mastering at that age. It should be noted that English is incredibly important, but should be slowly entered into the classroom rather than very quickly.
My biggest curriculum struggles appeared to be with Science. All grade levels have one science book to be shared for the whole class, and as many science lectures in those books called for experiments, there was virtually no chance of performing experiments given the lack of equipment. This made it incredibly difficult to teach Science to all grade levels. How does one explain to second graders what boiling water and steam is without both the ability to show them and to explain it to them in their native tongue? I was forced to try to explain it through home examples, such as how steam would look when their mothers or fathers make rice (Rice is included in nearly every meal), yet this still fell flat.
Despite these fallbacks, most other subjects, such as grammar, spelling, English, Social Studies, and some Mathematics seemed to stick. The curriculum certainly helps prepare the kids for government guided tests, but, unless you count the English, it doesn’t appear to prepare for a lot more.
I remember my time in public Elementary school (and it should be noted that being a US student I was privileged beyond what Tanzanian primary schools could offer). There were library classes, music classes, art classes, computer courses (I even remember learning how to use computers without computers anywhere near us!), typing courses, life studies courses, and more! Yet at Uhuru Peak, there isn’t a shred of book in the library, not a single electrical outlet for any electrical devices, no art rooms, music lessons, or even dance lessons (which, as I have found out through discussions with other volunteers, are so easy and cheap to teach!). The only evidence of anything useful in the real world is Tanzanian is through Science and Social Studies.
In Science, one is taught the usefulness of farming and how to farm successfully (I was never taught any of that in school), as well as harmful diseases and how to spot them such as Malaria and HIV/AIDS (another thing western students avoid until later years). Social Studies unfold the geographical makeup of Tanzania and the natural resources it so graciously offers its inhabitants. These subjects certainly appear to be the most useful in the long run.
My final description on the curriculum rests on diseases. Children as young as pre-1st graders are taught the warning signs of HIV and AIDS, as well as how to spot someone who has the virus. They, however, are not taught how the virus is spread (as sexual studies are for later years). Students of all years are taught how to spot Tuberculosis, Typhoid, Malaria, and HIV/AIDS as these are common diseases to all Africans. When I began my journeys, I noticed immediately that all schools I passed taught extensively about these diseases. While when I think back to my elementary school years, I hardly remember learning anything other than how to spot a cold, the chicken-pox, and to stay away from drugs.
To overview, the curriculum is strong if one is to tie it directly to what the government outlines. It teaches English fluency throughout all years, from primary to secondary, and allows students the ability to function outside their home environments. Mathematics and Science at Tanzanian schools gives a solid foundation, yet lacks the crucial step of being able to figure out future problems and situations on your own. It is my wish that more (or any) artistic programs are introduced to give students a more well-balanced and full education. All in all, the students of all grade levels appear very happy and content with the education they are provided, as do their families, which is more than the schools could ask.

A major issue with the school, and quite frankly any school in Tanzania that suffers from a lack of funding, is that of the library. The library simply is not a library if it doesn’t hold a single book.
The question on how to deal with students of special needs is an important question indeed. Upon reading many government-guideline based teachers guides, they all point to one very sad conclusion: Unless you are an academic danger to those around you, you stay the course no matter how much you fall behind.
I use academic danger to convey what happens if, say, an autistic child with special needs simply can not control his or her actions in the classroom to the point where teaching becomes a chore. I use academic danger to show that someone with mental disabilities slows down the class to a rate that would render teaching the remaining kids pointless. Fortunately there are schools that specialize in special-needs education, however, most schools do not have programs for those who may need an extra boost, or those who may need just a bit more attention than the average student.
The policy amongst teachers is rather cruel to children who fall behind. On several occasions, I witnessed teachers who would verbally insult students (whilst speaking with volunteers) on their ability to keep up with the rest of the class. The classes I spent most of my time with seemed to follow the structure whereas if you can not keep up, then too bad for you. Many times I heard a number of teachers berate the students who work slowly or fall behind. It is not because the teachers do not care for the well-being of the child, but rather that they must follow the curriculum set aside by the government.
In fact, this policy is further enhanced by many of the school books which follow government set curriculum. For example, in the introduction to many of the teacher guides for the various subjects, the teachers are instructed to make sure, and I quote, “The dumb students pay full attention [to the smart students]”. Instead of enacting a policy which helps all students progress to learn the material no matter how long it takes them to learn it. The teachers simply are not provided the time and don’t carry any effort to make sure the students falling behind are able to catch up.



Uhuru Peak, and many Tanzanian schools, deserve applause and respect for the way they are able to teach their students given the curriculum, tools, and opportunities provided. While there are certainly many negatives in the schooling system throughout Tanzania, East Africa, and the whole African community, significant progress is being made and will continue to be made. Every generation that comes through the school system will invariably learn more than the previous generation. We are at an important step in African education, and whether to take an active role in its development could mean all the difference in the coming years.

I will now briefly describe a few of my students in order to build a bigger picture of Uhuru School, and the Tanzanian school system.

Agape: Agape is a 9 year old female student. After speaking and working with her, there is little I was able to learn from her. She is incredibly soft-spoken and, while her graded English work proves promising, she is very difficult to understand. While very timid amongst the teachers, she excels socially with the students around her. I am no expert in student-behavior, but this timid experience with her may have been the result of some extra forces, such as corporal punishment both at school and at home (yet I have no way to tell).
When Agape comes to ask a question, it is always with hesitation as to suggest that getting the wrong answer or asking the wrong question would result in severe punishment. No other student I have worked with expresses such fearful attitudes.
Like other students, she falls behind in Mathematics, and struggles to keep up in this subject. I have tried to show her how to do certain problems, and she is slowly learning. However, the school curriculum does not allow her to progress as well as other students, as she is thrust into more advanced mathematics before she has a firm grasp of the foundations. As I have mentioned previously, this is a result of the teachers desire for readiness for the end-of-term examinations, all of which seem to follow government curriculum.
Apart from her academics, she has a very infectious laugh that seems to spread to the students around her. No doubt this both enhances the classroom’s social life, but at times may inhibit others around her from learning.

Robert: Robert is one of the best students I have had the pleasure to teach at Uhuru Peak. He understands the material almost immediately and excels in graded school work. He is a stark contrast to many students as his clothing always appears brand new and clean, whereas most other students are worn and tattered. I wonder if his socio-economic status differs greatly from the rest of the students, yet he remains in the low-income school.
The Tanzanian curriculum bores him, and he makes a point to show it in class. A constant trouble maker and disturbance to the class, he is always the first to finish the work, the first to get all the right answers, and the first to make the annoyances that disrupt other students from learning. Unfortunately, many of the Tanzanian curriculum guided books suggest that this behavior be paraded around, as the students who are struggling are essentially told to follow his example of rapid and judicious work.

Tariq: Tariq is a great example of where teachers with special education focuses would be incredibly important in Tanzanian schools. Given the rushed curriculum I have seen at many, many schools, it is a shame that many students fall to the wayside. Tariq is an example of a student who, while he doesn’t perform horribly, appears to have ADD.
Tariq is bright, but his efforts in the classroom are lacking. He always seems distracted, never focuses on his work, yet is incredibly friendly and always, always has a smile on his face. His primary teacher shrugs off his behavior, lack of attention, and middle-of-the-road grades and laughs about it within earshot of Tariq.
This is a great example of how certain programs could be implemented to allow students suffering academically from ADD to excel beyond what they normally would be able to.

Students in General: To be young and carefree is simply a wondrous and incredible thing. Students in the United States and students in Tanzania share so much in common. They are carefree, they enjoy the little things, and can make hours of entertainment out of something adults find completely mundane. Every student I have encountered is happy and excited to have volunteers working with them. It gives them a chance to not only experience new cultures and people (Whites and Asians are a native rarity!) but to make new friends in the process.
Every morning, upon my arrival, I was greeted with the wide smiled children ready to pummel my hand with tons of high fives, 3rd graders charging up to give me a hug, and the little boys and girls of the 1st grade holding onto my hands as we walked to class.
They enjoy every moment of it (well, no one enjoys taking tests, but you get the picture), and gain just as much as the volunteers do. They wouldn’t trade what they have for the world, and why should they? Such a wonder it is for every child to be blissfully happy no matter the circumstances surrounding him or her.
It is said that every Tanzanian is friendly, no matter what. This trait, this cultural emblem of hospitality is passed down to the newest generation. I have yet to meet a single child who is rude, who is mean, or who dislikes anything about what they do every day. The Tanzanian schools excel at making, not keeping, the kids happy by doing what Tanzanians do best, through the friendliest human interactions I have ever encountered in a society.

Will Resume Updating soon

That is all.

Driving to Dar Es Salaam

After staying at (what amounted to) a farm-turned-campsite, we finally were on our last stretch of drive to Dar Es Salaam.

It was great to finally be in a real city with people all around us, instead of the isolated places we’d been staying the past few nights. It was also nice to finally get out of that freaking truck for a good few days.

We stopped at a shopping mall (or, the African version of one anyway) to get money, use the internet, go grocery shopping, whatever we had to do. There was a little kids section with someone in the funniest, funniest mickey-mouse costume ever (clearly fake, clearly put together by someone who had never seen the mouse other than in a 50s photo.

Our campsite was a 2 minute ferry ride away on a beach just outside of the main part of Dar. Dar is very much an international city, with the largest variety of ethnicities and backgrounds of any city we’ve been in so far.

Our campsite was…ok. It was certainly better than some we’ve stayed at, and had a nice bar, but the beach was crappy the first day because of far too much seaweed.

Kaitlin, Laura (a tripmate) and I decided to go into the main city on our full day in Dar. Well, I didn’t have much a choice. Lake Malawi gave me a horrible, horrible fungal ear infection that was easily, 100% without a doubt the worst pain I have ever, EVER experienced.

We went to an Ear and Throat specialist on a weekend. Our trip leader said he was supposed to be the best in the country. We pulled up to this tiny Dar village, and the clinic was in this run down metal-sheet-roofed shack that had an incredibly ridiculous soap opera playing on the TV waiting room.

To start things off, there was a huge wait, at least 20+ people. Our leader went to the reception and said a few words in Swahili. Apparently it was to see if I could get my wait time down (we had all day, so no real rush). I sat patiently and waited. When the door to the office opened (notice that I’ve only been here for a few minutes), a little 9 year old girl sprung up thinking it was her turn, only to have “Jason Aul?” called out. I felt so embarrassed, and the girl looked so sad. But this happens everywhere, white people or simply westerners get called in first, even in places that are entirely 100% run by locals, just because they assume they are guaranteed to pay.

My right ear was completely closed, and the doctor (trained in the US, studied in the US, and literally the go-to ear and throat guy for Tanzania) had to jam a huge thing of medicinal cotton into my ear to make an opening. Worst. Pain. Ever. And it had to sit there for 24 hours. Great. This man worked at the hospital during the week, and had this private clinic on weekends. At least I felt he knew what he was doing…

I was given penicillin and a fungal pill (the next day, after the cotton was removed…) for the infection and eardrops for the pain. It was horrible.

At least I only had a few more days until I could shave again.

We wondered around the city (just the 2 girls and myself) and went to the National Museum of Tanzania, which was pretty small and not kept that well, to the point where million year old fossils were just sitting out in the open for anyone to touch. They had a small memorial for the US Embassy blast that happened years earlier, and cars owned by previous presidents, a short history of the country and of humans in Tanzania, and a section dedicated to the natural beauty and wildlife (and tribal life) of Tanzania. 40 million people and far too much space in the country.

We headed back to the campsite afterwards. On the ferry, Laura was followed by a creepy old man who was drinking some nice booze, propositioned to give us a cab ride back to the hotel and hang out with us…well, mostly her. I stood between them to make talk, claiming they were my wives, and pretending I only spoke French, and barely any English. He said “oh, I know some French!” but to my luck, didn’t speak a word of it (and I doubt he knew a word, anyway). We hastily ran off the ferry (he kept following us) and jumped in a cab out of his reach.

Back to the campsite we go.

Tanzania (Finally)

As we entered Tanzania (another stamp, woo, and now much less space…wooo….). The immediate differences between Tanzania and Malawi were apparent, from the dress to the cleanliness (and it was clear that Tanzania ether prided themselves more in cleaning up, or just had the infrastructure and money to do so).

We stopped on our way to our campsite to look at the Great Rift Valley, which I have many pictures of now up on Facebook.

The Tanzanian people were equally as friendly (and “businessy”) to us as they were in Malawi, yet we had officially entered the East African Community (Comprising of Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania).

Making progress now!

We Spent St. Patrick's Day with an Irish woman

On the way to our campsite, we stopped at Muzuzu, a town where we picked up as many green clothing items as possible, food for that evening, and stopped at a local restaurant for lunch called “Graceland” which seemed to honor black history, as important and influential names were posted all along its walls. The food was fairly tasty for how incredibly cheap it was.

Outside, I bought some Obama candy, lollipops with his head on it and gum that was all too proud to have his image. I’m definitely starting a solid Obama collection.

Our St. Patrick’s day was spent on another campsite on Lake Malawi, just before Tanzania.

It was a fun night. One woman on our trip was from Ireland, so we made a big event of the day. There was a nice bar with a good selection of drinks and beers that ranged from the very disgusting not-so-enjoyable to the really delicious 8%-in-alcohol beers.

Dinner that night was as closed to shepherd’s pie we’ve had, with mashed taters, vegetables and a beef mince.

We had a long drive the next morning that required us to wake up super freakin early after St. Patrick’s day. I ate a banana in the morning just in case the bus became too turbulent.

Driving, Driving and More Driving...

We’ve been driving a lot to make it to our next grand adventure (Zanzibar). We passed through many towns and cities, but nothing major to report. It appears, however, that Malawi has some of the highest HIV infection rates in all of Africa. 22,000 people for 1 doctor and 2 nurses and very little education on safe-sex.

I’m sure the national rate of HIV infection is 22%. In fact, I’m not just sure, I’m HIV positive.

But I probably shouldn’t be making AIDS jokes.

We stopped at a wood market (HUGE) of carvings made out of ebony, teak, and various woods. Everything was very well made and VERY cheap (it’s the low season after all). I bought a globe, a chess set, a bao game (I’ll explain the rules later, its easy and really fun), coasters, some smaller craft as well.

Everyone claims they “give good price”, but really, if you don’t negotiate it down, you’re getting screwed. I came out of there with far too much stuff for the 20 or so bucks I ultimately paid. If I had bought everything at their starting price, easily into the hundreds I would have gone. And remember, this is stuff that, if sold in the states, would have cost $20+ a piece without the ability to negotiate. I remember I got a coaster set here for all of 2 bucks (Less, actually), made of teak wood. In fact, now that I think about it, I think I spent less than $15 that day…

Lilongwe

We stopped in Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi, to grab some snacks and use the restroom (and the ATM, if needed). There were a lot of westerners here who looked as if they had been here a while, clearly volunteers and people working on behalf of the Malawian government or Malawian businesses.

When we arrived at the grocery store in town (Shoprite, I believe), Kaitlin went on a journey to find the bathroom, while I made a journey to the meat section to get a meat pie for lunch. Kaitlin came up to me 5 minutes later having had no luck finding it. I kindly asked the man behind the counter where the nearest toilet was. His English wasn’t the greatest, but surely toilet (being as though all bathrooms are labeled “TOILET”) would translate well.

He said “Oh, let me show!” and promptly had us follow him through the store. He asked “Big or small?” to which we replied, however cautiously optimistic, “Big”, for who wants to use a small bathroom over a big one? He brought us to the front of the store, and with the biggest smile on his face, handed us a shopping cart, said “Have a great day” and was on his way. Lovely. Not wanting to dirty up their shopping cart, we headed to the nearest security guard to ask, who prompted us to take the path to the private offices of the grocery store. Upon entry, another security guard had us sign in, submit a photo ID, and had an officer pat us down, looking for suspicious objects (or weapons, I suppose. I guess grocery stores are targets for hijacking these days). Up the stairs and to the left was a lovely little flush toilet with very little toilet paper, no soap, and no hand towels.

At least we found the toilet.

Why do I agree to these things?

Kaitlin challenged me to go unshaven from the Okavango Delta until Zanzibar (2+ weeks). We’re a few days in, and its yet to look noticeable. I’m very fortunate I don’t grow that much facial hair…

The Lake Itself

Lake Malawi is huge, so big that it seems like an ocean where one never dares to make out the other side. Naturally, once you get to the beach there are plenty of hawkers and “business folk” waiting. They are there to offer you cheaply made crap, trips on their personal boats for scooba diving, and other fun-filled ripping-you-off activities. We were well advised to not take up their offers, as their services were usually cut short to skip you out of some money.

There were also offers to take you fishing during the day. The actual fishermen leave at 10pm and return at 5am with their fresh catches, so clearly trying to cheat you out of money there..

The lake was very pretty, with a small island near the coast.

Malawi Visit Tour and School Visit (Lake Malawi / Kande)

While our campsite was more of a western haven (once again, loads of white people allowed to wear and eat pretty much anything), we resumed culture-shockness once we left for the village, having to dress modestly and obeying the customs of the tribe.

This village was just outside our campsite along the beach of Lake Malawi. The campsite was nice. We set up tents on the beach under some crudely made roofing, were allowed to swim and do water sports, and there was a nice bar.

This village was a bit more what you’d expect a non-modern African village to be like. Loads of mud and brick huts with simple roofs, tons of mini gardens and small stalls for fish and other sorts of food, tons of corn crops and root-vegetable crops.

This village had a single proper water pump, installed by the Canadian government, that provided a clean and safe way to obtain drinking water. It was all metal, and had a lever to pump the water straight from the ground.

In this village, the men, if they were wealthy, had several wives, sometimes up to five! Not all marriages were based on wealth or arranged by parents, some were done out of love, which was nice.

It rained as we were visiting a house, where we stayed for about 30 or so minutes. Once the rain cleared, we visited a local school and hung around with the local students, playing with them and teaching them all about where we came from. Some were fascinated there were cities that consisted of just tall, tall buildings. Skyscrapers are some things these kids never, and will never, see, so the idea still fascinated them. None of the kids were shy, and had many questions. The few I were talking to had, of course, knew all about Obama (or, the fact that he was black and the US President) and were astounded to hear I lived in the same city as him, and just blocks away too.


So, this one girl apparently wanted to go the states really badly….reeally really badly. The 15 year old guy I was talking to kept nudging her too me…a bit odd. He asked if I was married, to which I replied no (first mistake), he asked if I was going to go back home eventually, to which I said yes (second mistake), and asked if there were a lot of jobs at home (third mistake). He promptly tried to set me up to marry the 14 year old girl who really wanted to go to the states…and marriage, it seemed, was the only way to get there. He was so determined that he tried to arrange a time to meet outside our campsite. I never stepped a foot outside the campsite after the village walk…

The school was a bit depressing, and not because of the infrastructure. In fact, it was one of the top primary schools in Malawi. What was depressing was that the national primary school graduation rate is between 30-50%, while secondary school is a shameful 6%, followed by a disgraceful 2% on the university level (and lets not even get into post-graduate studies). The Malawian government provides little to nothing for the students to go to school, barely any incentives, and its not a requirement. In fact, they rely so much on foreign aid and help that they really won’t do anything till the rich westerners do first. And its like this in many, many African countries, where they have relied so much on aid that they figure they don’t have to do a damn thing to help their infrastructure.

We visited a local hospital afterwards. Only 1 doctor and 2 nurses for 22,000 people spread across the village beach front for miles. Disgusting. Another area that needs so much work done. There were a ton of people waiting to see the doctor, many with flu like symptoms (I’m guessing Malaria) and just general check ups. The hospital was…well, it was ok. Nice beds for patients who are sick, and just enough equipment to get by. But only 1 doctor for 22,000 people? They can’t exactly ship in more in a time of crisis either.

It was certainly an experience, and one of the days where I learned far too much about the local area I was visiting.

Village Walk in Livingstone (more detail)

Today we embarked on a village walk of one of the local villages just on the outskirts of the main part of Livingstone. This village housed the local king of his tribe, an area that represented many villages and hundreds of square miles allotted from the Zambian government for him to continue his rule, while still answering to the laws of the Zambian government and obeying its constitution and authority.

While our campsite was more of a western haven (loads of white people allowed to wear and eat pretty much anything), we resumed culture-shockness once we left for the village, having to dress modestly and obeying the customs of the tribe.

It was like any village we had been too: thatched huts, some, but not many, modern buildings, local and old methods for harvesting crops and preparing food, and gobs and gobs of wood carvings to be sold to tourists who could be tricked out of money.

They had a small jail, no more than the size of two walk-in closets put together, that was pretty much used just for the drunkest and rowdiest villagers until they sober up. Crime seemed to be low here.

We went to the local market to purchase many a wood carving for almost no money at all, which was great. Everything was negotiable and since it’s the low season, the merchants are willing and able to go very low just to sell you some oddly made carvings and crafts.

Sunset Cruise in Livingstone

I believe Kaitlin said it best on her blog:

“Sunset cruise last night. Open bar. Lots of fun. Saw hippos. Rough morning.”

At kaitoujo.tumblr.com

Done with Intrepid! Will Resume updating

Yes, its been about a month since my last post, and yes, I'm way behind with updating my travels, but now that I'm done with Intrepid and will most likely have internet for a while, I can begin updating in the next day or so (if not much sooner!). So look out for stuff about my travels!

Livingstone

We were fortunate to stay several days in Livingstone, the last night upgrading to a tent with beds (10 bucks a person).

The first day we went to Victoria Falls, easily the most magnificent waterfall I have ever seen, and one of the most amazing in the world. It was also incredibly huge, and wet... there was a small walkway in front of the falls (not too close) where it was just a constant downpour, felt like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm. I got drenched, but it was totally worth it. The bridge had a rainbow that circled the entire bridge, just due to the heavy amounts of water and the sun.

Afterwords we visited the wood carving shops that lined the falls entrance. I haggled really well, the stuff that the merchants started at 50 bucks I got down to 15, and Kait didn't fair too well :-(, I felt bad, but we have other places to get a good deal.

I bought myself a King's Scarf, a replica of the scarf worn by the previous king, got a free set of wood carved salad serving utensils, a free necklace (they gave small "gifts" to entice people who seemed interested in a lot of stuff, I lied and only bought 1 thing, getting a bunch of stuff for free).

Also,

I'm a Trillionaire! According to Zimbabwe at least. I have my hands on 2 50 billion dollar notes and 1 100 trillion dollar Zimbabwe notes (all real, that country is in shambles), but the money is actually worth less than the paper its printed on. Filth money to everyone in the country.

The second day we went White Water rafting on about 15+ rapids, which included 2 class 5s. I only fell out of the boat once, so it was great. The whole thing was a blast, but our guide could have been a bit friendlier to us. The river flows between Zambia and Zimbabwe, and on one side I reached out and touched a rock in Zimbabwe. Can I say I've technically been now? Or at least have illegal immigration status?

That evening was another sunset cruise, this time just for dinner, boozing, and boogie boogie. We waved goodbye to the people departing our group.

The next morning, we said hello to 5 new passengers.

Kait and I traveled to the Mukambi Village to do our own village tour. This village housed the chief which ruled over countless other villages and hundreds of square kilometers. We met with locals and chatted up about how the government helps them (not too much, they do well on their own compared to most other villages). They live relatively well and maintain a solid export of wood carvings.

Speaking of which

Went to the wood carving market and bargained again, everything I got was personally made by the person selling it to us (we saw them making it), and I didn't have to spend too much to get a lot.

Love that exchange rate!

And Kindle 1.0s suck major balls. And are cause for a lot of pain and frustration as they always break. Stay away from the first version of the kindle.

Chobe National Park

We finally arrived into Botswanna again, and now have 2 additional passport stamps to prove it. Felt like they were wasting pages.

Anyways.

The camp site we stayed at was really nice. Lots of western tourists, plenty of places to upgrade (we didn't), and a gorgeous lobby with a buffet dining area to the side.

Kaitlin and I did the buffet two nights in a row. The food so far on the trip has been great, but a buffet is...well, a buffet.

We woke up super early the first morning to do an early game drive. We saw more animals in this drive than in any other: Hippos, monkeys, elephants, mongoose, warthogs, fish eagles and baboons, all incredibly, incredibly, incredibly close to our 4wd car.

We stopped for tea time on the Chobe river, and enjoyed the light breeze and early morning warmth.

Our sunset cruise that evening (thankfully included)gave us much more to see. There were tons and tons of elephants playing around in the water, wrestling each other and diving under using their trunks as snorkels, plus plenty of crocs and hippos to be seen.

Also, the campsite had huuuge spiders and spider webs, nowhere near us, thankfully.

Bagani Camp

After the Okavango Delta and the UmVuVu camp (as it was called), we headed back into Namibia. See, there are no roads that took us from Okavango to our destination in Chobe National Park, so back to Namibia we went.

Staying 10 km from the Botswana boarder, we stayed at a camp site called Bagani. Having had enough of tents for a while, Kaitlin and I decided to upgrade to one of the huts (was 20 bucks a person, less actually). Our first room we got to we put our stuff in, laid down, until I notice Kaitlin said "I think there is a head moving up there".

Sure enough, a fruit bad had made its way to the top of the rafters and was spying on us. Not eager to get rabies, we were lucky to be able to switch rooms.

It was a pretty laid back day. That night we all went to the bar and turned Jenga into a drinking game. The bartender gave the loser a shot of this Chili flavored vodka. I lost one game. It was horrendous. I had heart burn for the rest of the night (or the back of my throat just burned like hell). No amount of water or beer or anything could stop its pain. And I wasn't the only one complaining.

Okavango Delta

After the San Bushmen camp, we headed on out into Botswanna and towards the Okavango Delta, a marshland full of crocs and hippos that reminded me of the everglades in Florida. The two nights we were there we overnighted away from the truck and any other conveniences.

We used small little canoes and the locals, called polers (very much like the people pushing gondalas in Venice), pushed our boats through the weeds and the water towards our first camp site. It rained during the boat ride there and I got considerably soaked.

Our personal guides name was Esbey, and he was very knowledgable about the various types of plants and anminals we saw, yet his English was still lacking a bit. After we set up camp, we attempted to go on a boat ride to do a nature walk, but bad weather prompted us to turn around and enjoy a thorough night of Bush camping. Much to my displeasure, we hadn't seen any hippos yet, but we could certainly hear their growls in the distance.

The second day we got up early and boated to do a nature walk. This was extensively in the bush (i.e. long pants and close toed shoes a must). We saw wild elephants, zebras, warthogs, wildabeast, and baboons on our journey. When we were looking out at the zebra, I noticed (what I thought at the time) was a bloody stick to my left. Turns out it was a half eaten Python. Ground hornbills snatch up pythons to great heights and drop them to kill them, then eat their insides. This one had been ripped to pieces below the head.

Our second night we went to a proper camp (our tents had beds! and spiders...) and enjoyed a relaxing evening. I even learned how to pole from our poler, and standing up doing it is a lot harder than it looks. Imagine taking a big stick and pushing yourself along trying not to hit anything or anyone. Yeah.

It rained horribly that night, and Kait almost got attacked by a spider. But all is well.

Rundu

Spent two hours in a town in Northern Namibia called Rundu to grab lunch and check e-mail.

Protip: Don't Google Rundu

The Gods Must be Crazy

After Etosha, we started heading towards the SanBushmen Camp (to anyone who has seen The Gods Must Be Crazy, its their tribe, exact same tribe. And yes, at the nearest gas station I did buy a glass coke bottle, but felt it would be rude to bring it to the camp).

Welcome to the 21st Century ladies and gentlemen, where even the most simple tribes surviving purely on their own are forced to modernize. The Namibian government has now made it illegal for the Bushmen to hunt (though some still do it underground anyway) and are trying to turn them into farmers. They now have some livestock, some plants, some shaddy built housing from metal material provided by the government, and only one buildling (the bar, of all places) has electricity. But I guess thats better than trying to use a coke bottle for everything...

When we arrived, about 30 kids came running up to the truck wanting us to play with them. So we played for about 30 minutes. They were extremely light, I was able to carry two on each arm (with them holding on and lifting their legs) for a while. They all wanted piggy back rides, to be swung, and were quite demanding of it too. They would take our cameras and play around with them (they were fairly knowledgeable and loved seeing themselves on pictures and video) and our sunglasses. They were quick to return them whenever we wanted them back. They also loved it when I videotaped them doing karate to the point where there ended up being a line of kids doing funny karate moves to see themselves doing it on video.

Anyway, we went on a "living museum" walk through their old village where they were wearing their old garments and doing old things. It was pretty neat, our tour guide, who was probably 19 years old, gave us a great demonstration of old ways to dig up for water and food and catch animals and whatnot. She was half topless breastfeeding her child along the way...but she gave a great tour. Some of the older men in the tribe gave us a demonstration of their old hunting methods by using poison tipped arrows.

Everyone was wearing barely any clothing. The only thing that was always covered was junk below the belt. You have to pay for this stuff in the states, usually.

So, afterwords we went to their shop where I bought a traditional (yet very small) hunting knife, which had many other benefits for the tribe as well. I felt good about this as the money directly went to the village.

After dinner we had a traditional dance performed for us, and the last one we joined in by sitting around them clapping. One of the old local doctors came around to each of us, made a sucking noise on both of our cheeks and our foreheads to drag away the evil spirits (it look like he kissed us in each spot, except a slurping noise followed), and put tobacco ash on our nose and throat. He seemed pretty high off of whatever they were smoking (wasn't tobacco, wasn't weed, but certainly smelled like something funky).

We went to the local bar afterwords (I grabbed a coke) and watched the locals dance the night away (and I thought I was an awkward dancer!). The younger crowd was the most wild, and was shocking to see some of the far to racy moves that those between 3-7 years old were pulling off...

The next morning we went to the local government school and brought toys and school equipment as gifts. We taught them (and I finally learned) how to play cricket with this little cricket set, and we brought some soccer balls. They were all relatively well behaved. I went into a class room (wasn't too shabby, but certainly was falling apart) and looked around. They were studying African Slave Trade routes, as there was a huge class-made poster about it above the chalk board. This was probably a 4th or 5th grade class room, and riddled around the room were posters promoting the use of condoms (seriously, fuck abstinence only education, IT DOESN'T WORK) which was great to help stop the spread of HIV and the spread of babies (an environmental killer), posters about TB and posters that promoted equal rights for women (also a plus for the new African generation).

It was certainly a trip I won't ever forget

So, I should have posted this earlier, but Spitzkoppe was easy to forget...

After Cape Cross, we did a bush camp in Spitzkoppe, where there were cave paintings that ranged from 200-1000 (or more) years old. Quite frankly, even with a guided tour from a local, the cave paintings were largely unimpressive. They were faded (no ones fault but nature, of course) but simple, and were not done for any artistic purpose.

Nomad travellers would paint warnings and symbols saying whats in the area so people in the future would know whats around. Thats all, an ancient text message to visitors. Most of you get those on your phone when you arrive in a new country (or the Caribbean, for those of you who have yet to travel abroad).

The camp site was very pretty, and we climbed this huge rock and watched the sunset, took us about 15 minutes to climb up, and we were pretty high up too. I do remember dinner that night being great, it was this spicy Indian dish with a good side dish of a bread similar to Naan.

Bush toilets suck.

Its a Game...and a Drive! (Etosha National Park)

After Spitzkoppe, we headed toward (what used to be) an incredibly incredibly large game reserve in Namibia. Starting off at around 100,000 square kilometers, is now down to about 27,000 square km.

The game drives were really cool, as we were in Etosha for 2 nights. There were 3 campsites, each spread out at even intervals in the park. We first started out seeing loads of birds (birds are boring) and a monitor lizard (quite possibly more boring), but soon after we ran into a pregnant Lion who had moved away from its Pride to give birth. It was slightly injured, from possibly anything, but seemed to be doing fine. It had blood dripping down its right front leg, but looked alright.

Anyway, so interesting fact about Lions. The gestation period is 90 days, and once the female learns its pregnant, it leaves the pride to give birth and raise the cub for a few days after. Prior to returning, the dominant male (aka big daddy, P.I.M.P, gigilo, whatever, the one that gets EVERY female in the tribe pregnant) meets the young cub and the female to determine if the cub is actually his (a paternity test, really) and if he somehow decides its not, he mauls the female to death and then kills the cub. Cute story. More like a real life Maury or Jerry Springer episode. Go men!

Anyway, we saw a ton of zebra, giraffes, and even a few elephants, which were all astounding, and the elephants were some of the most amazing animals of the trip.

Each night the place we stayed had a waterhole that was lit up for viewing, but we only saw Springbok (and the bloody springbok are everywhere, have to now be the most boring animal we've seen just cause there are thousands of them).

Etosha probably wouldn't exist now if it wasn't for humans. Nature tried to take its course and the main lake dries up, but now most of the watering holes are maintained by the park in order to ensure there is water (so, they have underground pipes to a lot of watering holes).

One up for America, by the way, as apparently there was oil discovered somewhere in the park, and the park is now, according to our trip leader, owned by the United States. Either way, Springbok is delicious, so not all animals will go to waste.

Cape Cross

After Swokopmund, we headed out towards Cape Cross, not too far from the town. This is where the first European (a Portuguese Sailor, I believe) set foot in Namibia. He erected (hehe) a big cross at the cape, hence, Cape Cross.

The reason we went here was because of the Seals. There were thousands and thousands and thousands of seals, young, old, pregnant, dead, giving birth, whatever, just laying around on the rocky beaches of the cape. They were feeding and just being lazy bums. They also smelled.

In fact, the smell was almost unbearable. After we jumped out of our truck, it was like being punched in the face with a smell similar to the Elephant section of the St. Louis zoo, except (at the very least) 3 times worse. Kaitlin gagged, and I held my nose every so often.

Either way, it was really cool to see a natural resting and feeding of all these seals.

Next stop, Spitzkoppe!

Swakopomund Craziness (Spread My Wings and Fly Away)

We were lucky to have spent 2 nights in this small town (one of Namibia's biggest cities. Namibia is a huge country but only has 1.8 million citizens...thats 2 people per square km). They have some pretty good seafood and german-ish food (Schnitzel, mostly).

Yesterday was a bizarre and incredibly action packed day. The night before we had all gone out to this bar/club like thing above a action-sports booking center. I had a lot to drink (mostly I mixed too much, i had half a bottle of red wine, half of white, double shot of rum, and about 3 beers). While not that much, I woke up with my stomach feeling like crap cause of the weird mixture of juices the night before.

So, I woke up feeling iffy and went Sandboarding.We drove out to a massive dune with these huge sleds and rode them down at speeds of about 70 km/hr, which is really fast! I only wiped out once, and am still finding sand in places I didnt even know I had.

After a few hours of fun, we broke for lunch, and went back to our rest lodge. After a very quick shower, we were off to what Kait and I booked a day prior...

SKYDIVING!

I was incredibly nervous and sick all the way up to when I boarded the plane, and then all my nervousness went away. The super-nerd in me kept thinking of all the awesome movies with skydivers or major drops from high altitudes, and the various video games that included them too. This was weirdly calming, thinking that I'd be a real-life badass for a brief moment in time.

The first few seconds after jumping feels like going down a roller coaster. But very quickly I reached terminal velocity, and the free fall experience is unlike anything in the entire world. Words can't describe it, and it was simply breathtaking and amazing.

We opened the shoot (and it opened, thank god!) And glided down. My Tandem Master (the guy attached to me) gave me control of the shoot for about 2 thousand feet and I steered around the sky for a while, which was also way too wicked.

We had the option of staying in this town another night, and while 14 of 16 people here wanted to, this German couple decided it would be best to spend 2 nights (instead of 1) bush camping with no ammentities whatsoever. Its basically the allies versus the axis as we're trying to convince them to stay.

I'm off to do less deadly things now, and will be keeping both feet firmly planted on the ground for the time being.

Commenting on my Blog

I know people have complained that they can't comment on my blog. I think I just fixed it. Give it a shot!

My laptop died

So, my laptop died. I was uploading pictures to it on the bus, worked like a charm. I shut it down like normal, and about 15 minutes (no more) later I wanted to boot it up again.

Turns out it won't get past the BIOS. It certainly sounds like my hard drive is NOT spinning up. The only thing I did was create a partition out of unpartitioned space, making that unused and unallocated space a new drive letter (drive Z). That wouldn't have done it, would it? My bootable OS is still on the C drive partition. Anyone with thoughts or ways to help me out? Its an (I Believe) Asus 1000ha laptop with a 160 gig hard drive running 5400rpm, NOT a solid state drive. Anything I can do in the BIOS to fix? Do I have to go inside? Is my hard drive just completely dead?

So, its a desert

I've been in Namibia for a few days now, and pretty much what I've seen (and what i've been camping in) has been deserts of all kinds. Sandy, rocky, barren, deadly, cold, hot, warm, made of granite, limestone, its all been here.

This will probably be the hardest part of the trip for me as I hate extreme heat mixed with sand. Sand and dust gets everywhere, and just makes things a bit uncomfortable for me. The heat at night forces me to sleep on top of my sleeping bag, and with dust and sand, I wake up in the morning sweaty, sticky, and slighty dusty. Thats pretty much my biggest complaint, if not the only complaint.

After my last post, we went to Fish River Canyon for a sunset view of the 2nd largest canyon in the world (after the 1st, the Grand Canyon. America!). It was breathtaking, and since we were, I kid you not, the only ones there, it was that much more beautiful to not have a bunch more tourists surrounding us.

Recently we went to Soussevlei, home of the world's largest sand dunes. In the morning before sunrise we climbed one of the largest ones in the area (Dune 45, as its called) so we could see the sunrise over the countless dunes in the area. It was really pretty. The sand was exceptionally soft, and sitting on it felt really cool and comfortable. After the hard climb, running down the dune was a lot more fun and much less exhausting, and the pictures I snapped were amazing.

If I get a chance to upload pictures, I will, cause last night's camping was (really) a fun experience (and probably the only "fun" one of these kind of camp sites coming up). We went Bush Camping. We were in the middle of the desert, flat land surrounding us for miles and miles. We found this giant rock or two that had a minimal camp site set up (think rocks lining a road to designate a driving path, and nothing more). We set up our tents, and for miles and miles in every direction was rocky desert.

In the morning I woke up early (I had to water some plants, long night of drinking fake orange juice), when, on the ground next to my little plant I was watering, I noticed something. It was a leg. It was a torn off leg. It was a torn off shreded tendent leg of some cat-like creature. Clearly we weren't the only ones camping there last night...

Anyways, we are now in Swokopmund (i hope i'm spelling that correctly). Just like every other place in Africa, there are about a million KFCs and no McDonalds, which I find hilarious. Its a nice touristy town. We have some fun activities planned for tomorrow, and I'm 99% sure I'll survive them all, so hopefully you'll be getting another blog post from me soon.

Vinyards and Deserts

So, after a few hours trekking towards Namibia, we stopped at a small Vinyard (which had a campsite), and set up our tents, got out our gear, and were ready for a relaxing evening.

Luckily we had a wine tasting planned, which only cost 50 rand (7 rand to the dollar, so less than 10 bucks). They were very generous with the wine tasting, offering the group 2 whites, 3 reds, a blush, and a sparkling to sample. That amounted to at least half a bottle per person since there were 2 or so people who didn't drink. If I can actually remember... we had a Chanin Blanc, Chardonay, Pinotage, Merlot, a blush (which I can't recall the name of), a Michelle, which is a sparkling wine apparently... and their speciality which was a 17.5% alcohol red Merlot (i think), and it was all very tasty.

We turned off the lights after dinner that evening and sat out under the stars. We were no where near a town, which made for some excellent star viewing. I mean this in all sincerity, I have never in my life seen such an amazing sky. Thousands and thousands of stars were visible, as was Mars, and the milky way belt, which was incredible.

After a short sleep (6 or so hours), we set up for a super long drive through one of the hottest days I've ever experienced. It was between 45 and 47 degrees celsius, and in awesome America land, thats 113 degrees fahrenheit, and in a bus with no air conditioning, its freakin hot. I drank a good 6-7 full 32 oz camelbaks and never had to pee. yeah, it was that hot.

Right now I'm stopped at a camp site next to the Orange River with an internet cafe and a bar. Every beer is 2 bucks or less, and 2 spirits is 10 bucks (yeah, love that exchange rate).

TTFN: Ta ta for now.

Mega Shark

I went Shark Diving today

And I was the only person on the boat not to get sea sick...
In fact, I was the only person not to even feel a tad nauseous
In fact, I ate a huge steak dinner before boarding, and didn't feel a thing
Right.
Me Thinks the Lady Doth Protest To Much?

Anyways, it was an experience, thats for sure. I was put into a very, very small metal cage, submerged, and saw sharks swimming around me trying to catch the bait laid for them.

Afterwords, we drove back to Cape Town, and met up with our Intrepid group (which I will describe later, I am tired). We ate a nice game restaurant, I had Springbok Shank (i opted out of the other game meats due to my previous sickness), and it was pretty tasty.

Off to Namibia!

(Editors Note: No Limbs were harmed in the making of this post)

Table Mountain and the Quiche of Death

While we had planned on going shark diving today, Unreal Dives (which, given their current performance, I would NOT recommend), said they "never received a re-schedule" after the "inclement weather" the previous day, even though we did, which is total bullcrap. We woke up at 5am to be picked up by them, and of course, no one came. We are currently "re-scheduled" for tomorrow, lets see how that goes...

So, we were already up, and since we had planned on doing this at some point, we decided to climb Table Mountain, taking the "easy" trail. Ohhh how funny that was...

To prepare, we wanted to bring a lunch with us. We went to this little cafe, and for just over 4 bucks (or 30 rand) I bought a half-sandwich of grilled veggies, berry sauce, and goat cheese. Without a doubt, the most amazing sandwich i've had in the past month (very similar to Wisey's, for those of you in DC). Kaitlin thought it would be good to bring a Quiche on the climb to eat at the top... oh so wrong, so very very wrong. I'll get back to the Quiche later...

We took a cab to the base of the mountain (which has a cable car for those tourists who aren't feeling as adventurous, are lazy, or are clearly smarter than we were), and got out towards the easy trail. We looked up to about 1100 meters of path and rock (3000+ feet or so, I think, I'm going to grow to hate metric...).

About 300 meters up we slowly started to regret the climb (it was tough as hell!), even though we had a few people pass us (who had clearly either climbed this before or were incredibly avid hikers).

As I made my way up, I started to smell a strange sent from my backpack, the very same backpack where Kaitlin decided to stuff her Quiche... and of course, the box had sprung a small leak. Her quiche came with a salad, which was sitting in her bag My bag, now firmly scented of tasty vegetables, grew heavier with the thought of having to clean it out. Luckily, I had about 700 meters left to make fun of Kaitlin for bringing a Quiche on a mountain climb, which inspired many-a-fun joke and song.

(To the theme of The Lion Sleeps Tonight)
On the Mountain, this Mighty Mountain, Kaitlin eats a Quiche

Or even better: A salad and a quiche are sitting in a backpack. The quiche manages to squirm his way over to the salad and says "Phew, boy, it sure is hot in here!" to which the salad replies "OH MY GOD A TALKING QUICHE!"

So, after having a few bites of her delicious quiche, we continued (and finally) made our way up the mountain. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it was so amazingly rewarding once we got the top and walked around. The views were breathtaking, and we could see everything in a nice 360 degree view.

We cable car'd it down (we were exhausted!) and took it easy the rest of the day, grabbing a small and nice italian dinner and chilling at our hostel and internet cafe.

Camps Bay, African Music, and gobs of garlic

The first full day we had in Cape Town, we woke up relatively early and started exploring the city bowl area. It was a bit chilly in the morning, but it quickly warmed up during the day.

We wandered around the city and made our way to the Gold Museum. It was a small, neat museum, with a pretty cheap entrance fee. The first exhibit in the museum was amazing. It was 3 walls full of incredibly detailed time lines of every major civilization (almost) the dawn of man, and their important accomplishments, trades, etc.

While that was my favorite room of the whole museum, the rest didn't disappoint either. Most of the remaining rooms (of maybe 4, 5) were decked out with old gold relics and old tools and clothing adorned with gold. It was pretty nice, with the final small room being completely dedicated to a small golden lion with a huuuge smiley face on it. It was several hundred years old, but still hilarious looking. Unnecessary humor, sure, but I'm just that ridiculous.

We walked to the waterfront and grabbed lunch at a Portuguese restaurant called Tasca. I grabbed the cheapest thing on the menu (a chicken burger), which was incredibly delicious, tossed with this red sauce, lettuce, tomato, and had french fries on the side. I had a draft of their house brew, and Kaitlin had a Castle.

While walking past the waterfront to Green Point (a very pretty gay district, from what I hear), we passed by the new World Cup stadium (that thing was huge!) and high-tailed it to Camps Bay, which was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous area I've been to, and one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world.

After climbing some very huge rocks and exploring the beach front, we hit a small restaurant, grabbed some small appetizers, and split a bottle of a blush wine. It was tasty and cheap, but if I was alone i would never get it. Certainly not for people who strictly enjoy reds (i wanted a full red, not a blush, but can't complain when alcohol is presented!), but it was still great. We split a small garlic bread, which ended up being a flat pizza bread with light olive oil and grilled onions with very fine garlic on the side to put on if we chose to. We also split some great bruschetto (spelling, clearly). The restaurant is apparently a world chain, Primi Piatti, with a location in Washington DC (i believe), but I've never been to it before.

We head back to our hostel, chilled, relaxed, and headed out for the night. We hit up a bar across the street with a few live guitarists playing, and relatively cheap drinks. After 3 drinks or so we went to another bar called Mama Africa, where a group was playing traditional African music, and we listened and danced for about an hour before heading home for sleep.

The more I explore this city, the more I wish I had more time here, its simply amazing.

You know what I like about South Africa?

"Why waste wine when you can get wasted!"
- Jerry, the Cape Town Wine Lands tour guide

Beer, Wine, and Spirit Review #2

Not wanting to waste any time in Cape Town (we only have a few days before our big overland trip), we went right into a Wine Tasting tour (that was very cheap!).

We went to two places. The first place we visited was Zevenwacht.

According to our guides and the hosts at the winery, the wine business in South Africa is booming, and exports are at an all time high. I'm no wine expert, and for me to pretend to know pretty much anything about wine would be ridiculously pretentious of me, so everything I'm telling you all is just how I experienced it and what I was told about the wine itself.

At Zevenwacht I tried 5 wines, 2 whites, and 3 reds. The first I tried was a 360 Degree Sauvignon Blanc. It is called a "360" because all of that grape are picked from a single patch. It was a pretty basic tasting white, but not bad at all.

The second was a Chenin Blanc, a barrel fermented wine with rich pineapple and yellow fruit flavors. It wasn't too bad. I'm not a fan of whites, but if wine is presented to me, I must drink!

The third was a Pinotage. This one was very tasty, it had aromas of chocolate and coffee with sweet red cherry flavours. It was very, very, very slightly smokey. Kaitlin said it tasted like bacon. I didnt taste that, but since bacon is the most amazing thing on earth, I wish I had.

The fourth was a Syrah, a vibrant wine with white pepper and sweet spicy floral tones of jasmine and violets. This one was so-so in my opinion. Others who were tasting it really enjoyed it, but it just wasn't for me.

The fifth was a Cabernet Sauvignon, a concentrated and full bodied wine with red cherry, blackcurrant, herbs and roasted coffee bean flavours. This was my favorite of the batch, it was very tasty, and I really enjoyed it.

The second place we ventured to was Saxenburg, a winery started in 1693, back during the time of the Dutch East India company. We tried 5 wines here too.

The first was a Savignon Blanc, a fruity wine which was enriched by gooseberry and fig flavours. It was pretty good. As was the second white wine, a Chardonnay, a full bodied wine with a lemon and hazelnut character. This was also exceptionally tasty.

The three reds we tried started with the Merlot. This wine was structured with layers of berry fruit flavors and hints of mocha chocolate. I usually like merlot, but for whatever reason this wine wasn't doing it for me.

The 4th was another Pinotage. This was my 2nd favorite wine of the day. Unlike the first wine, I actually tasted the hint of Bacon Kaitlin claimed to have tasted. WIN! It was very tasty.

My favorite wine of the whole day was our final wine, a wine which had apparently won Saxenburg a huge trophy. A 2005 Shiraz. This was incredibly, incredibly tasty and enjoyable, and if anyone could grab a bottle, I would suggest it!

Anyway, enough of me sounding pretentious and annoying, I'll probably be sticking to beer for the rest of the trip...

Party time!

The plane's too big captain!

After 12 grueling hours, we finally landed in Cape Town, and were bussed from our plane to the terminal because the aircraft was too big (and it had two entrances, which was odd, but hey, Virgin Atlantic can do their thing).

Customs was crazy easy, basically joked around with us the whole time (seriously, of course), about our visit, stamped a huge stamp into our passports, and let us go. Thats right Customs Agent, what took us so long to get here?

Our driver took us all the way to our hostel on Long Street (think the Adams Morgan of Cape Town). On the way there, we had miles of townships on both sides of the highway. Townships are the really poor and impoverished areas where the homes are built out of sheet metal, essentially. Some of the townships were really a sad sight, where you could see the homes falling into disrepair. At one point, I saw 2 boys on the side of the road, one of which was completely naked and attempting to take a massive dump. I don't think Kaitlin noticed, but not the first thing I wanted to point out to her.

The SA government had started housing projects, and from what we saw and what our driver said they had been pretty successful. We started coming to townships where real homes were being built to replace the metal ones, a 14 year old promise to the people of the townships finally coming to fruition.

As we started getting into Middle Class areas, the last townships on both sides of the highway were very unique. On our left, the muslim community, living in a relatively nice township with proper homes. On the right, the same style homes, with the exception that nearly all homes had bars over the windows and doors. Apparently, gangs controlled that neighborhood, gangs that attempted, to the best of their ability, to fully imitate the gangs of the US. Dressing the same, trying to sound the same, and listening to the same music. Quite a violent area, according to our driver.

As we passed Table Mountain, we came into the middle class to upper class areas. Everything looked much nicer and incredibly western. We made our way to Long Street, paid our driver, and checked into our hostel: Carnival Court.

London: I need sleeeep

I arrived at London on Sunday, Valentines Day, at 10am London time. Needless to say, having left at 9:30pm EST for a 7 hour flight and receiving only about an hour of sleep, I was exhausted, and pretty much passed out on the Tube on the way back to the airport that evening.

So there we were, in the middle of one of the greatest cities on earth, with an 11 hour layover before our 12+ hour flight to Cape Town. Naturally, we took the underground to the center of London and got out near Trafalgar Square.

Jack Sparrow, Mickey Mouse, Puppy Dogs, and Creepy Clowns. Yep, street performers were out in style that day. There was a man who was doing a pretty damn good impression of Jack Sparrow, a man (or woman, who knows), in the most shotty Mickey Mouse costume I have ever seen, a man dressed as a dog standing under a box so only his head and "paws" were visible to the world. I took many pictures, naturally, and the ridiculousness of those costumes will soon be uploaded for the world to see.

We grabbed lunch with an old friend of Kait's who had been studying in London, and his name was Jake. After indulging in a Steak, Guinness, and Mushroom Pie, we walked to the British Museum where we spent an hour or so looking at vases, mummies, and jewelry that looked like smiley faces! (again, pictures will be uploaded).

So, there was this mask created hundreds and hundreds of years ago, before Britain did any colonizing, that looked strangely familiar. I had never done much research into race relations and race humor, but clearly "blackface" was something that has been used to represent those with black skin for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Whether positively or negatively represented, it seems that a face far too familiar with crude racial humor was much older than I once thought.

After exhausting our time at the British Museum, we took a double-decker bus to the London Eye and walked from the Eye to Westminster, Parliament, and Big Ben. After some awesome photos it was time to head back to Heathrow to endure a crap-tastic 12-hour flight...

I need sleep.

Snowmeggedon 2010 (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blizzard)

So, I arrived to DC last Wednesday, the...3rd? I'm not too positive, but anyway, today is the 13th (which means I leave tonight!)

Last Friday saw the beginning of 25 or so inches that hit DC, and pretty much put the city to a standstill. The snowball fights were epic, even the one outside of Thurston where some passerby who's car got hit decided it would be a smart idea to pull a gun...

Anywho, the snow was pretty outrageous. I haven't uploaded any pictures yet, but when I do, those of you who aren't from the east coast or aren't there currently there will understand why DC sucks with snow...

The Federal Government was closed for 4 days. 4 ridiculous days. Kaitlin arrived to pick me up on Monday, several days after the last flake fell, and the roads weren't even close to being cleared. As I was driving up to New Jersey with her, we drove on the parkway that connects Baltimore and Washington DC (which, I assume, is one of the main roads federal employees take to get to and from work. The road conditions on that ONE ROAD were absolutely horrible.

What makes it worse, is that EVERY OTHER ROAD IN MARYLAND WAS PLOWED TO PERFECTION. 4 days of paid vacation for federal employees, thats all it was. Seeing that ONE SINGLE HIGHWAY not plowed and seeing that the rest were completely cleared was the biggest load of crap I've seen in a long time. It was abundantly clear to me that federal employees simply wanted to skip work, and that this one major road simply wouldn't get plowed to ensure a few paid vacation days. What were they thinking?

So, here I am in the wonderful state of New Jersey. I'm in central Jersey, which has proven to be beautiful in both summer and winter. The 3 feet of snow on the ground here still looks amazing with the surrounding woods, and having seen snow on the beach for the first time on my life, it really is pretty up here. Can't say the same to industrialized Jersey to the far north and far south, but I hope that those areas don't put people off, New Jersey really is something of an awesome state. And this is coming from me, a midwesterner, a Missourian!

It could just be that I love the east coast...

I leave in less than 12 hours. I am so excited! 7 hours to London, 11 hour layover, and then 14 hours to Cape Town.

Will update soon! Hope I have some readers!