It is Jan 26 now, and we just returned to Arusha from ther safari---WOW! I cannot even begin to tell you how astounding it was, but first I need to catch up on the other things. We had no internet access during the safari, so I am way behind here.

To coninue with the village visit....

As we were drivnig down this bumpy, twisty road to the bottom of the Rift valley, we stopped and looked at The Holy Tree, a tree that the locals often stop and visit after a successful hospital stay. It's a large, gnarled old tree, not sure what kind, but it has all sorts of knotholes in it, and the locals wil put a small offering of grass in these holes to thank God for still being alive. They also will put bits of grass in to paray for rain. We didn't take photos of it as the villagers prefer us not too.

Eventually we came to a small village in the Endagulda area of the Rift Valley . "Village" isn't used in the same context as we use it, as this was one family (and their chickens) living in a small enclosure with 5 small huts. It was the father, about 70 and his wife, and his wife's sister. The father and his wife have 5 children; 3 daughters (one married, one whose husband had left her and one single daughter) and the children of the 2 older daughters, I think about 5 children. he 2 other children are sons who do not live with the family anymore.

This family has nothing. There are 2 grass huts side by side that the parents live in, and one for the wife's sister. There is a house made of mud with a thatched roof that the married daughter and her husband live in, and then there is a "modern" house made of sticks and mud that the other daughter lives in with her children. They have 2 huge bushes that they hang their clothes on to dry (the missionaries supply them with "western" clothes) They only other thing they own are chickens that run around and peck for food. And that is it. Not a toy or a pot or a bowl, at least not identifable by our standards, bowls are carved from wood, toys are sticks, pots are made from banana leaves and that sort of thing.

The wife of the girls could not have been more than 50 or so, and she honestly looked like an old Grandma of 75. She was sitting on the ground, pounding corn against a rock to make flour. There is a 45 gallon drum behind one hut that is half filled with sorghum that is fermenting to make home-made beer. The rusty old drum was the most modern thing they own..

They hunt with homemade bows and arrows which they showed us, they look like a toy compared to the ones we have in North America, but they are very proficient at hunting birds, small game like gazelles, but they can bring down a zebra with them as well! They tan the skins and use them as mats and blankets, and dry the meat in the sun.

For water they catch rainwater and they also know all the areas where you can dig a little way into the dirt and water will gather, although, again with the drought, water is very scarce. They certainly don't have the luxury of washing their clothes or having a bath. The one tiny water hole that we saw looked just like a muddy puddle on an old dirt road, but we saw people washing in it. It's really quite sad to see and makes me feel horrendously guilty at the water I waste...not drinking a glass because it "isn't cold enough".

The short rains are still being waited for, and the corn is usually 2 feet high by now, instead most farmers are just starting to plant, hoping that the long rains will start slowly and allow their corn to grow before it drowns it out. The long rains are due to start in a few weeks, so the entire country is praying for rain. It's all you hear on the news or in the paper or in any conversations. I just cannot believe how much we take for granted in our lives.

The most interesting thing abou this village is that they speak the Click language, it was honestly like stepping back in time and it's a good thing we had a translator with us! The one single daughter was laughing at us as we tried to imitate the clicks and tongue noises she made, and they make these clicks with both their tongue and the backs of their throats all while speaking with their larynx as well. It was spellbinding to listen too, it sounded almost musical.

The translator told us that one of the daughters had 2 babies in her house and she wanted us to come and look, and to my pleasure there were 2 little twins, a boy and girl, only 28 days old. She was so proud..."mbili, mbili" which means "two, two." Her father (not the father of the babies) was so proud as well, he kept pointing at the babies and chuckling. They graciously allowed us to take pictures of their homes and their family life, I felt quite priviledged to see all this, but I felt a little like a voyeur as well.

While we were there a young Tatoga manon his way home stopped in to see who "the visitors" were and he was wearing the traditional red "shuka" that the men wear and he was hoping we would take his picture, so of course I did. He couldn't have been much more than 16, he only had a bit of peach fuzz on his chin, but he is married with 100 cows and a bicycle...a wealthy man in this land. His hair was intricately braided into hundreds of thin braids, no bigger than a stand of spaghetti. The picture I have of him is one of my favorites (to be posted when I get home!) He shook his hair at us and grabbed one of the other ladies hands to let her touch his hair.

Speaking of bicycles--the most precious thing any one can have here is a bike or a donkey, and if you have both, well, you a re truely blessed. The bike gives you transportation and the donkey will help you pack you things and plow your fields.

This was without a doubt one of the most interesting things I have EVER seen, and to think that it was not a packaged tourist village, but one that has been living the same way for thousands of years (except for the 45 gallon steel drum!) was pretty thought provoking too, my mind was going a million miles an hour as we drove back to the Hospital.

We arrived back at about 6:30, 2 and half hours late but still in time for dinner, which was a sort of home made pizza with ground meat that was the end result of that bloody haunch of mystery meat that we had seen on the kitchen floor earlier. We took a small slice to be polite, and then we ate granola bars in our room...no mystery meat for me today, thanks.

There were no bug edisodes tonight although the sewar gas was pretty potent but we still slept the sleep of the tired tourist as the african crickets buzzed in the background.

Just a quick note on the water shortage. There are many places in the city that have the water pipes only an inch or 2 below the ground which causes untold problems from vandalism to just wear and tear and breakage from cars driving over. The majority of the people do not have running water and they buy it from the vendors, who of course are having a hard time getting water themselves, so the water you buy is often contaminated with ungodly sorts of things. The vendors will take a drink to prove it is safe, even though it isn't, because to them, getting a little money for their family is more important than their health. It's really horrifying to see this sort of thing. We North Americans are a spoiled, wasteful society. It's a shame.