Mumsie's Adventure

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I lean my forehead against the concrete wall, close my eyes and whisper “Thank you..” to God, the Universe, or whoever sent magical rays of light from my single shade-less bulb after too long with no electricity. It’s not bad, really, living without electricity, if there’s sunshine. On sunny days, I can place my inflatable solar lights outside and charge up my phone on the hand-me-down solar panel that replaced my stolen one. If I preserve my charge, I know I can at least make a call in an emergency (assuming I have a moment of cellular service at site). During the rainy season, when a week passes with no electricity, I watch each of my lanterns dim until I’m down to just a candle. My phone stays dead, and I just pray I don’t run out of gas at the same time.



While mom was here, we had a blast, but she certainly experienced the reality of life in the ville. After three days and my overwhelming joy at having bought an electric kettle, our electricity went out for the remainder of her stay. By the day we traveled out of Njombe, we were down to our last candle, and the final solar lantern was dimming. Her phone was the only one charged enough to set an alarm for our 6am trek, and that 33% was a glorious gift from airplane mode. My cooking gas began to flicker, worrying me that it would run out on our last days at site, and despite heavy cloud cover, no rain filled our buckets. All of this, a 60-chicken mis-delivery (the right chicks should be arriving this week), treacherous bus journeys, unending dropped calls during flight bookings, and literally no contact with family back home—but mom was seriously impressive.



Setting Mumsie loose in Tanzania was a site for all to see. Our bougy visit in Dar es Salaam was full of seaside happy hours, beach beers, and scrumptious tapas, but that all came to an abrupt end when the three wheeled motor-taxi got a flat tire at 4:30am on the way to our 9 hour bus ride. Personally changing the tire on the side of the road was far less challenging than the sprinting that entailed when we finally made it to Ubungo Bus Stand. Still in the dark, with huge luggage and medians to cross, I didn’t have to say “RUN” in English for mom to know what I was yelling to our porter. Frantic, we dodged hoards of bus promotors, sales people, and Tanzanian travelers. I was so worried she wouldn’t make it, but I glanced back and saw little Mumsie at a full run. Sketchers on and patch-work skirt flying, Mumsie stayed just two-steps behind me, huge bags of American goodies clunking over medians, feet, people (was that a body??), but we finally made it on our bus. Although the journey to Iringa was long, my favorite leg of the trip didn’t disappoint. Elephants, zebras, antelope, monkeys, and giraffes in quantities like squirrels all came out to graze as our bus made its way through the savanna and toward the southern highlands. I knew Mom wouldn’t need a safari if we had a lucky day on the bus.



Iringa was a great middle-ground before heading to the village. We stayed at my favorite little guest-house “Neema’s,” which employs disabled Tanzanians to run their inn and café, as well as an incredible craft shop with their handmade goods. If you’ve gotten a thank-you note from me, there’s a good chance the card came from Neema’s. Mom and I walked to a spot with a sunset mountain view and bonfire. We shared a bottle of wine before heading to a lovely little Italian Restaurant, Mama Iringa’s. There, we shared another bottle, this time sparkles, to pair with the most delicious gnocchi and mushroom crepes. Oh, how spoiled I was, sitting at a glass table under a linen canopy with the best mother in the whole wide world, drinking pink champagne! The following day we explored Massai Alley for locally made souvineirs and joined in on a Hindu sunset prayer. The prayer was followed by a traditional Indian meal with the kindest woman who invited me back to spend more time with her and her family. After cinnamon buns and coffee the next morning, we headed down to Njombe.







Every bus ride seems to bring out my inner-aggression. It would seem a person would become “used to” transport systems, considering how much traveling I have to do for Peace Corps. Unfortunately, the opposite is true. Sure, I now know exactly how much water I can sip to last the six hours until the next stop without becoming so dehydrated I’m ill. I know now to pack snacks, bring protein bars, and to always have change to pay for the squat toilet when we finally do make that stop. I know I’ll be grabbed, touched, smushed, coughed on, have my hair pulled, and unceasingly stared at. Every sip of water, every text message, every page I turn, every zipper I unzip, every scratch I scratch, every time I tuck my hair behind my ears…there’s an unashamed, unapologetic audience. Once, I got on my bus that was two hours late and every single seat was wet from rain. The smelly seats were practically steaming from the now sunny day, and the conductor was drinking out of a liquor bottle in the seat behind me. I had had such an awful experience trying to get back to site that I just couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. I went out into the middle of the bus stand with my headphones in, sat on a median, and cried, having accepted that the crying mzungu was the current sitcom for the entire bus stand. Ceaseless stares, and, always, even in the midst of wiping snot from my crying face on the concrete in the bus stand, the most sexist and frequent question, “Are you married?”



I tell you all this to reiterate how much of a badass my mom is. When we finally made it to our stop, they passed our suitcases through the bus windows. I was hungry, frustrated, reallllly had to pee, and so damn sick of having taxi drivers grab for my bags and bus promotors pull at my arms. I balanced the largest suitcase on my head (how else could we have retrieved it from a damn bus window?), and trekked across the lot to a clearing to put the bag down. It was heavy, and it was coming down hard whether I wanted it to or not. When the suitcase hit the ground, we heard something shatter inside. Instantly, precious red wine began pouring out the bottom of the suitcase onto the ground. Again, a ceaseless audience, annoying commentary, and no real help except for one sweet woman who aided us in moving the bag to a taxi with minimal spillage. “There are so many moments that I hate this country.” I said under my breath from the front seat. Mom was seeing some of the lows, most of which revolve around traveling. Thank goodness she knows me well enough to know what’s just a bad mood or a hungry Kate, and the right time to just say, “it will be okay.” Finally, we arrived at the village for a whirlwind of a week.



Between digging up random flowers throughout the ville to transplant in my yard, modifying my sustainably-built chicken coop, building a garden fence, and hiking 8 miles at 6,000 foot altitude to survey current village projects, I would say Mumsie’s doin’ pretty darn good for a sixty-two year old grandmother of three!



Mom got to meet my agriculture group when we went to check the progress of the chicken coops they had built as their community contribution to our duck-turned-chicken project. She was there when the sixty chicks pulled up on a motorcycle to my house (we had gone all the way to town to pick them up as scheduled, but of course they were late). She then saw when we had to send the chicks back on a different motorcycle because they were the wrong age and two were already dead. She witnessed the first harvest of Orange Fleshed Sweet Potatoes from my garden, and she helped with our cooking demonstrations at the baby-weigh-days. The kiddos devoured the sweet potatoes, and even the mamas enjoyed the porridge we made with sweet potato flour.



My two friends came over one night, and we used the delicious parmesean cheese mom brought me to make pizzas in the brick oven during a torrential downpour (“You girls really wanted those pizzas…” said mom, afterwards). We drank bottles of wine and ate my village version of tapas every night, took naps in the afternoons, read our books, and worked in the garden. Every time I’d turn around, mumsie would be at work on some thing-a-majig or another, finishing my Swiss-Family-Robinson-esque animal shelters, digging holes, or taking care of the goats. I maintained the house and kept us alive, but Mom sure did accomplish her tasks, and she even left me with new knowledge of plant propagation and gardening tricks. It seemed like every walk we went on, she could name every tree in the forest or flower on the hill. She didn’t complain that we lost electricity, were rained in, or that my most recent creature-tenants were quite noisy at night. Mumsie truly was a super hero!



After about 10 days in the ville, Mom and I headed back for the bus to spend our last few nights in new digs! Before flying back to Dar, we soaked in the peacefulness of Utengule Coffee Plantation and Lodge, where we hiked the coffee farm and watched the most incredible sunsets over the water-colored mountains. A highlight of the southern highlands, the lodge is a picture of tranquility. From our fresh coffee and cheese omelettes in the morning to our mojitos by the pool after a mountain walk, the only cares we had were identifying the colorful birds. We shared fried bananas and laughed so hard at my hairy armpits that we caused a scene. Mom even took a tumble down the mountain trail, but there weren’t any scrapes that red wine couldn’t heal. We truly embraced the serenity of the lodge, and lavished in our last days together.



When we finally headed back to Dar es Salaam, we had less than 24 hours before her flight to the States and mine back to the Southern Highlands. Another round of cocktails, some local shopping, and a beautiful sunset led us to a different Ethiopian restaurant, Addis. Little silk umbrellas acted as lampshades on the outdoor terrace where traditionally dressed servers guided us through the menu and poured our wine. Mom had never tried Ethiopian food and let me choose our dishes. Whether it’s the injera bread that’s so unique to this cuisine, or the fact that you eat everything with your hands, the experience is always a pleasant one. I was so giddy to share it with Mumsie as our last treat.



We hardly slept before heading to the airport the following morning, and saying goodbye was quick. If I’d hugged her any longer, I don’t think I’d have let go. I know she will be back for Christmas, and the months will fly by. As much time as I’ve missed with my family back home, having such quality time with my mom was an incredibly unique and valuable experience for both of us. Being the youngest of four, it’s rare to have such isolated one-on-one time, and there are so many things we shared that were unique to our special relationship. Identifying roses, cooing at the adorable birdies cuddling in the bush, giggling over cocktails on an outdoor terrace, or discussing our plans to save the world, we really do have a special bond. My mom, in so many ways, is the strength that gets me through the day, the grace that reminds me to be kind, and the joy that makes the lows worth facing. I’m truly blessed to have always been told, “if there’s a will, there’s a way!” --- afterall, the only way here in Peace Corps, is the will.



I’m readjusting to life alone in the village, closing my chicken and sweet potato grants, and preparing for our Mid-Service Training. I do feel, most days, that this is an emotional lull in my service. Statistically, it’s normal to slump around the year mark when the excitement has worn off but there’s still a long way ahead. I try to stay positive, and I’m so grateful for this journey, but please don’t be mistaken—this is hard. Like, really, really hard. I’m giving myself some space, taking my time, and continuing with my yoga so I can make it through these next 13 months. Thoughts of seeing Loren this summer, planning my future, and hugging my nieces help keep me going between your cards, letters, and goodies from home (thank you, thank you!!!). Our chickens finally did arrive, and I’m enjoying getting to know my new little flock, in hopes they don’t drive me mad. All in all, things are good. I know I can do this. If there’s a will, there’s a way.



Please send positive vibes!! ?



Kate

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