What a day.....

So I actually wrote this last night after a particularly long and stressful day. I would have posted it last night but, in accordance with a bad day, the internet cafe on the walk home was closed.

From Friday, July 25:

It is rather sad when your journal becomes you best friend. But, all alone in this country, this darned journal is the only thing that actually understands English. :)

Today was a really rough day. I had a premonition that the day would not go well but I just shrugged it off as my pessimistic nature at work. I should have l listened to myself and stayed in bed, waiting for the day to go by. There was nothing out of the ordinary on the morning walk to the dala-dala, just the same date and marriage proposals that I get everyday. A dala-dala had just pulled up to my stop when I was crossing the street and I even got a fairly good seat in the second row. After two stops, however, before he opened the door to let more people on, the money taker man looked at me and pointed to the vacant last row. Now, I try and avoid this row like the plague. It is the Bermuda Triangle of dala-dala rows- once you go there, you never leave. As a small consolation to myself, I didn't scoot over in the row but rather stayed in the aisle. That didn't last long. A few seconds later a man was making a noise and moving his hand in such a way as to say "move over." Being the good little girl that I am, I listened and scooted over. We reached Shoppers Plaza and to my chagrin, there were about 15 people wanting to get on this dala-dala. I was stuck! My stop was rapidly approaching and I had no escape plan. So picture this, me, trapped in the back of an overly full bus trying to figure out if the dala-dala would slow down enough for me to climb out the window or if I could somehow hold my bag and hold down my skirt at the same time as I was trying to climb over the benches. I started calling out "sousha Mkwajuni! Sousha Mkwajuni!" (Stop Mkwajuni) hoping that someone would take pity on this poor mzungu who had the misfortune to find herself trapped. When we reached the stop before mine, I tried to move up closer to the front but we were so packed in the back that I couldn't dislodge myself enough to stand up. I watched my stop come and go, dejectedly calling out "sousha, sousha." The thing about dala-dalas and Tanzania is that both are ridiculously noisy and I was more than likely not heard over the din of roosters, goats, car horns and shouting. Four stops and two miles later I was finally able to get out of the dala dala but not without arguing with the money taker first. Since I had actually traveled out of Dar, he wanted to charge me 500 tsh (about 50 cents) when the normal fare is 200 tsh (about 20 cents). I told him I had wanted to get out at Mkwajuni but he didn't let me and I handed him the 200 tsh coin and turned around to walk to work. I arrived at Malaika 45 minutes late to find a strange car parked out front. Turns out, child welfare had decided that this morning of all mornings would be their day to do a surprise visit. I walked in hot, sweaty and grumpy and was glared at by the child welfare lady. As it is one of my jobs to get the kids ready in the morning and do some type of fun and educational activity before school starts, many of the kids were still lying in their sleep clothes watching cartoons. Not exactly the best impression. Any other day, this would have been fine but of course, child welfare came on the one day I was not ready. Ultimately, the visit went fine but after they left I got an earful from the orphanage director (who I have only met twice in 3 weeks- she never really comes to work...ever). Needless to say, I will be leaving the hostel at 6 am just in case anything like my dala-dala experience ever happens again I can still get to work on time. :)

The rest of the morning went fine, and after lunch when all the kids arrived home from school and the mosque, I took most of the kids outside for a football match. We were having a great time until I went to steal the ball and the ball hit my baby toe and jammed or sprained it. Now wanting to upset the kids, I quietly limped back to the house while muttering some choice words in Swahili. By the time I hobbled back to the house my toe was bright red, throbbing and swollen. I left work early saying that I was really tired even though I was secretly in a lot of pain. I made my way the mile to the dala dala stop and didn't have to wait too long. I also managed to get a seat in the front row. Maybe things were turning around for me! Wrong. My dala dala stop is the terminal stop for that line and usually there are just one or two other people on the dala dala with me getting off at Nyrere. But as it turns out, the time I was on the dala dala was a peak time and so when the driver saw that there were only a few of us on the bus, he pulled over with 1.5 miles left to go and told us to get off as he wanted to turn around to collect more fares. On any other day, I would have been a little perturbed but generally fine with having to walk almost 3 miles home but today I was upset. With tears in my eyes, I stumped along home, cursing every rock that decided to jump in my teva's. I called my dad and he listed to me cry and complain before consoling me and saying just the words I needed to hear.

Things are starting to look up now: when I finally arrived home, no one was here so the hostel was actually quiet. Most of the people have gone to Zanzibar for the weekend and the two who didn't are going on a small weekend Safari. I will have the hostel to myself for 2 glorious days. Thank goodness!

Even though today was really rough and I had a crying breakdown, I'm still loving my time here. No lies, Tanzania is a hard place to live as a westerner but it also has an odd and magical charm that draws you in and becomes part of your heart. So even though individual days may be stressful and rough, I will always love this country and the people, leaving part of my heart here on the dusty roads, cramped dala dalas and loving children.