A gift

So my friend Stella announces in late June that her daughter is going to have a baby very soon. I'm thinking that "soon" meant, well soon. Silly me, I'm in Africa. Tanzanians have a very different concept of time--whether it be for meetings, buses, deliveries or babies. Four weeks later Eunice was still very much pregnant and I'm sure Stella was tiring of me asking if she'd had that baby yet. But finally one day in late July Stella called me up and said her daughter was finally off to the hospital and could I give her some money for the hospital fees. I was happy to help as it wasn't a lot of money and folks here don't have insurance. So her and I get some money from the bank and drove across town to the Catholic mission hospital where Eunice is waiting to have her baby. We got there around 11 AM. In terms of African hospitals it was pretty nice. Eunice was in the ward which she shared with 2 other ladies. I'd never met Eunice before but she was the spitting image of her mom. She was obviously uncomfortable but I was impressed that she didn't look more miserable especially since she didn't have any drugs. Heck, she didn't even have a bed sheet (and remember this is a good hospital). Anyway, I just stayed long enough to pass my greetings and drop Stella off.

Two hours later Stella called me to say that Eunice had delivered a healthy baby boy. I was really impressed. Three hours after that she called again and said they were ready to leave the hospital and could I give them all a ride home. What am I supposed to say but, sure. So I quickly arrange for childcare for the boys as I figured this might take a while. Stella lives really far away and it was now the beginning of rush hour. Meanwhile I'm thinking "what the hell have I gotten myself into?" I've only recently gotten comfortable enough to drive from our house to the children's school and now I've got to drive over an hour away in a car through African rush hour with a baby that's only three hours old??? And never mind the fact that I don't have a car seat?

Now before you all roast me to a cinder about the car seat you have to realize that I just didn't have an other option. Most people here don't have cars, probably 95% of Tanzanians use public transportation to get around. Car seats are very rare and expensive. In the 6 months we've been here I can't recall ever seeing one at any of the stores I've visited. Some folks do use them (we do) but really there just isn't the car seat culture like in the US. Which is too bad because road accidents are common and deadly here. So before I continue on and further convict myself let me just say that had I happened to have an infant car seat with me I doubt they would have consented to use it at all. There was no way Stella was putting that baby boy down. She was one proud grandma.

So we all pile into the car: me, Josie (long story but she had to come), Stella, Stella's brother, Eunice, and the new baby. I'm quite certain I have never driven as slow or careful since I was 18 and taking my driver's test (though hopefully a tad better). I knew roughly where Stella's house was and it was not close. I'd venture to say it was halfway to Nigeria. Stella said it takes 50 minutes to get to her home by private car (but remember the whole Tanzania-time thing). After an hour we finally turned off the main road and headed back to her house. It was still another 30 minutes to her place down what was surely the worst road I have ever driven. Honestly it was horrible. It was like driving down a dried up creek bed...except worse because we were always going up or down extremely steep hills.

Meanwhile Stella and Eunice have announced that I need to name the baby. Good Lord, talk about pressure. Isn't enough that I have to drive your three hour old child through the African bush without a car seat? Now I have to give him a name that will follow him for the rest of his life? So I hem and haw and say that surely they'll come up with a better name and quickly change the subject. Finally we arrive at Stella's tiny house where she lives with her husband, Eunice, and now two grandsons. The first grandson Jimmy is two and takes one look at me and screams in terror. Josie and I drop our friends off, stay for a few minutes to be polite and then head home. It's late and we're tired.

A few days later Stella comes over. I ask about Eunice and the baby and she says everyone is doing well. I ask what name they've chosen and she says "we're waiting for you to pick one". Damn. I really thought I'd dodged that one. So I say "well how about a Swahili name?" Meanwhile I'm thinking what Swahili name would be good? Which ones are for boys and which ones are for girls? Do folks here in Tanzania name people after events that occurred around their birth or what? Really, I have no idea. Thankfully, Stella saves me from eternal embarrassment. She says "Yes a Swahili name is good. Maybe a gift." So I say OK--well how about zawadi--the Swahili word for gift. Is that a boys name? "Oh yes, zawadi is a very good boy's name. I'll tell Eunice you named him zawadi."

Lions and tigers and goats, oh my!

Ever since we found about the possibility of moving to Tanzania—and even before—I’ve imagined what it would be like to take my kids on a safari. I wanted them to see and appreciate first hand the animals they read about in books or see on TV or at the zoo. I wanted them to see how exciting it is to look off in the distance and see a giraffe grazing from a tree top or a lion pounce on a gazelle. The grasslands are so incredibly beautiful—wide open spaces with a million shades of brown. I’ve carried that memory since I was living in Kenya. Back then I used to walk every day to the training center where I was learning Swahili. I walked across a gigantic open field near the town of Naivasha right in the middle of the Great Rift Valley. Far in the distance I could see Lake Naivasha and occasionally a pink splotch—thousands of flamingos stopping to feed or rest. But what I really loved was walking past the zebras. Frequently in the field were small groups of zebra grazing on the grass. They were almost as common as squirrels and I never tired of watching them. I don't know what it is about zebras that I like; I don't have any sort of romantic notion about them being intelligent or nurturing--basically they're just fancy donkeys. I guess I just like them because they're so darn cool looking. And even after two years of living there, I still had the urge to shout “zebra!” every time we passed one on the road. So it was with a lot of anticipation and expectation that we planned for our first safari in Tanzania. We decided to go to Mikumi National Park. It’s the closest park to Dar es Salaam about 200 km away which means it can take anywhere from 3 to 6 hours depending on traffic. And all in all, aside from a few bumps in the road (literally and figuratively) it was a wonderful trip.

Most of the folks I know with kids here always comment on their children’s flexibility—how they can roll with the punches and are used to traveling. Long trips are par for the course in Africa. There isn’t a speedy way to come to Tanzania (just ask my mom about her 12 hour flight between New York and Dubai) and once you get here the infrastructure is so miserably non-existent and the traffic so unbelievably bad that a trip across town at rush hour practically warrants a Valium just for contemplating it at all. Traveling in Africa requires a huge does of patience (and the aforementioned Valium) and my kids sadly have neither. Quite honestly, I hate taking road trips with my kids. In the US I would gladly volunteer to drive just so I could get out of “chairing the entertainment committee” (ie—playing referee, fetching cereal bars, finding ways to pass the time, etc). So the thought of piling three kids, my mom and my husband in a car for three days of non-stop driving without the benefit of McDonalds, DVDs, or hell even bathrooms was a bit intimidating. I’m not going to lie…there were a few moments, particularly at the end, where I would have rathered walk home by myself, barefoot over broken glass than listen to another second of whining but it was all worth it. Taking my kids on safari was so cool. I loved it all—even the miserable parts.

Most of the trip to Mikumi was uneventful. The scenery was pretty—rolling hills, coconut trees, and plenty of goats. The road was good (by African standards) though it was jam packed with endless lorries trucking goods from Dar’s deep water port to the rest of Tanzania and on to Zambia and the Congo. This is a bit problematic since the “highway” isn’t much bigger that your average two lane country road and people here either drive extremely fast and terrible or extremely slow and terrible. Getting stuck behind a string of lorries is maddening. There’s a whole complicated system that drivers have for communicating with each other which I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand. Basically the vehicle in front will put on their right turn signal to indicate that you can pass and their left signal if you cannot. You need someone in front of you to signal because the road is so narrow that you can’t check yourself without playing chicken.

So much of our trip to Mikumi was spent dodging careening 18 wheelers, goats, bicycles, mothers with babies and the occasional motorcycle and warding off the never ending “are we there yets”. It was only after we had been traveling for about 4 hours that the scenery changed and shortly after that we passed the entrance to the park. Mikumi is Tanzania’s third largest park and the Tanzania-Zambia highway runs right through the middle of it. There are no fences--just a vast open space. But as soon as you cross into the park everything changes because there are no people or villages or goats or anything except endless scrub brush known as miombo. The miombo is really quite beautiful and while it isn’t exactly like the flat-topped acacia trees on the National Geographic channel, it’s pretty darn similar. And Amy if you’re reading this (she’s an ecologist who studied in Tanzania for 2 years), please be nice and tell everyone that my description is accurate—even if it’s not.

So while all the adults in the car were oohing and aahhing over the scenery, the kids were pretty unimpressed. But then we saw a gazelle. We slowed to a complete stop on the highway and took about 15 pictures of a barely visible buck. The kids shouted and were pointing. Then we saw more. And more. We passed some closer to the road. Then we saw a baboon sitting on the road.
A few minutes later I finally saw a zebra. It had been 11 years since I last saw one in the wild and better yet I got to share that experience with my children. They’ll never know that it was such a special moment for me but that’s par for the course in parenting.

Unlike at Serengeti Park and Ngorogoro Crater, Tanzania’s most famous safari destinations, there are only a few lodges and camping sites at Mikumi. We decided to stay at Vuma Hills, a tented camp located inside the park. We were given two really nice permanent tents—complete with comfortable beds, porches with beautiful views, and hot showers.
We were definitely not roughing it. The kids were thrilled to have their very own tent (though Bob ended up staying with them at night). The tented camp had a tiny pool which was ice cold (it is winter, after all) but that didn’t stop the kids from jumping in.

The following day was our main day of game drives. We booked a guide at the park entrance and set off. Our goal was to see lions however we knew it would be unlikely as they are not common in Mikumi and it was also the “burning season”. This is the time of year when small fires are set (I think by the park rangers) as a way of making new grass. I must admit is was a bit unsettling at first to be driving past numerous brush fires which came right to the edge of the road, but no one was concerned whatsoever. The only problem was they tended to drive away the already reclusive lions. We did not have to drive long before we started seeing wildlife. There were tons of birds which thrilled Benny to no end. We saw giant vultures, hornbills, tiny beeeaters, beautiful kingfishers, lilac breasted rollers and lots of guinea fowl. We saw large herds of impala, wildebeest, and a few buffalo. And many, many giraffe and zebra. Everyone had their personal favorite. My mom loved the elephants. One time we saw one that was literally standing on the edge of the road. We needed to continue down the road and this thing wasn’t moving. So Bob decided to just drive past. We paused when we were very close (maybe 5 feet away). I thought our poor guide was going to have a heart attack. She was shouting at Bob to go fast because elephants can (and do) charge people—especially if they have young. So maybe it wasn’t the brightest thing to do but it was still way cool.

Later that day we stopped at a small pond full of hippos. Ironically this is the one place in the park where you are allowed to stop and get out of your car. It’s ironic because hippos are far more dangerous and aggressive than all other African wildlife. So we figured what the hell…we’d already braved the elephant, may as well check out the hippos too. Poor Josh was terrified and stayed in the car the whole time (maybe he shouldn’t read so much) but the rest of us had a lovely time looking at the hippos.
(Believe it or not those "dots" in the middle of the pond are hippos--about 4 or 5 adults. You never want to see a hippo on land). We also saw a crocodile and a gigantic monitor lizard. In the end, we saw and did everything we had hoped to do…except see the lions. The guide told us no one had seen any in a week. So we’re thinking we’ll need to venture up to Serengeti so that we can get our fill of lions.