Showground Compound -- Monze Town

As December 1^st approaches, World AIDS day, we have been focusing many of our sessions and trainings on the HIV/AIDS concerns here in Monze, Zambia. Just yesterday we ran a powerful session on such topics for about 120 children in the Showground compound just outside Monze town. Showground is a rural area where livelihoods are made from cattle and tobacco farming, as evidenced by the hundreds of cow horns scattered throughout the paths and fields! The Showground compound used to hold weekly displays of cattle and locally­‑grown produce for farmers to buy or trade. Now, it is the home to the Tobacco College of Zambia and not much else. The youth of this compound do physically challenging labor and often have to miss school to assist with farming activities. One or two days a week, we provide fun, soccer drills that incorporate useful health or social information. We have been able to educate the children and coaches of this compound on many issues with our focus this week on HIV/AIDS. The reality of yesterday’s session was difficult for us as you will see but rewarding as well. As we have found out many times, children of too young an age are sexually active. Learning that 10 and 11 year olds were sexually experimenting was disheartening. However, giving them an environment to learn and ask questions provided me with hope for the years to come. Through our games we received many good questions. Working through their options, we allow them to reason and choose a path rather than merely following local traditions. Additionally, we received commitments from many of the children that they would seek testing by the time we next arrived. When we left Showground, we felt like a difference was made. And in holding up our side of the bargain, we made it to the clinic ourselves. “I know, do you?” now adorns our wrists on a bright yellow bracelet. Hopefully seeing this bracelet will continue to motivate the local children to stay informed and make choices.

Please wear red (like our local coaches seen here) on December 1^st to show support for World AIDS day. It is a difficult disease we as a world must defeat.

Christiano

PS - Happy Thanksgiving all!

The Magic (Mujika) Kingdom?

This past week we were lucky enough to be invited to the beautiful, albeit remote, village of Mujika. This village consists of about 10,000 Zambians scattered throughout the bush and rolling hills some 20 miles or so from Monze (my home base). As part of our commitment to the Zambia Project and BSI (our local partner), we committed to extended visits to rural sites to teach coaches and teachers, as well as the local children, as travel to our regular sessions was too distant. Upon arriving at the Malomo School and meeting the family with which we would stay, Sam and I knew we were in good hands. Over the next five days we conducted training sessions for the peer coaches and leaders of the community on how to use sport to teach the children. In the afternoons to the cusp of darkness, we taught the local children numbering close to 200. With great success we shared our techniques and lessons. The teachers were most pleased with the numerous fun games we shared on HIV/AIDS as they find it a difficult topic to discuss and with these games, they felt they could now approach that difficult but prevalent topic. Additionally, the female teachers really enjoyed our “Nguzu Musimbi” session – Girl Power to those not yet fluent in Tonga. At night we slept soundly having worked hard throughout the day.

Well, that last part is not totally accurate. You see, we were in a very, very remote locale. And, as rainy season was commencing, farming and farm animals ruled the down time. My dear friends the roosters, cows, shepherd dogs, chickens, goats and sheep slept at our door step, when they chose to sleep – which I think was never. But, despite the noise, I would have been able to cope. The real trauma came when I had to use the bathroom hole, some 100 yards away from our sleeping area, one night. In the darkest of hours, with the closest electricity some 20 miles away, I donned my headlamp and trekked to the hole. During my walk, our host’s words at dinner rang in my ears – “Beware of the snakes. Don’t jump over them, step on them.” Who was he kidding? Especially after describing the snakes as 5 feet long and as thick as his leg! Granted he was skinny, but still! With that thought, I kept plodding. Safe from harm, I arrived at the hole, and entered the small, enclosed brick structure. Whether it was the light, or my malaria pills or something else, when I entered the structure, I almost died from fear. There hanging on the walls, crawling on the ground, and dangling from the ceiling, were 10-20 of the largest bugs – I assume spiders – that reminded me immediately of tarantulas. My flashlight only made it worse as the shadows cast were gigantic. With my racing heart jumping out of my chest (yes I understand how cowardly I sound), I exited the structure and just completed my activities in the tall grass behind the hut. Whether a snake bit me was no longer a concern! Luckily, none did.

When I finally made it back to my mosquito tent, I tried desperately to fall back asleep, but with the images in my head, I didn’t dare close both my eyes. Luckily, dawn and the calling of the roosters came soon enough and I could head to our host’s house for some nshima and sour milk – the Breakfast of Champions!

On our last night in Mujika, the village prepared for the soccer tournament we would be holding the next day. With all the children coming, some ladies from the village generously offered to make some Chibwaantu, a corn meal based energy drink. I was later informed it translates to Sweet Beer but I can tell you there was no alcohol involved! Since we brought on the idea of capping our stay with a soccer tournament, I decided it would be good form to assist these lovely ladies with the task at hand. For two hours, in the dark, we sifted corn, and then rinsed it, and then brew it, and then mixed it. The strength of the ladies was fierce, or I am getting weaker by the day. Please reserve comments until I return home as I can’t adequately retort. When done, we let it sit in a drum overnight and then shocked the kids with it the next day. I say shocked because when the children found out I helped make it, there was stunned silence and then applause. I was shocked most of all as it tasted relatively good. It was like a watered down creamed corn soup with a smoky aftertaste. I don’t think Gatorade has any worries but the Mujika children thought it was magical!

Twaunka,
Christiano

PS – Happy Birthday Matt Aviza and Jeff Oberg!

One Million Kwacha!

Having completed our work in Tanzania, it was time to say good bye to my friends and then travel onwards to Zambia. As Kigoma found itself on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, I desired to travel south on the famed MV Liemba – a large ship that has been traversing the Lake for many, many years. I headed to the port to check on its departure times as I know it is scheduled to travel only once a week. I learned, after speaking with the harbor master – apparently the only authoritative voice on the subject – that the ship would be leaving in three weeks to Mpulungu, Zambia. T.I.A.! I was saddened by that news because I had looked forward to this part of my journey since June. However, since I learned that the Liemba was being used to transport refugees back to Burundi, and having just spent some time at one such refugee camp, my disappointment disappeared immediately. Seeing the realities of a refugee camp first hand is quite humbling. The coaches I met in the camp had been displaced from their homes due to brutal fighting and killing and had not seen their families in 10 years. The coaches, then sons and young brothers, were attacked at night and fled into the safety of the bush in the darkness. For years, these men have been searching for their families, never giving up hope of reuniting with lost loved ones. Despite the endurance of these atrocities, the coaches have been able to forge a new life at the refugee camp, and use sport as a way to teach the children in the camps and bring some level of normalcy back to the community. Having only been given a few hours at the camp, we shared as much as we could in that time and discussed sending more CaC coaches back to the repatriation camp in Burundi next year. Although it was only a few hours, I will remember the strength and courage of those coaches for the rest of my life.

Back to my travels...since the boat was not an option, and no buses or flights went from Kigoma to Lusaka, I needed to travel all the way to Dar es Salaam to find a connection. When I arrived in Dar, I learned of a special railway called TAZARA (Tanzania-Zambia Railways) that connected Dar to Kapiri Mposhi (a city 3 hours north of Lusaka, Zambia). With a renewed sense of travelling adventure, I bought my train ticket for the next day (Tuesday) at 3:00 (the only time per week that it ran) and headed into the city for dinner and rest. When I woke the next morning, I learned from my hotel that visitors could no longer get visas on the train at the border station so I rushed to the embassy that was scheduled to open in 10 minutes (at 9:00). While waiting I saw a sign that said “Visas – MWF.” I hoped it meant something different than I thought, but soon learned otherwise. The nice woman at the desk informed me that the officer who does visas is here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Mimicking the eyes of my niece Stella when she wants something from her parents, I plead with the woman explaining my predicament. She said we could try but that I would need 2 passport photos. So my day of running around began. Successfully finding a photo shop to take my picture, I returned from the first of five “errands” which I needed to complete before receiving a visa. At 2:30, I finally received a stamped passport and began the race to the train station, clear across town. A 1 mile run to my hotel was done in 7 minutes, 30 seconds as the traffic was too congested to wait for a taxi. Picking up my luggage from my hotel, I then raced to the station and arrived on the track at 2:55 finding my cabin with ease and dropping my bags on the bench at 2:58! I believe I startled the two French women and Zambian gentleman with whom I would share my cabin when I entered dripping with sweat. They let me sit by the window to cool down as we exchanged pleasantries. For the next six hours, we chatted and learned lots about each other. We ate dinner and even chose our bunks. Things were going smoothly since my arrival at the train, save for one minor detail, we never left the station!

For 6 hours we sat on the tracks waiting for fuel to arrive. One would have thought that when a train leaves only once a week, and yes it is the only train that runs from this station and on this track, you would be a little more prepared for the departure. But, T.I.A.! Sharply at 9:00 we pulled from the station and began a journey that would cross 2 national parks in Tanzania and many remote parts of Zambia. Despite the delay, I was looking forward to the majestic sights I envisioned I would see over the next day. With a night of semi-peaceful rest on my bench sized bed, I took a seat by the window and enjoyed the rolling hills, deep valleys, wildlife and beautiful landscape that passed before me.

My travelling companions were not going as far as I was going, and soon I found myself alone in the cabin. With my new freedom, I inched closer to the window and saw I could see more of the landscape, something I wish I had not noticed. Every few miles I saw an overturned, burned out train car that had rolled off the tracks on some earlier trip. Some rested on their heads in the pits of valleys, and others on top of crushed trees. My relaxing journey became a little more harrowing. Despite the new found angst, I read my Oscar Wao book and snacked on PB&J. I also learned that I was misinformed on the length of the trip – 24 hours was actually 48 hours. Resigned to another day on the train, I put my feet up and enjoyed the scenery – from a distance. With each passing hour, I wondered when we would get to the border between Tanzania and Zambia. The train workers kept saying an hour but after 6 hours passed, I just decided to wait. At 1:00 a.m., I finally put my head on the pillow by the door so I could hear when the immigration officer came by. At 3:00 a.m. someone finally knocked! The officer came in, I showed my passport with my visa and waited for the stamp to be stamped. However, this officer said I was missing a stamp from TZ and that I would need to see her boss. I threw on some shoes, locked my cabin and headed off to a small office on the train – all the while the train is carrying onward into Zambia. In the office, I met with two armed officials and was told that I had illegally entered the country. Apparently, when the train left TZ, the immigration officers did not travel down to my cabin to give me an exit stamp! These Zambian officials were saying I hopped the train and illegally entered the country and I would need to “pay a fine.” I imagined that this could be another dream caused by my Malaria drugs, but I felt too tired for it to be anything but real. The officers gave me an ultimatum – pay the fine or be dropped off at the next station and travel back to Tanzania. Hoping “the fine” would not be too much, I asked how much it would cost me to stay on the train. They said “One Million Kwacha!” I inadvertently laughed in their face and then again explained my story, showing them my ticket from Dar es Salaam. I also explained that I was to be a volunteer in Zambia and had nowhere near a million kwacha. Of course, I had no idea how much a million kwacha was but it sounded astronomical. It was a standoff so I said I wanted to call in the TAZARA employee I had been talking to the whole trip. They politely declined. It was at that moment that I knew they wouldn’t kick me off so I mentally said I would wait it out (as the train was moving anyway). Fifteen minutes later, they realized I was not “paying the fine” and was not voluntarily getting off the train. I think out of boredom, and possibly some belief in my volunteer status, they gave me a 7-day entry stamp and sent me on my way! With my passport in hand, I headed back to my bench-bed and caught some sleep before the sun filled my cabin at 6:00 a.m. For the next 12 hours I enjoyed the sights of the countryside of Zambia and finally made it to Kapirir Mposhi at sunset, completing my 51 hour adventure into Zambia!

Kasulu Teacher's College

Some 75 KM east of Kigoma stands a small, highway town that is home to one of western Tanzania's most elite teaching colleges - Kasulu's Teachers' College. KTC's President believes in the power of using sport as a tool to teach, but does not yet have the funding for a faculty member or a full program, so he asked us to come and run sessions for his students over four days. As the student teachers would bring our teaching style and methods across all of Tanzania where they would hold positions as 1st year teachers, we easily modified our schedule. Each day and night, with one session delayed due to a Biblical deluge of water from the sky, we taught the student teachers the CaC curriculum and then held evening sessions with children from the local villages. Throughout the days of our stay, the President continuously informed us of the joy that the teachers were having. But, more importantly, he said they found the methods so effective! The students even offered to pay for us to stay an extra week out of their own pockets. Because of other commitments, we compromised promising to look into sending fellow CaC coaches for two weeks next year.

In a touching moment, the President and Vice-President concluded our stay with a presentation of a "plaque" and a series of thank you speeches.

With a heart full of pride for our good work, we climbed into the vehicle of a friend who had offered us a free ride back to Kigoma for our flight. As the street are not paved, we were happy to see he had a nice, four wheel drive vehicle that looked like it had enough room for the six of us. I soon learned that six would be eight as he had two other friends. I entered the front cab and sat twisted like a pretzel next to the stick shift. Another large man squeezed in next to me. With no seat belts to be found, I spent the next two hours gripping a handle bar in front of me holding on for dear life as we sped at break neck speed over dirt roads and river beds. My knuckles were white the entire trip and my forearms cramped for the rest of the day. But still, I was glad to be in the front. The other five folks hopped in the back to discover the truck was full of 30 boxes of scented prophylaxes. As we traversed the rough terrain, these boxes would tumble down on them, leaving them not feeling "protected" or "chocolaty fresh." But things would turn for the worse as we passed little villages on the way home as at each one our co=passengers bought groceries through the windows. It started with 25 tomatoes (that soon became soup), then 10 full rods of sugar cane, to peppers and onions, and finally culminating with fish! Now, the temperature outside was close to 95 degrees, but because we were on a dirt road we would need to close our windows every time another car passed to protect our faces from rocks and debris.The remainder of our trip proved quite a lesson - I can hold my breath for a full hour!

Stinky and sweaty, but with love,

Christiano

A Quiet Day Off...

I know it has been a long, long time since I have posted anything. My apologies. I do however thank you all for the well wishes for my Dad as well as the updates from my family. Since it has been a while since a post, I will share a whopper of a story. It may be long MF, but enjoy.

A few Saturdays ago, we had finished our work in Kigoma, Tanzania and had a day off. With our free time we chose to go to Gombe National Park to visit with Jane Goodall's chimpanzees. After a 3 hour boat ride with me sitting essentially on the motor, we arrived, paid our $100 and were given a tour guide (a second year student at a tourism school!). The chimpanzees hadn't been seen for a couple of days but we thought it would still be fun to trek and search the two mountains where they lived. After 20 minutes we came across two baboons who were obviously more than, 'just good friends'!! Then, out of sheer luck we got the radio news from the trackers that the chimps had been spotted. We had to move quickly as the chimps were making their way out of the reserve. Ascending the mountain was tiresome work, but after only 30 minutes of thrashing through some dense forest and brush, we were standing 10 yards away from 3 females chimps who were resting and picking bugs from each other's hair. There was also one baby chimp playing. Very cute indeed. The scene was surreal as we were so close you could see many similarities with human behavior. Amazing I say!

Two of us (Nick and I) then asked the guide's permission to move to another spot just to the left of the chimpanzees to watch from a different angle. We had an unobstructed view from about 7-8 yards! Incredible. After a few moments, the two of us looked over the lady chimps and noticed a big male chimp about a hundred yards in the distance, big enough to look like a small gorilla. He was slowly descending a path towards our fellow hikers on the other side of the ladies. We're not sure why but just then all heck broke loose! The females started screaming and running and branches were breaking all around as this alpha male came charging along the path .....SCREAMING! The place had literally gone ape sh_t. The chimp - we later learned was named Frodo - was bounding down the path right at the spot where the lady chimps were.

I knew something was wrong as this chimp was coming straight at Nick and me. With my adrenalin pumping i started to step away from the female chimps and face off with the chimp. Nick who had received training in Uganda reacted more properly - he looked down, covered his eyes (so missed the whole thing - sort of). At full speed the chimp jumped over our fellow hikers and jumped to the tree right in front of me where Nick stood. Frodo swung around the tree and hurled himself on Nick's back!(PAUSE IN STORY TO VISUALIZE)........At this stage of the story, understand that we I the middle of the Gombe National Park, a 3 hour boat ride from Kigoma, a small Tanzanian town with limited medical facilities and Nick has a 140lb crazy Alpha male chimpanzee screaming on back and me squared off like I would box it.We'll get back to what happened next in a moment but later I found out that this was the chimpanzee (Frodo) that in2002 had eaten a human.Luckily for us, especially Nick, Frodo jumped off screaming and ran away and up another tree. It was an intense 8 seconds. Nick (and all of us really) was lucky that Frodo didn't bite his ears or fingers or really kick or punch him. I was lucky because I didn't want to have to yank a chimp off of Nick's neck!But oh boy, WHAT AN EXPERIENCE!!!

After that intensity, we were lucky that we were able to follow the chimps (between 8-10 of them) for a few hours. Incredible nature. And luckily, Frodo wasn't around too much after the attack... If anyone is interested in learning more about Frodo, google "Frodo: The Alpha Male; By Allan Fallow." You will learn how he ruled "with an iron fist;" how In one four-year period, he alone eliminated an estimated 10 percent of the park's colobus-monkey population within his hunting range; and how Frodo jumped on Jane Goodall and thrashed her head so thoroughly that he nearly broke her neck resulting in her refusal to enter Frodo's territory without a pair of bodyguards along for protection.

Wow.

More posts to follow.

Miss you all,

Christiano

PS -- Happy Birthday Elsa!

PPS -- Welcome Home Dad!

PPPS -- Congratulations Mr. Zwirko! She is a lucky lady.

More Updates Forthcoming

Hello all -- Many of you know, and some of you don't, but my mind has been preoccupied recently with my family -- my Dad is home from the hospital and on the road to recovery -- and so now I can turn to writing up some of the magnificent experiences I have been having lately. As I spent my time today reading about his health status, I will work on it and get it posted this weekend. Let's just say Monze, Zambia is beautiful and the children, especially the young girls battling HIV, make all the hard work very rewarding. More to follow shortly.

Tuwanka (Tongan Good Bye),

Christian

Goodbye Kigoma, Hello Kasulu

My time in Kigoma, Tanzania is wrapping up and soon we will be off to the Teachers' College in Kasulu, a mere 75 KM east from here. It will be a sad day when I do not get to work with these wonderful local volunteers committed to making Kigoma region a "better place." Their willingness to endure the heat and dusty conditions of the Kigoma fields truly indicates their desire to learn how to teach using sport. Selfishly I will miss my afternoon and night sessions with the local children, especially the girls and young women. I will leave knowing that these young women have gained a certain level of respect in the community as well as have learned to approach difficult situations with an eye towards analysing the problem to make a choice rather than just following local tradition. And, I will know that I taught them no grammatical skills by re-reading that last sentence.

Anyway, I wish you all the best and send a hug to my family, especially my Dad. When I learned of the news of Uncle Joey's passing, I recalled his laughter as one of his greatest gifts. I will miss him.

Much love,
Christian

.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

"Girl Power" or "Wasichana pata nguvu!" Those words have been our calling card as we have provided some of the first girl-only soccer sessions in Kigoma history. Our partner Nico Pota -- the Municipal Director of Sport for the entire Kigoma region -- has worked tirelessly to establish opportunities for girls to participate in sport in order to combat teen pregnancy and HIV/AIDS in this remote fishing town. The community has found sport to be an effective tool in teaching boys about certain issues and Nico asked us to come to Kigoma to assist with training his teachers and girls on these issues while keeping the atmosphere light and fun to allow for free discussion. With a focus on health, respect and equality issues, we have run two weeks of instruction for teachers in the morning and have run afternoon sessions for girls. While the Regional Director was worried about a lack of attendance, we have seen a rise from 45 girls in our first session to over 150 girls in our last. While the words were humbling to hear, we appreciated the statement that by next year, they were confident rates for teen pregnancy and HIV would be down!

In addition to the sessions, I was lucky enough to hand out some beautiful orange soccer shirts for 50 of the girls. As many of you know, when I departed from Boston on this journey to Africa, I had a backpack and one duffel bag. In the backpack were my clothes and supplies for 6 months. In the duffel bag were 50 soccer shirts and 50 pair of soccer socks as well as 2 soccer balls and 20 cones, totaling roughly 30 KG. For 3 months that bag rode in many a dala-dala, plane, pick-up truck and even rickshaw. However, when I handed out the new shirts for the girls, there was disbelief from them for a bit until someone who actually speaks Swahili was able to "clean-up" my attempts at an explanation. Getting hugs and smiles made all the effort worthwhile. Granted this photo does no justice to their joy as we had to stop the games to take it, but believe me the shirts were loved.

From the shores of Lake Tanganyika,
Christian

PS – I would like to wish the Happiest of Birthdays to my big brother Andy. He celebrates a special birthday for him this week and I hope he has a wonderful day. I love you man.

Female Empowerment; Part I

As those close to me know, I have many strong, independent female friends. Additionally, I have been fortunate to have a confident and intelligent mother and three powerful and witty sisters. In America, I still see females facing challenges that I do not have to face. Because of my upbringing with a focus on equality, I find it very natural to play soccer with both boys and girls. However, I have found my experience in Africa to be quite different than America. Looking at the picture to the left, one can see how difficult it is for little African girls. Here, the 7 year old sister was asked to watch her younger brother at the same time as our session. She was not to be deterred. She asked if it was ok if she just did her drills with her brother on her back. I of course allowed the amazing feat to happen. The next day there were more girls carrying their siblings. This resolve continues to leave my mouth wide open. Knowing that I carried a 50 pound bag for three months across three countries for the girls' program here in Kigoma makes me feel great inside.

All the best,

Christian

Jambo Augustin!

One of the realities of this voluntour is that I cannot readily return to the USA to welcome my new nephew into our family. So, this blog post will be my way of saying Jambo and I love you to Augustin Vaughn Capuzzi. Of course, I will also use this post to congratulate Peter, Rocco, Stella, Big Pete and of course Mama Capuzzi -- Lorelei! I wish I could be there to help change the diapers but I am sure I can lend a hand in December...

Love your Favorite Uncle (start the process early),
Christian

My friendly neighbor...

Hello my younger voluntourists. Many of you have been asking me to upload a photo of some wildlife I have seen. I have many pictures and will try to add them as my connection gets better but here is one of a friendly hand I saw not far from my sleeping quarters. Fortunately there was a wall between us or else the crocodile's hand/paw/foot (?) would have been too close for comfort. I didn't sleep well because of the closeness anyway...

Be safe and I love you all,

Uncle Christian

The Ham Represents

By coincidence or providence, I met up with the uncle of a friend with whom I went to Framingham North High Scool. We are Spartans! Joseph "Joe" Morrisey, uncle of Mike, grew up in the Saxonville neighborhood of Framingham, MA (known to many as The Ham). Since 1969, Joe has been tirelessly helping the deaf, the blind and many others with physical disabilities throughout the world but mainly in Africa. Joe has a quiet demeanor but is obviously a strong, dedicated man to his personal mission and blessed with immense patience. Throughout 2009, I have met many wonderful people. Joe will go near the top of the list for his hard work and welcoming persona. My parents remain at the top.
Last week, Joe kindly invited me to come along with him to the Mkasanda School for the deaf and deaf-blind, just outside of Moshi town here in Northern Tanzania. Although this was a rest day, I jumped at the chance to meet these kids and I loved every minute of it. After driving some 10 km, 5 of which were on a horrendously bumpy dirt road that made New Orleans streets seem flat and well maintained, we arrived at a small boarding school secluded in a half rain forest/half cow pasture grounds. After an introduction to the head mistress, by slowly spelling out my name in ASL, I learned that my meager sign language skills might get me by for the day. Importantly, only one letter from ASL (American Sign Language) didn't translate to the Tanzanian counterpart - the T. I put the correct way of making that letter in the memory bank and was off to see a class comprised of 10 teenagers. After a few minutes of observation, the teacher surprisingly asked me if I would teach her Math class. She then walked out of the class before a response. For the next 30 minutes I channeled all my energy to try and best explain how to multiply and divide fractions, through sign language, in a strange combination of Kiswahili and English. Shockingly, I think 80% of the class understood me, and I didn't make any math mistakes (that anyone can prove). Yes, I was secretly glistening (sweating profusely), but loving the challenge. However, not satisfied with my less than perfect percentage, I tried a few other tricks Framingham Math great Mr. DiDomenico taught me many moons ago, and by the end, I am confident they all could do the exercises of the day!
Slightly drained, I recovered by sharing a cup of chai (tea) with some full time deaf volunteers who had a much better grasp of English than I do of Kiswahili. After a short rest I was offered the chance to run a sports session. With 80+ smiling faces in front of me, I quickly found boundless energy and we had 2 hours of soccer instruction and games, including some education on health and fitness. Highlights from the game included watching a family of cows parade through the center of the pitch without a care, listening to the quiet laughter of these children enjoy a special day, and lastly, appreciating the refereeing by the children of their game without any whining.
When I finally hit the pillow under my lovely mosquito net, and I stopped my brain from frantically recalling math lessons from my days at Juniper Hill, Walsh, FNHS, and with GU's Prof. Bobo, I truly felt the Ham had represented itself quite well for the day.

Wikend jami,
Christian


PS - So that these wonderful students would always remember The Ham, I donated two soccer balls that had been brought over to Africa by my father on his wonderful recent visit with my mother. [See Schmoopies to the left...] I presented the two soccer balls in honor of two loved ones - Aunt Grace and Joel B. The school, and Joe M., appreciated the gift immensely.

19-0

I often have to stop and admire the strength and resolve of the children with whom I work. Most days I encounter smiling faces wearing torn and battered shorts and t-shirts that have obviously been passed on from charitable organizations across the world, but mostly from the US. While I have heard economic arguments that say providing donated clothes hurts local textile merchants, I don't see how one could stop giving clothes when I see too many cold, barely clothed kids. I will leave the long term economic challenges to greater minds, and keep appreciating the short term, survival economics I see happening. Besides, the slogans on the t-shirts really crack me up. Some of my favorites include: "Fishing for Jesus: Dallas Lutheran Church Fundraiser;" "Marlboro High School Soccer" because it was the closest to home; "Sexy and Single" on a grandmother holding two children and carrying a stack of branches on her head that would have crushed my skull. Today, however, I laughed out loud when I saw a special shirt and I immediately thought of many of my voluntourists. It was dark blue and had a Patriots logo and read "19-0: The Perfect Season". I knew these shirts must have been printed and always said they would just be shipped off to some remote place, and today that statement was confirmed - apparently remote is Moshi, Tanzania where I currently find myself.
As the college and professional football seasons begin, and you cheer on your teams (Go Canes!), please enjoy yourself and think about donating your old summer clothes so that next year African children are not all dressed in Notre Dame National Champions Shirts and Philadelphia Eagles Super Bowl Champions sweatshirts.

Tutaonana,
Christian

The Terrible Train Accident?

Due to some unforeseen wedding plans of our CAC partner in Kigoma, I have had the luxury of spending some time in Dar es Salaam and catching up on paperwork -- reports, power points, videos, press, etc. With the added time I can now explore alternative means of traveling to Kigoma from Dar. Since I have taken buses, cars, planes, dallah dallahs, rickshaws, mopeds, and even some others methods, I thought it woudl be nice to explore the trains! Having loved John Candy and Steve Martin's film Planes, Trains and Automobiles, I really desire to get the train leg in so I can produce a sequel. Using Google, I punched in a search looking at Kigoma trains and schedules. The first result was titled "The Terrible Train Accident" and discussed a relatively recent train accident on the one train I would take. Having read a few more articles on the train across Tanzania and the possible day long delays, lack of bathrooms, etc., I decided I will be taking a bus to Moshi (so I can see Mt. Kilimanjaro), a flight to Mwanza and then a bus to Kigoma.

On a side note, I wish Mr. Evan Johnstone a Happiest of Birthdays!

Tutaonana,
Christian

Two Karibu

Jambo arafiki! (Hello friends!) I have officially left the beautiful, and friendly country of Turquoise blue water, lush palm trees, and a humid climate ala Miami. And with my unshaven face, I was playing the part of Sonny Crockett as best I could. Yes, granted I had a shaved head and not DJ's golden locks, and of course I smelled a bit, probably a lot, but work with me here. Could as I could be in this unknown country, I grabbed a cab to the city centre, after bartering the price down 10,000 shilling. Paved roads and streetlights? I was not in Kansas Malawi anymore. I arrived at the Jambo Inn, the higher priced hotel that I could book online from Malawi. Since all the numbers in the Lonely Planet book were wrong for Tanzania (yes all of them, as the country added new numbers since publication), I chose the one I could actually book. And why not pamper myself for one night. I walked the four flights of stairs with my two large bags, I came upon my dank, barren room, with one bulb providing light to the all white, well dirty gray, tiling. The room had a nice mattress, a fan, and a non-functioning toilet. So much for having paid a little extra for one night of comfort. With a pang of hunger in my stomach, and the opportunity to have something other than chicken and chips (fries), I head to the canteen downstairs, after having fixed the toilet issue myself. The kind waiter handed me my menu, and left. I opened it and read: karibu, samaki, chapatti, ugali, etc. Since none of those words had any meaning to me, I figured I would just point to one and hope for the best. Since I was hungry, I asked for Two Karibu. Maybe it was meat? A blank stare, and then a chuckle. Did I just order something crazy? I have a long history of that. Sushi ice cream cones. Ting ting in SA. You name it, I have probably ordered it. I repeated my order and pointed this time hoping to clear up any confusion. Another laugh. Hmmm. The waiter then said Karibu, Karibu and asked again for my order, in English. He explained that I had just ordered two "Welcomes!" With a red face, and a laugh myself, I ordered mayai (turned out to be eggs). Delicious.
Since that day, I have begun to learn a few more words than just Jambo. Proudly, I can order coffee, eggs, bread, hot or cold water, and some other meat dishes. Each day I learn a bit more, and hopefully will be able to order a full day of food soon:) And, I guess I will not be having any caribou any time soon.

Kwa herri,
Simba

Helping with the Nsima

To describe the shock that the women of the Willima Koyi Guesthouse had when I offered to help with the cooking for the night would not do it justice. A male, a white male, a white male who was dashingly handsome (ok, they said cute), helping in the kitchen? Not to be believed. However, since I somewhat enjoy cooking and was fortunate enough to have opportunities growing up to help out in the kitchen, I thought mixing with the elder women might be fun and a learning experience. Boy, was I right! Donning my new haircut, I cruised into the cooking shed and saw a few pots on top of open fires. One of the pots was for the famed Nsima. Once we got the water boiling we mixed in the mixture of maize and stuff (dried cassava, etc.) that would eventually become the nsima. For the next 15 minutes, I stirred, using quite a bit of strength as the concoction was thick and lumpy, and I didn't want any of the guests blaming me for bad nsima. With my foot hovering above the open flame, and my back starting to ache from pushing the two foot wooden oar through the pot, I really began to appreciate the effort these women put in every night. For ten more minutes I crushed the lumps against the side of the pan and flipped the thick, mashed potato-looking starch. With a bead of sweat falling down my hairless brow, I knew this nsima would be a good batch. After letting it sit for a while, I scooped out the first bit and it was brought to a table to be tested by a patron. After the African couple had eaten most of it, the waitress informed them that I had prepared the nsima. They were duly impressed and said it was the best nsima they'd had all week. When the bill was paid, the waitress offered to split the tip with me, but since I had just loved my experience, I politely declined. And, could one really split 20 cents between two people?

All the best,
Christian Lugasse

Isaac comes in...

Isaac, the smiling young six year old boy confidently sporting the sunglasses to the right, is homeless and lives by himself on the streets of Mzuzu, Malawi. For the past 3 weeks he has been invited to have porridge at a school for Street Kids but has refused to enter, mostly seen sucking his thumb. According to the teachers at the school, each afternoon he has come close to the gate but has run away when they approached. We were fortunate enough to be in Mzuzu for a week and one of the teachers from the school attended our sessions. Emmanuelle, a 30 year old Malawian suffering with malaria, came to all the practices and participated as much as he could (between fits of chills and weakness). He learned our games and took on our coaching style of teaching and playing WITH A SMILE. He asked us to do an extra session for his 60 street kids, and we jumped at the chance. We arrived at St. John's school yard and found no indication that grass ever looked at the field let alone lived there. Yet,, through dust and wind, every child smiled, including Isaac. After the session, covered in dust (and me some sweat), we headed over to the house that served the porridge. During the 3km walk, I was scared for the kids crossing the busy streets, until I recalled that they lived on the streets every day. When we finally got to the gate, Isaac stayed behind, thumb in his mouth. Nick, pictured above, has a certain British charm about him, and worked some magic. Isaac entered the complex but remained to the side. When the porridge finally arrived, he hesitated to take some. However, with a little Christian silliness added in with Nick's incredible silliness, Isaac became a new man. In front of the camera I held, Nick and Isaac performed a fashion show, going so far as Isaac asking to borrow Nick's sunglasses. Hearing his laugh, recalling his smile on the pitch, and watching him eat a plate of porridge, I had to wipe some sweat from my eyes. It was sweat, not a tear;)
While we didn't change his life for good, we Coaches Across Continents made him laugh for a day. Boy that felt good. I thank each one of you for the support you gave in getting me over here. The experience will not leave me.

Many, many thanks,
Sweaty eyes Aviza

Mzuzu Circle of Friends

Here is an aerial view of a group of kids with which I worked. It does no justice to the fact that there were 200 of us in the circle I was leading...

Scary Clown arrives in Africa

As a proud and loving uncle, there is not much my family can ask that I won't try and do. A good example is my willingness to don a life size Barney outfit in 90 degree weather for a birthday party. Or, an Elmo, or Cookie, or even a full blown circus clown outfit. (I can hear the snickers through the web that my regular clothes can be confused with circus outfits - words hurt;). Clowns are often funny, but as parents from the Poltergeist generation know, clowns can be creepy too. And as my beautiful niece Jacqueline can attest, clowns can be somewhat scary at your 2nd and 3rd birthday even if it is your uncle!
Let me start by saying I have not been dressing up as a clown over here in Africa. However, many of the villages in which I am visiting are not often frequented by "mzungu" (translated to whites/westerners). While most of the children get exceptionally excited to spot us and scream MZUNGU as soon as they see us, one precious two year old had never seen a white person and apparently had never heard of one. So, imagine the scenario of me walking through a crowd of people and appearing on the other side to see the same horrified reaction that my niece gave to scary clown - tears and a blood curdling scream! My attempts at making her laugh at least stopped the tears but she would never come within 10 feet of THE BIG SCARY CLOWN.

Pondering the thought of my reaction to meeting a green person,

Uncle Christian

Blantyre Market Street Football

The last few Sunday mornings have brought me into a new side of Malawian life. At 7:30 in the morning, we pile into our hired 4 row, 12 passenger mini-bus (about the size of an American mini-van). The driver and his money collector, the four CAC coaches, the six Play Soccer Malawi coaches, and the twelve kids from Ndirande leisurely squeeze in and travel to the Blantyre Center Market. First though, we stop by the private primary school that is kind enough to lend us their small soccer goals. The nets comfortably slide into the van, and we're off. We arrive at a bustling, chaotic African Market with varied street vendors selling their wares. The shops, consisting of a few large branches supporting either a thatched or corrugated tin roof with no walls, stand next to each other on the sloping, dusty, dirt paths lining what probably is a lovely stream, save for the trash and possible rotting food waste. Among the goods being sold are pants, shirts and shoes that I suspect may have come to Malawi as donations. Additionally, there are text books for sale, cell phones, converters and access to one slot on an extension chord to plug in your phone for a charge (many homes do not have electricity or plumbing). After passing these shops we enter the more traditional "produce" section. Essentially we are in an old, beat up parking lot with much of the pavement crumbled and eroding in the corners. Replacing the pavement are puddles of mud mixed with ashes from burnt sugar cane bark, plastic bags (majumbo), banana peels and probably some other smelly unmentionables. I give this detail because in the far corner of the produce section the vendors move their buckets of sweet potatoes, their piles of sugar cane and their baskets of cassava to give us a 35 yard by 25 yard street football (soccer) field.

With the sun shining, we set up a small sided game, going so far as to line the street football field with some sort of chalk. It actually looks quite impressive. Within just five minutes the crowd surrounding the field creates a wall covering 3 of the 4 touchlines. Each wall is three people deep. The last sideline is actually a ten foot high brick wall on which 25 young boys climb to cheer on the players for the next two and a half hours. As I was not playing in the first game, rather the match was between some of the women from the Malawi National team and one CAC coach, I join the young teenage boys on the wall and lead them on some cheers and The Wave. Even though I am an older white man, they welcome me into their clique and we have many laughs (most at my expense in trying to speak Chichewa). I eventually learn that many of these boys are homeless and earn money for food by selling plastic bags (like those given out in supermarkets) to other vendors and patrons, an obviously small margin business. Seeing them laugh, enjoying the soccer and forming a bit of community makes my self-deprecation worthwhile. But even more importantly, I know that their attendance at this event allows the city to educate them (and other vendors) on health and sanitation issues as well as other life skills. These are the reasons for my involvement.
Even after just two weeks I can see a difference in the market. Less trash is scattered, waste is properly moved outside of the market, and most importantly, more smiles appear. According to the press, Sunday Street Football also has helped women gain respect in the community as the female players pull themselves up off the cement during the matches, with scrapes and cuts, and continue to play hard. Additionally, the media touts a stronger sense of community as a result.
The only problem with the venture is that I eventually have to play, against 16 - 25 year olds. By the good grace of all the soccer gods, I played respectably, scored a couple of goals, and limped the next day only as a result of age and not injury! Comically, one of the hostel cooks in Mzuzu (some 900 km north of Blantyre) approached me two nights later to ask if I played Street Football as she had seen me on TV. Yes, apparently our game was broadcast on Malawi National Television. The humor in that last statement is not lost on me. However, I can deal with the paparazzi in order to bring awareness of the program and all of its benefits to the entire nation;)

From the glare of the flashbulbs,
Cristiano

Chigamula

Over the last few weeks, I have been fortunate enough to see the real power of football by drawing kids to school and afternoon lessons.
Each day, in various neighborhoods (villages) surrounding Blantyre, we have assisted Play Soccer Malawi with their fantastic football and education sessions. We have taught such things as social equality, health (heart, eyes, lungs), and community leadership. My favorite was the sign language as no one, including my fellow coaches, knew that I knew quite a bit of sign. I saw 100 jaws drop when I did the alphabet with both hands.
Must run to another session.
Bo bo.

Bad bus, good bus

My 37th birthday began in a 5 bed dorm room in the top floor of a converted three story office building in downtown Lilongwe, Malawi. The scene was straight out of the Matrix with a blue mosquito net hovering above each cot, filling our heads with the needed skills for the 12 hour adventure that lay ahead. After a quick rinse in what I now appreciate to be an excellent, warm shower, I headed to the kitchen to grab a piece of toast and jam only to learn the power was out. A jelly sandwich became my celebratory nourishment. Three bites later, I was done and off to the Internet cafe a block away. Business people and ordinary citizens crowded the dry, dusty, orange-clay Lilongwe streets. Because we needed to travel to Blantyre that day, an ATM stop was needed to take out some Kwacha. However, with more than 30 crossed-arm, bored Malawians waiting in line, we deduced the outage extended beyond the hostel's four walls. We initiated Plan B and went straight to the Internet dungeon to check its status. The computers were on! I sat down at my kindergarten sized desk in an environment devoid of all illumination. After ten minutes, I had only been able to get one, two sentence e-mail off. Not Comcastic:( Suddenly, an alarm sound pierced our ears, but we didn't react except to laugh that it was better than the vuvuzela from the Confederation Cup games. [My theory on those is that some South African soccer fans stumbled on a box of New Year's Eve goodies meant for Time's Square and fell in love with the three feet long plastic horns (vuvuzela) and decided to torture opposing fans with their debilitating cackle.] When our chuckle subsided (the humour LCD has fallen pretty low), the cafe manager informed us that the siren indicated the generator was on the verge of its own demise. Soon, the computer faded to black.Back at the room we decided we needed to use some of our emergency US dollars. That saved our Kwacha for water and bus fare. With the prospect of a five hour bus ride ahead, I also splurged on some chocolate cookies (as a birthday gift to myself). I still deliberated between the 80KW and 100KW cookies and went with 80KW. (175KW = $1).With vital vittles in hand, we ventured to the bus stop arriving at 10:30. By 12:30, our 11 o'clock bus still had not shown, so we began making other plans. At 1:00 though, a 1980's commuter bus showed with a handwritten Blantyre sign in its window. Hooray! Two of us jockeyed in line, using our elbows and butts to establish position, only allowing 5 teenagers to leap in front of us in the queue. I successfully held 4 of the hard plastic seats for my comrades handling the luggage. We reunited shortly and idled for another 30 minutes, with street vendors hawking their wares through the bus windows - bananas, lollipops, fanta, milk, yogurt, eggs, slippers, sandwich bags of water and many other commodities. I passed on them all, but did think twice about the mice on a stick. Seemed too early to be THAT adventurous. To our surprise, we were asked to move to a more luxurious bus that had just pulled in to the depot. My jockeying skills were utilized again, with a renewed zest. Only 2 kids got through my Mutombo elbows this time. In our smaller, but cloth, seats we finally began the travels - at 2:30 pm. For the next 5 hours, we crossed some amazing Malawian landscape - individual, rocky mountains covering the horizon with vast dry plains at their feet, speckled with plump shrubbery or the African tree, interspersed among traditional huts or villages with fires aglow. The one cd of traditional tribal music added to the atmosphere, despite it being played at full volume. At least for a little while it was enjoyable. As night descended upon us, we approached the small town of Lirangwe, about 70 kms from Blantyre. We noticed the brightness and clarity of the numerous stars. With no interference from city lights or street lamps, the stars shone vibrantly. In fact, I noticed there were no lights at all, unfortunately that included our headlights. Soon we had to pull over as we almost hit 10 different walking or biking Malawians. After an hour of roadside fun, including me inspecting the fuse box of the 60 passenger bus, three of us went searching for an alternative means of transportation. With some struggle, we hailed a 1970's mini-bus to get a quote on a ride for five passengers with 10 bags. Almost immediately, two other previously hidden mini-busses appeared providing us with some negotiating leverage. Seeing competition at work was comical - drivers made various accusations ranging from claims that other buses had no gas to claims that the buses weren't actually going to Blantyre. Once I got us a reasonable price of 1000KW for everything, the big buses lights came on! We decided to roll the dice with the big bus to the disappointment of the mini-bus driver who pointed to it and said "bad bus." He pivoted and pointed to his bus proudly and declared "good bus." I apologized but knew my blog title immediately! With luck, we made it to Blantyre by 9:00 and were escorted to our rooms at the Malawi National Sports Council to rest in our bunk beds before heading to sites the next day. I set up my mosquito hut for the first time, squeezing it into my lower bunk space, much to the amusement of my friends. It must be pretty funny to see all 6'1" of me crawling into a 2'x2' pop up mosquito tent. I could, however, see an ounce of jealousy in their eyes when I pointed out it also meant none of the roaches could fall on my head. With that thought, the memories of the majestic landscape and the anticipation of the upcoming trainings, I soon faded off to black myself.

Red Rocket of Soweto

Hello all - Tonight I am writing from the frigid garage of the Mbizi Backpacker's Lodge at 288 Trichardt Road in Boksburg, SA, just outside of Johannesburg. While affordably priced at 100 Rand a night, the three coaches are all staying in one cozy bedroom (9' x 12') in this converted house. We have been growing closer, no doubt as a result of the beds abutting each other (reminds me of days in New South). Of course our bags, including the majority of my recovered Kigoma bag, fill the remaining space. Well, not all the space. We have been able to sneak in a small, electric space heater to get our noses and ears a tad warmer until we shut it off for night, night. However, after my day today, I am grateful for this arrangement.
If all works out correctly, my fantastic editors (Elsa and Jacqueline) will be attaching a photo with this post and possibly a short video clip of my day in Soweto. If you don't know, Soweto is the south west township on the outskirts of Joburg. There are roughly 4.5 million residents in the 13 neighborhoods with unemployment up to 65% or higher in many areas and poverty levels beyond description. In Klypton, a squatters neighborhood of Soweto, we met with the Klypton Youth Project. During our time there, we worked on some passing and juggling skills. While we lacked a proper soccer ball, we made due with a slightly deflated basketball on the dusty, cracked cement 15' x 30' field. The children, beaming with joy, gladly displayed competitve skill but more importantly, a willingness to come to school on Saturday as long as there was the prospect of fun, specifically including football (soccer to us yanks - notice I did not call us Yankees, as that word still evokes a sour taste to me). Teachers used this Saturday attendance to repeat certain lessons taught during the prior week. Among the morning session was a practice run of an
upcoming recital with songs in various languages and dance routines.
The 3-5 year olds displayed the same happiness, pride and nervousness as my nephews Peter and Rocco displayed in their recent recital in America. The darting eyes from their peers to their teachers to their audience reflected the similarities between all children, no matter in which country or continent they live.
One poignant memory for me was my time spent with one specific 4 or 5 year old. As he was too young to play with the older children and their basketball, he diligently dribbled a plastic 20 oz. Coke bottle around the small, dirt parking lot. I signaled for him to pass it to me, and he excitedly obliged. Of course, that is when the pressure turned on me. What exactly was I going to do with this bottle? With a lot of luck, I was able to step quickly on the neck of the bottle and propel the bottle in the air allowing me to juggle it a few
times. Having gained my new friend's respect, he began showing me
his full reportoire of moves. And while I longed to be able to find a ball for him, I felt good that the power of soccer, even without proper equipment, would draw him to school on a Saturday and provide him the opportunity to receive more education. As I had already taken a brief tour of the surrounding neighborhood, with its tiny one room, tin shanties, with no insulation or chance for electric heaters (the metallic homes had no electricity or plumbing), I knew that while a ball would be nice, education was the key to his bright, bright future.
Because typing is made difficult by the temps, I will end my post there and head off to the warm confines of my shared suite.

Chubbs is introduced to Africa

As you can see, I have been truly partaking in the delicacies of Africa during my stay. From malva pudding, to ting, to samp and peri-peri chicken all washed down with some litchi flavored water. All the food, however, seems to fester in my love handles...well, actually the mid section girth reflects my planning for the temperature drop that occurs here at night. While the sun is strong, the temperatures dip into the 30's and 40's and so I carry in my pockets a Georgetown beanie and a pair of New Orleans saints gloves. I can represent the Fifth ward and 504 wherever I go.



Cheers (hanging with a Brit for too long),

Chubbs

Boom Boom Pow

To all the fathers out there, especially my Dad, Happy Father's Day. To my Dad specifically, I won't be able to make it home today but I am there in spirit and you are with me as well. I love you. However, your day with me will not be too exciting as we will be doing laundry at a laundromat, studying up on my HIV/AIDS facts and reviewing some of the soccer curriculum. Tonight, on the other hand, should be more exciting as we head out to Rustenburg to watch the USA men's soccer team take on The Pharoahs of Egypt. Getting tickets to the game was a bit of a joke. First, we went to the Ticketing Centre at the Loftus stadium here in Pretoria to learn that they don't sell tickets. To buy tickets, one would need to go to the Brooklyn Mall, some 3 miles away. After a nice walk there, we were incredulously told it was sold out. An hour later we bought our tickets. I am finding that my Lafayette luck transcends continents.

One quite stark reality of my stay in Pretoria, truly a nice, neighborly city, is the fact that every house has either barbed wire or an electric fence. Walking in these neighborhoods, there is a constant humming and some loud "pops" emanating from the fences. Additionally, most houses have a guard dog as quiet as Scully, and some of the larger homes have armed guards. That popping sound will constantly remind me of my walks through these neighborhoods and of the harsh realities of life here.

Another reality here is that TV is on its way out of my life. Well, TV variety is leaving. For two nights straight, the options of the three channels included rotating still photos from cities around the world, Gospel Time (a talk show about Gospel music) and the making of The Black Eyed Peas "Boom Boom Pow" video. In an effort to memorize some dance moves to use in our Street Football sessions, we have chosen to focus on Boom Boom Pow. Not sure we are 3008 yet with our moves...but we have lots of swagger. And hopefully the kids will love our self-effacing swagger.

Off to switch the clothes to the dryer,
Christian "not in the basement" Aviza

From cubicle K

Hello all! I am cramped in an internet cafe in Sunnyville, Pretoria (Tshwame) surrounded by 25 young African men and women. The atmosphere feels a bit like a college computer lab, with one old man (me) in the corner. The cost is 6 Rand an hour so I can't beat it.

As an update on my travels, I arrived last Sunday but only one of my two bags made it. Sadly, missing is my 50 lbs. bag of youth uniforms I am taking to Kigoma. SAA is to deliver it to me, but it has been 5 days with no success. I may just give them an address in Tanzania and then I don't have to carry it around with me;)

The weather is quite nice -- 50's and 60's during the day (converted from Celcius - x * 9/5 + 32) with a strong sun, and cool at night (high 30s). We are staying at a Bakpacker's Village and it is quite rustic. At night, I stare up at the thatch roof and feel a breeze through the tent-material wall next to my head. To those who know me well, they know I spent a full New England winter preparing for this, except for the warm showers. Love those old, oil burners! We have befriended some of the Village's staff and are able to talk football (soccer) with most of them. An interesting piece from today's conversation with Mama involved an explanation of where Spain was, what language they spoke, and what Spaniards are like. As background, Spain is playing South Africa in the Confederations Cup here tomorrow night. The question made me appreciate her similar inquisitive nature as through her question I came to realize how little I know about South Africa and the places I am going (Malawi, Tanzania and Zambia), and how many similar questions I ask. They might sound silly to them... I also came to appreciate the resources I have back at home that would allow me to do more research.

As my hour dwindles down here, and as the sun goes down, I need to head back to the village to do some more homework. I will probably dine on some chicken with peri-peri sauce and some samp. If I am lucky, then the local eatery will have some malva pudding. I will be posting a picture soon...

Shahp, shahp,
Christian

I made it!

I have arrived safely in Jozi.

Currently, I am on South African Airways, by the way, a lovely airline, flying over Dakar, Senegal. It is 2:30 a.m. in South Africa and I expect some nasty jet lag when I arrive.

My flight to NYC was uneventful, and my Joburg (named for Jacqueline Oberg) flight so far has been blissful. A delicious chicken dish that came with egg rice. I would give it a name but I am practicing just eating what is offered and not asking questions! My seat companion is a nice South Afican man from Durban, SA. He is a professor at Ohio University who is taking students over to Botswana to work with HIV/AIDS patients. We talked football for a while and then went our separate ways (he found three empty seats to rest on-I way longingly...).

My first real chuckle just arrived so I thought I'd share it while it was fresh. Having finished watching Benjamin Button, I decided to get the blood pumping in the legs, so I walked the plane. Diversity best describes the travelers. African nuns, college students to Brazilian soccer fans. Best of all, no signs of Jack, Kate or Hurley. Having sufficiently, yet inappropriately, finished stretching my legs, I returned to my seat to find an early birthday present. There, slightly moist, yet partially encrusted on the seat cover, were the remains of someone's after dinner chocolate. I touched it, both out of curiosity and concern, to discover it could easily transfer to the backside of a pair of light khaki, convertible pants. However, because these are one of the only two pair of pants I could fit into my backpack for the next six months, I have yet to do a full examination of my backside as I did not want to ruin my positive spirit. It does make me reflect on some of my packing choices, and really leaves me wishing I had packed a Tide-to-go stick. Not only would it have reminded me of two dear friends - Gail and Zwirko - it would have potentially made my entrance into Africa less noticeable. But, alas, I chose that stupid snake bite kit. I do hope, in the end, to regret that decision until December 10 as it will mean I never was snake food.

Jabs and Dreams

Jambo Voluntourists! I hope everyone is as excited as I am to be spending the next six months in Africa. I will do my best to supply photos, tales, thoughts and a few new words during the journey. And, since the preparations have been a big part of my last few weeks, I thought I'd share a bit about them. The first story involves my tackling of the language barrier I knew I would inevitably face in connection with my journey to Africa. I mean, I will be doing some traveling with an Englishman -- Nick Gates of Coaches Across Continents -- and blooming heck if I know what Brits are saying half the time. During one of our initial conversations, he kept telling me to get my jabs, jabs, jabs. Got it. Off to REI in the morning to get those infamous jabs. Then it dawned on me after a few seconds, maybe jabs is an English slang word, maybe meaning shots? But since Nick stressed the critical importance of those jabs, I figured I should just ask him and break down that language barrier. Jabs = Shots. English English language barrier conquered! Swahili, here I come! Of course, here I come with ten new holes in my arm from all the jabs for yellow fever, MMR, rabies, etc.

Not only was I getting shot up in the arms, I was beginning my 7 month cycle of weekly malaria pills, with all of the glorious side effects. When I asked a friend what I realistically could expect, I was told that my dreams would just become more vivid. To me, that didn't sound so bad until he followed that with a statement that the dreams were "not the good kind." That left me speechless.

However, when I wrote the title for this post, I was thinking about other dreams -- childhood dreams (we'll call those the good kind). How do the dreams of my nieces and nephews compare to the children I will meet in Africa? As of right now, I can't honestly say I know but I hope our work will allow at least one African child dream his a little brighter.

Until my next post,
Christian

Thanks and Welcome!

Thanks!  I wanted my first word of my first post to demonstrate my appreciation to the many people who are making this Voluntour possible.  Without you all, I would not be embarking on this amazing journey with Coaches Across Continents.  I hope you all know you will be missed but in my thoughts.  I wanted my 61st word to be Welcome!   Over the next several months we will be experiencing many different situations and locales, so I hope you are prepared.  It is not too late to start training, or at least I keep telling myself that.  Since the countdown of days is into single digits, I best keep this short and get back to preparations.  

Welcome everyone aboard the Africa Voluntour!  

Coach Christian

PS -- If you double-checked my math, then you have to admit it in a comment:)