4. 12-04-14

"I've just woken up from what feels like the longest lie in ever and it has just turned 9am. How things change eh? We have been in host homes a week today and it is safe to say I'm starting to feel at home. Mama Ester knows more English than she lets on, Rhoda continues to be an absolute saint and Frank is one of the nicest people I have ever met. Grant is going home."

So then there were 3. Me, Rhoda and Frank.

12 days in and the inevitable happens, there is a whole diary entry about food. Reading this back I want to have a little giggle of my naivety, little did I know what would happen further down the line, but as it stands 2 weeks in...

"The overriding perk of living with Mama Ester is the food. If you had asked me what I was most worried about coming the Tanzania, mealtimes would have rated quite highly (on a ruddy long list by the way.) In reality dinner has become my favourite time of day. Breakfast consists of hot chocolate and peanut butter with bread, sometimes with cake and/or freshly squeezed passion fruit or pineapple juice.* Lunch is generally eaten in town, usually chips mayaii, which is basically a chip omelette (something I definitely think I will be taking home with me, throw in some bacon and cheese and it would be a hangover breakfast of the Gods!**) Dinner could be anything and so far hasn't been the same twice. There is pork, beef, chicken, the nicest fish I have ever eaten. Served with rice, pilau, matoke (mashed plantain with beans,) potatoes or pasta. We also always get fresh fruit or vegetables, usually avocado as there is a tree outside the front door and Mama Ester seems to have noticed my love for it. Apparently a local delicacy is fried grasshoppers, so I very much look forward to trying them***!"

Left: black beans doused in chilli sauce, boiled rice, spinach and avocado - this became my favourite food as nothing is fried and it is all edible. 

Right: dagaa (small fried sardines) with ugali (flour and water stirred into a doughlike consistency) - a local dish

* We never saw cake or fresh juice again after the second week.

** I never ever want to see chips mayaii again.

*** Fried grasshoppers are most certainly not a delicacy or a treat.

3. 10-04-2014

The first weekend in host home was undoubtedly slow. We had gone from the playground of Bukoba Town to the placidity of rural life. We quickly realised that, although Mama Ester had no children, the house would usually contain at least 5 of them, as well as a steady stream of locals popping by. Introductions in Swahili were very quickly learnt and very well rehearsed (however try as I might, my pronunciation of shikamo will bring be a continuous source of shame.) Time was filled either walking to Clarissa's house and sitting there, or them walking to ours. Days revolved around meal times and sunsets. The others were staying pretty far away and we had no idea how to get there so instead we used the time to fully explore what there was of Katoma.

Travel scrabble, an embarrassingly exciting pastime.

When Monday eventually came around we were due back in town each morning for our final week of training, which meant we also finally had some time to properly explore. Travel to town was done by dalla dalla, minibuses in which as many people as humanly possible, and then a couple more, are crammed in to. Hot, overcrowded and unsafe - and oh so much fun.

I found the biscuits fairly early on...

As well as settle into host homes and learn the routine for chores, meals and bedtime.

First time with the charcoal iron. First of many, many times.

Just short of the one week mark in host homes Grant decided to up and move back into the hotel whilst he figured out what he wanted to do. He was not happy in the host home and didn't feel comfortable with the lack of personal space. Despite the confidence and "scared of nothing" mentality he adopted in the first week of training, the reality of the situation seemed to become just a little too challenging.

Ironically I later found out we had actually been placed in the same house because he came across as a "rock" and myself as "vulnerable and needing extra support" (I brought this on myself by happily listing off a whole A4 sheet of fears and my, frankly, emotional instability throughout the first week.) And actually, rather selfishly, this brutal reliance for me to bring him Cola to his bed, so he was getting some calories, and do all communicating on his behalf was probably the best thing that could have happened, as having to just get on with  it meant I found the transition surprisingly easy. We all decided it's because I cried early on, all the people that cried at the beginning eventually coped the best.

Carrying his suitcase back to the main road. Taxis wouldn't come down to the house.

2. 08-04-2014

My first impressions of Bukoba were entirely unexpected. It is beautiful. The whole area is a vibrant green ocean of banana trees, leading to the gorgeous coastline (is it a coast?!) of Lake Victoria. Of course it isn't only bananas that are grown here, the actual list is endless, but it may as well be. 

After the 3 days training at the hotel we were told who we would be living with, and where we would be.

To say the first week was emotional is beyond an understatement. I don't think I have ever cried so much and so publicly in all my life ever. Perhaps tiredness? Perhaps hormones? Arguably even maybe culture shock? I honestly could not tell you. This all came to a head when we arrived at our host home. After being shown around Mama Ester's very basic house I had what can only be described as a mini-meltdown. Everything from the completely unguarded shower, the hole in the ground toilet and the lack of electricity got a little too much. The next morning however, I woke up ready and feeling better than ever.

Host Home - View from my bed, outside toilet and view from the "shower"

My bedroom, did my best to make it my own. The blue bucket is the shower.

I was placed in Katoma to work in Katoma B and Kemondo primary schools. I was living with Grant, another UK volunteer, his counterpart Frank, who spent the first week suffering with malaria (I can't even describe how matter-of-factly he told us this, little did we know how much malaria we would be yet to face) and Rhoda, my counterpart and room buddy. Even at this point I knew I was on to a winner with Rhoda, never have I appreciated another person so much. From escorting me to the toilet the first few times to teaching me to handwash clothes to just having a bloody good gossip and giggle she is one of the loveliest people I have ever met and probably ever will.

Katoma Local ;)

Frank, Grant and Rhoda

Katoma Girls

As for the house, yes it was basic but Mama Ester herself was everything I could have hoped for and so much more. She would do literally anything to make you feel more comfortable and don't even get me started on the magnificent spreads she put out for dinner over the first few weeks. Despite not speaking a word of English she 100% put me at ease and reassured me I was going to make it through the following 11 weeks.

Mama Ester's House. Home.

First of many lunches at Kailembos

So at the start of our last week of training everything was going great. Everyone got on and everyone was super enthusiastic to start the work.

1. 02-04-2014

So the story begins on the second night in Tanzania. It had taken 4 planes, a boat and what may be loosely classed as a bus to finally arrive. Needless to say after 32 hours of travelling none of us were in a state to make the best impression to the 12 excitable national volunteers crowding around to greet us, and even less so to start the journal. 

The journey itself started great as we indulged in all the luxuries of Qatar Airways, but as the hours wore on and the planes got progressively smaller our enthusiasm was wearing, especially after Theo was taken aside on arrival at Mwanza airport and interrogated by immigration. But we got through, we had arrived.

Perhaps I should backtrack. I'm Nadine and this blog is here to share my experiences of volunteering in Bukoba, Tanzania for VSO-ICS. For 3 months myself and five other British volunteers lived and worked alongside national volunteers and families in rural Africa. The aim of the programme was to work with teachers in order to develop innovative teaching aids in primary schools, as well as organise and orchestrate sustainable, student-led clubs. This was pretty much all the information we had when arriving in the country. 

As we eerily emerged out of the airport our we were greeted by the ridiculously contagious smile of Aive, the national programme supervisor. She immediately sat us down with cold drink (welcome to my addiction to pineapple fanta) before loading us onto the bus for the final stint of the journey, the 8 hour bus/ferry ride.

Within half an hour I was sick. On the roadside. With a gaggle of men laughing and shouting in Swahili. Needless to say it was not my finest hour, but it was a wonderful introduction to the whole team of the evil that is doxycycline, which little did we know would be a constant battle for the next 3 months. Aside from this the journey was completely fascinating. There is something about driving across Africa with the windows open and music blaring that will never, ever, get boring.

When we arrived it was dark and we were beyond tired, but ushered straight into the conference room to meet the national volunteers and have some "icebreaker" activities, the first of many over our three days of training at the hotel.