We kept telling ourselves and others that we weren't getting our hopes up, but when we didn't hear back from the guy who claimed to know the whereabouts of our Macbook we were crestfallen. A few days later I called my friend Mohammed and he relayed the bad news. "That guy has sold your computer to someone else."
The chance of getting the computer back (and being able to restore our
photos and files using a timeline feature on new Macs) was way too
appealing to let reality tell us it was a far-fetched chance. But, I
think we've both now resigned ourselves to the fact that our things are
well and truly gone.
No word from the retired thieves. Maybe they're waiting to see which is more profitable, returning things to us and getting a reward or reselling them.
Every couple of days we realize something else missing, something we hadn't realized was gone - a bottle of vanilla from the States, a first-aid kit, a water-purifier... We're continuously reminded of our loss when we find another possession gone.
Thank you to all of our friends and family for words of support and donations to help us get on with our lives. We're not sure what we'll do just yet. Some things will need to be replaced soon, but we won't be loading up with lots of electronics again. Not yet. Not here.
Erasto, our new night guard is working out well. He's a nice guy, a father of 3 with a kind face. He wears a balaclava at night. For some reason we find that endearing. It's been a new experience. This is our second employee and we're still getting used to the idea of deciding on wages and guidelines. We told Erasto that the first month would be a lower wage and that if he does a good job, we'd pay him more. He comes to our house after sunset and leaves just before sunrise, 7 days a week. Not hard work, but certainly time-consuming. He carries a machete with him. We bring him tea at night. Usually, he just sits beneath a light near the front of our house and reads the newspaper. We're going to buy him some books (in Swahili) this week. It's entirely to ease our consciences. If he's out there reading at night, it makes it feel less like work (?).
This week has been about coming to terms with our situation
in Tanzania.
In some ways we’re looking at this as a lesson, taught to us by the people who
broke in to our home and lightened our material load. We’ve received the message loud and clear. No
matter what altruistic motivations we had for being here, our wealth distinguishes
us from our neighbors in ways that we previously refused to admit.
A couple of days ago, as we were walking to a local
restaurant, we ran into a man named Mohammed, whom we had met through our
previous roommate Adam. Mohammed owns a house in Soweto a few blocks from ours. He asked how
we were and I told him about our recent misfortune. The person sitting next to
him in the car immediately got out and wanted to know more information. What
was stolen? When did it happen? Where do you live?
I filled them both in on the details of all that was taken
and told him we had reported the crime to the police, but were aware that it
wasn’t likely much would be done. Mohammed’s friend, Abdi, then told us he grew
up in Soweto and that he was “friends with all
the thieves in Soweto”.
He offered this proudly and, to be honest, it was good to hear. He told us that
he’d talk to his friends and see if he couldn’t come up with something. We told
him that we’d be willing to offer a reward to recover the laptop and external
hard-drive (where most of our photos and work were stored).
The next day we got a call from Abdi. He said that he had
gotten word that our computers were in a shop in Arusha (an hour West of Moshi)
and that he’d call us back with details. Later we’d all go to Arusha to scope
out the shop, he said. Well, we didn’t here back from him the rest of the day
Saturday. Same thing on Sunday – no word. I called him back last night and
learned that he was in Mwanza (in Northwest Tanzania, near Lake
Victoria) until Tuesday. He said that the guy was asking $650 for
the “Mac laptop”. This, of course, sent our sketchiness sensors spinning, but
we told him we wanted to check it out and that we’d meet him on Tuesday.
Meanwhile, on Sunday afternoon, as I was working on
rewriting my final essay for university, Mohammed shows up at our house with
two older gentlemen. I let them in and Mohammed explained that they were there
to help us catch the thieves. I gave them the same tour as the police
detectives the week before. They then asked for a list of the items stolen.
Libby and I both suspected that these were thieves in Soweto and we were right. Mohammed later told
us they were “retired” thieves, but they were willing to turn on their former
partners for money.
This is the wild world we live in – relying on thieves to
catch thieves because the police are so unmotivated and ill-equipped to do it.
Now we’re playing the waiting game again.
Thank you to everyone who’s offered their support to us
these past couple of weeks. This whole situation could have really ruined our
faith in people, but the outpouring of kind words and encouragement has been
immensely helpful. More news to come.
Libby and I returned home last Tuesday afternoon and found
our black iron gate ripped from the concrete wall of our house. We had been in
the car all day, traveling back to Moshi from a restful first trip to the Indian Ocean, to a small beach town called Pangani (the trip a wedding gift from our good friends). Our house
had been broken into and after we had surveyed the damage we learned that both
of our laptops, our external hard drive, our T.V., our digital video camera, two
flash disks, $400 cash in shillings and USD, and an iPod shuffle were gone. The
shock of seeing our home invaded and our possessions all gone was devastating. I
walked around the scene like a drone, trying to comprehend what had happened. Libby
broke down in tears.
Our losses were so much more than financial. Beyond the
electronics, we lost our 4 years of travel photos; videos from Japan, Australia
and of our wedding; a year's worth of articles, stories and letters, including a piece that I’ve been
working on for about 4 months on the exploitation of Mt. Kilimanjaro porters- all gone. To finish my master’s degree, I
have just one final essay to hand in on November 7th. I’ve been
doing research for it for the past two months, collecting articles and making
notes on the World Bank’s influence in Tanzania since independence in 1961
– all of it on my laptop and backed up on a flash drive that was taken. All of
Libby's graphic design programs, all of her current work was on the computers
and the hard drive. Just as a farmer needs a hoe and a writer needs paper and
pen, a graphic designer uses a computer and programs.
We spent all day last Wednesday trying to do something. I called a close friend,
Vale, who helped us find carpenters to fix the iron gate and wood door so that
Libby and I could sleep in our home. The first night we went to Valerie and
Matthew’s (my boss and her husband) house. We met with our community leader,
who happens to live next door. She helped us find a guard - something we
couldn't afford until I received a raise last month. It was therapeutic just
doing something. We felt like we were making progress even though now I know
that we were just struggling to raise ourselves up to a level of normality.
I went to the regional police station to begin the process
of reporting the crime. By the end of the day I would have a first-hand look at
the criminal justice system in Tanzania.
I was at the police station all afternoon, making a statement and struggling to
get a couple of plain clothed detectives to come to the house (first I had to
wait until they finished their lunches). I saw their eyes widen when I showed them the list of stolen items with estimated values in Tanzanian shillings running down the right side of the page.
While busting in, one of the thieves hurt
his hand and bled over our porch. There were also shoe prints on the door. I
thought these would be examined with probing interest, but they just nodded and
sat down at our table and asked Libby to make some tea. I led them through the house and pointed out where things
were taken from. “You left money in your house?” one of them asked and gave a
disapproving nod. Later, I took them to see our bolozi, the community leader. I sat as the three of them spoke
about the wazungu who finally had a
real taste of life in Tanzania.
I heard them shoot a quick breath between their teeth when they noted that the
white folks didn’t have a guard watching the house.
Libby and I have a very good life. We’ve traveled through 3 continents. We have
lots of interesting and compassionate friends, loving families and we have each
other. For over 4 years we’ve had the opportunity to take a look at the lives
of people from all over the world, peeking in at behaviors and customs from
cultures that only getting a superficial glance in popular American culture.
Some might say we’ve been blessed to have faced so little hardship.
Compared with the past 10 months, our time in Japan and Australiawas easy. We lived in
relatively safe countries with good incomes and enjoyed pleasures of our
affluent host countries. The average American is 61 times as wealthy as
the average Tanzanian. Thirty-six percent of the country lives on less than $1
a day. We live on a small salary (compared to Western standards) and our budget
is tight. But, we’re relative millionaires here. Just one of those laptops was
worth the yearly salary of most of our neighbors (maybe 2 or 3 years’ salary).
It’s hard to feel much pity for ourselves with that kind of perspective.
So we’re starting out from scratch – if not from scratch
then we are starting off at a more basic place. We’re turning to our friends
and family for help as we begin the process of replacing the things that we
depend on to stay in touch with the things of our home country. The laptops
were our phones to call home, our source of entertainment (music, videos,
photos) and our tools to work (for me to write and Libby to create). The stress
this has caused has disrupted our work and our relationships. I've established a Paypal account and have placed it on our webpage. Anything you can
give will help us rebuild our home and help us get back to living.
Libby and I both asked each other what we were going to do
next. And our first thought was to leave. To back our bags, begin looking for
flights and relay the news to Amani that we couldn’t do it anymore – couldn’t
live here anymore. That was our first reaction. But through the course of this
week we’ve both realized what a shame that would be. To break our commitments
here – not only to Amani, but to the children at Amani – would be allowing the
thieves to take more than just expensive electronics. We’re going to see this
thing through. Thank you to everyone who has already written to send their
sympathies and support. We are so grateful to know that our friends and family
are with us as we move ahead.
Last weekend Joe and I and three of the new Amani long-term volunteers took an overnight trip up to Marangu. Marangu is one of the starting points for climbing Kilimanjaro. Since it is higher up the mountain it is a nice cool and dust-free retreat from Moshi life. We took a dalla dalla from the Moshi bus stand and arrived about an hour later.
Since Joe made a similar trip a couple months ago with our friend Adam, he was familiar with the area and knew a good place to stay. The five of us slept in this boma set in a lush garden.
For dinner Joe found the same guy who helped them before. He remembered Joe as "the guy who gave him a hard time about the price." This made it difficult to give him a hard time again! Since the only other choice for dinner was to go to an expensive hotel or lodge, our friend had the advantage. We had a yummy stew of bananas and mutton (not very edible) and avocado and fruit for dessert.
We headed back to the boma, beers in hand, to play poker. Joe won!
Here's Danielle and me:
Malte, Laura and Joe:
The next morning we walked up to the Kilimanjaro National Park entrance gate. On the way we were keeping our eyes open for a place to get tea. Some ladies in front of their house offered us chapati, and then said they had tea as well. We sat at a little table in their front yard sipping hot tea from broken tea cups. Their kids peeked around corners to spy on us.
There's not much to see at the gate, just a lot of men trying to sell you tours or equipment or whatever your heart desires. On our way back down we stopped to play a game of pool at one of the many bars along the road. We had quite an audience!
Marangu is also famous for its waterfalls. We wanted to take a peak and explore the area on our own. Our intention was to avoid hiring and guide and avoid paying the waterfall's entrance fee.
Of course there are men all around who want to be your guide. And they insist that the paths are very windy and confusing. We could easily get lost! A man who said he worked at the waterfall ticket office (a.k.a. Turquoise Shirt) started a conversation with Joe. Eventually we lost him and headed down a path towards the river.
After a bit we came upon a large sign signifying the entrance to the "waterfalls". It clearly said that you could not go beyond this point without a ticket. We stopped there and took a minute to discuss our next step. Then Turquoise Shirt saw us. At first he was very welcoming and encouraged us to come in and enjoy. Then Joe explained to him that we didn't have any money and did not want to see the waterfalls. His mood quickly turned and he shooed us away.
We wandered downstream and eventually came upon some boys lounging on the warm rocks.
Below them was what looked like a deep swimming hole. We asked if it was safe to jump and they eagerly showed us by leaping right in. We found a grassy spot at the swimming hole's edge and Malte, Laura and Joe jumped in while Danielle and I cooled our feet.
It was a beautiful spot and the kids were very welcoming. After swimming we started a game of cards in the shade.
Not long into the game though, we heard some raised voices, and there was Turquoise Shirt on the path above us, irate and waving a stick. Evidently he takes claim to ALL of the river. Despite his anger, he kept offering us lower and lower entry fees, hmm. After multiple threats from him to call the police (which we encouraged him to do) we decided it best to pack up and leave. The kids bid us farewell, telling us that that guy is "crazy". Soon we were back in the town center and on a dalla dalla headed back to Moshi.
Overall it was a successful trip! We found a great swimming hole that hopefully we'll be able to return to. We are hoping that since Turquoise Shirt didn't get any money out of us the first time that he won't try the second. As the weather gets hotter and dustier I'm sure we'll be needing a nice glacier-chilled swim!
Our potted garden has been a success! Check out the greenery. Now we have basil, cilantro, dill, lettuce and mint (not pictured) at our fingertips.
After having 3 bikes and 4 pairs of shoes stolen from outside our house, we've installed a new security system. At least now it will take a bit more effort to get over our gate.
And here's some photos from some of my recent art classes.
Felt and fun-fur from Lakeshore:
Every Thursday afternoon I have an art class with Kalisti and Zainabu, two of our special needs kids. Almost everyday Kalisti says, "Alhamisi, kuchora!" (Thursday, drawing!). As if I would forget! Here's' Kalisti:
