Even though I can somehow understand the "let's use all the means available to get the mzungu's (white people's) money" - thinking, this I don't understand:
The women's group that I have been working with here, had rented a small room from one of their members to be used as their office and class room. Today I had a business meeting with the group and found out that they aren't renting that place anymore. Why? Because the owner had noticed that some mzungus are visiting the room, so she had desided to raise the rent expecting that the mzungus will pay for it. But we are not here to pay people's rents, so the women's group had to move out from there because they can't pay that big rent and are now "officeless"!
Is this wrong or not!!!
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Machame village
On one saturday I and some other volunteers went on a one day walking safari in Machame village at the base of Kilimanjaro. During the day we saw waterfalls, a cave, a traditional Chagga house (Chagga is one of the local tribes) and a coffee farm and had a taste of the traditional Chagga banana beer. At some point of the trek we were lucky to hear distant but powerful drumming in the jungle. When I asked about that from our guide, he told that it is the local hunter messaging to the people living in the area that he's got some meat to sell now. Isn't that the coolest thing ever?!
This is the minibus (much like the local daladalas) we travelled with to the starting point of the trek.
Just a house.
The road - this actually lookes quite good compared to how it was after the rain surprised us. You have to be an African driver to be able to get a minibus full of people alive back from the mountain: the road was so slippery because of the rain that at one point the bus was sliding sideways towards the edge of the road and starting to fall on its side at the same time becauseof the deep bumps on the road. Are you wondering what was next to the edge? Tens of meters of a drop down. Yep. At least there was no lack of excitement!
The Chagga house.
Their cows.
Their fish pool.
This is the minibus (much like the local daladalas) we travelled with to the starting point of the trek.
The sign, just to prove to you where I was. ;)
This is where we started to walk.
A banana tree. Every day is a "banana day" here.
See: we really were walking in the village! We saw so many locals doing their daily tasks...
The waterfalls:
Our guide in a cave, where local women and children used to hide during the wars.
The view from the cave.
Just a house.
The road - this actually lookes quite good compared to how it was after the rain surprised us. You have to be an African driver to be able to get a minibus full of people alive back from the mountain: the road was so slippery because of the rain that at one point the bus was sliding sideways towards the edge of the road and starting to fall on its side at the same time becauseof the deep bumps on the road. Are you wondering what was next to the edge? Tens of meters of a drop down. Yep. At least there was no lack of excitement!
The Chagga house.Their cows.
Their fish pool.
The bowl where the coffee beans are smashed up.
A local woman, another volunteer and I smashing up the coffee beans.
Our guide straining the smashed up beans.
The owner of the Chagga house/coffee farm roasting the coffee beans.
Then we got to taste honey straight from the wasp nest.
Me having the banana beer. As I was the oldest person in the group, I had to be the first one to drink from the horn. Yes, I know that I don't look particularly attractive in the picture. Despite of the drunken look in my eyes, I did not empty the whole horn - I only had one zip! ;)
The owner of the Chagga house/coffee farm roasting the coffee beans.
This is where we then had a taste of the freshly made coffee.
Then we got to taste honey straight from the wasp nest.
This is what the babana beer looked like.
Me having the banana beer. As I was the oldest person in the group, I had to be the first one to drink from the horn. Yes, I know that I don't look particularly attractive in the picture. Despite of the drunken look in my eyes, I did not empty the whole horn - I only had one zip! ;)
Saturday, 25 April 2009
I don't have malaria!
(I will add the pictures later.)
After two weeks in Tanzania I felt weird and tired and very hot. It is difficult to know if you feel feverish or not, because you sweat here anyway. I tried to analyze whether the heat was coming from outside (sun) or inside (me) but couldn't really tell. Finally I did the mirror test: if your eyes are sparkling, you are fine, if not, you have fever. The test result was that I had a fever. I didn't really believe that I could have malaria, because I hadn't been bitten by the mosquitoes at all (at least I hadn't noticed having being bitten), but decided to have a malaria test taken just in case - and just out of curiosity to see how do the hospitals work here. So I and one other feverish girl took a taxi to Saint Joseph's Hospital. It was a very simple but pretty place. You can see in the picture what the hospital's entry looked like.
At the reception I had to write my name, age, Soweto (the area where I live in Moshi) and "volunteer/i-to-i" on a blank A4 paper. Then the sister at the reception took us "in" to wait for the doctor. The place where we waited was actually an outside area in the middle of the hospital's corridors (see the picture) where you could hear the birds singing (lovely).
After a couple of minutes (yeep, no hours of waiting...) the doctor called me into his room. I went in, sat down and told him that I need a malaria test. The doctor wrote something on a piece of paper in Swahili, gave it to me and told me to go to the lab with it. I don't think that they have heard the word "privacy" in that hospital, because everything was done doors open other people hanging near or even next to you.
The lab was an experience. See the wooden bench and the table in the picture below?
Me and the other feverish girl sat next to each other on that bench and had our fingertips pricked with a scalpel. A couple of drops of blood were taken on a dusty glass slide and that was it. After half an hour waiting outside the doctor called me in and said: "Susanna, you don't have malaria", wrote something on an other piece of paper and told me to show it at the reception.
As I went to pay my visit to the reception I was charged 6000 Tanzanian shillings for the test and the doctor's consultation. It wasn't a lot (about 3.6 e), but the two Finnish nurse student's who work in the same hospital told me that the normal charge for a malaria test is 500 shillings. But what the heck, it is ok to charge 12 times more for mzungus, isn't it?
Just as an extra piece of information I want to tell you that based on the facts that the Finnish nurse student's told me, I wouldn't want anything else except a malaria test done in hospitals here. Anaesthesia is not used and people are basically tortured if something painful needs to be done. All the sterile instruments are expired and sometimes sterile instruments are taken out from the package and then put back there, as if it would have stayed sterile! I promise you, I will do my best not to get injured here!
After two weeks in Tanzania I felt weird and tired and very hot. It is difficult to know if you feel feverish or not, because you sweat here anyway. I tried to analyze whether the heat was coming from outside (sun) or inside (me) but couldn't really tell. Finally I did the mirror test: if your eyes are sparkling, you are fine, if not, you have fever. The test result was that I had a fever. I didn't really believe that I could have malaria, because I hadn't been bitten by the mosquitoes at all (at least I hadn't noticed having being bitten), but decided to have a malaria test taken just in case - and just out of curiosity to see how do the hospitals work here. So I and one other feverish girl took a taxi to Saint Joseph's Hospital. It was a very simple but pretty place. You can see in the picture what the hospital's entry looked like.
At the reception I had to write my name, age, Soweto (the area where I live in Moshi) and "volunteer/i-to-i" on a blank A4 paper. Then the sister at the reception took us "in" to wait for the doctor. The place where we waited was actually an outside area in the middle of the hospital's corridors (see the picture) where you could hear the birds singing (lovely).
After a couple of minutes (yeep, no hours of waiting...) the doctor called me into his room. I went in, sat down and told him that I need a malaria test. The doctor wrote something on a piece of paper in Swahili, gave it to me and told me to go to the lab with it. I don't think that they have heard the word "privacy" in that hospital, because everything was done doors open other people hanging near or even next to you.
The lab was an experience. See the wooden bench and the table in the picture below?
Me and the other feverish girl sat next to each other on that bench and had our fingertips pricked with a scalpel. A couple of drops of blood were taken on a dusty glass slide and that was it. After half an hour waiting outside the doctor called me in and said: "Susanna, you don't have malaria", wrote something on an other piece of paper and told me to show it at the reception.
As I went to pay my visit to the reception I was charged 6000 Tanzanian shillings for the test and the doctor's consultation. It wasn't a lot (about 3.6 e), but the two Finnish nurse student's who work in the same hospital told me that the normal charge for a malaria test is 500 shillings. But what the heck, it is ok to charge 12 times more for mzungus, isn't it?
Just as an extra piece of information I want to tell you that based on the facts that the Finnish nurse student's told me, I wouldn't want anything else except a malaria test done in hospitals here. Anaesthesia is not used and people are basically tortured if something painful needs to be done. All the sterile instruments are expired and sometimes sterile instruments are taken out from the package and then put back there, as if it would have stayed sterile! I promise you, I will do my best not to get injured here!
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Mzungu! Mzungu!
I have now gotten used to being the different one here, but it seems like the Tanzanians haven't gotten used to white people being here. Anywhere I go people are yelling "Mzungu! Mzungu!" after me, which means "a white person". It is disturbing, but you just have to get used to it.
Try to imagine this: you are walking on a very narrow and muddy road between mud hut kinds of little houses. There are a lot of children peaking at you behind corners, fences, bushes, adult's backs etc. All the time you here those children yelling (happily) "Mzungu! Mzungu!" as you walk on. They are like small alarm clocks telling the whole village that "here is a Mzungu"! Just as often as the children yell "Mzungu!", they yell "Teacher, teacher!" or "Good morning!" - even if it is 5 pm - and run after you just to be able to hold your hand and walk with you for a while. Sometimes you have a child hanging from your both hands and a third one is holding on your thumb. Just sometimes a child can ask for money, candy or presents, which is not nice, but I guess it is us mzungus who have thaught it to the kids in Tanzania, that they can get (undeserved) presents from us.
When you pass a group of adults standing on the street, you will hear them having a loud conversation including the word "mzungu". Sometimes it has a negative tone, but usually not. It happens meny times a day that people ask you (in Swahili) what's up, and they will be very happy if yu are able to answer them in Swahili and even have a short conversation in their language. I find these encounters pleasant and rewarding, because it is only then that I actually feel as if I was "any Tanzanian" - which I of course am not - and I feel that I am accepted here without further expectations.
The most annoying thing is that when you are in town and you are walking to where ever you are walking, Tanzanian men can actually run after you yelling "Mzungu!" and when they get to you, they empty their back bags from all the jewellery they have and try to sell it to you. This happens quite often, even when you are queuing to get money out from the wall. Why do they do that? Because they associate white women with (easy) money. Some of the volunteers here have been teaching English to masai men, who are on advanced level are even able to debate. They once had a debate about the subject "is it right to associate white women with money?" In their opinion it is of course right, because we must be rich if we have money to come here, and because we are rich, we should by products from all the Tanzanian men in order to support them. I understand, that compared to their standard, we are rich. But they don't understand that the world where we come from is totally different from theirs, and in that world being able to buy a flight ticket doesn't make a person rich.
Being called mzungu where ever I go, has made me think "why is it ok to yell "mzungu" after a white person here, but it not ok to yell "a black person" after a black person in Europe"? Is it just because of the cultural differences and different ideas of correct behaviour? Or is there something more? Do Tanzanian people feel that they have a right to treat us like showpieces to stare at and create and create a lot of hassle around, because we are on their land? Is there some historican psychology behind that I am not aware of? Or is it just me who is being too quick to take offence because of my conception about good manners? Whenever I tried to ask about it with a Tanzanian, they always said: "it doesn't mean anything bad!".
Before I even had a chance to have deeper chat about the topic with a Tanzanian person, I started to think myself, that instead of questioning their habit, shouldn't I question ours? Everubody knows why it is not ok to call people by their skin colour in western countries. But why is it still like that? Who is quilty for that? I am tempted to ask "is it the black people or is it us white people"?
In the first place it was of course us white people who treated black peoplebadly based on their race, which - naturally - led to a situation where black people don't want to be judged based on their skin colour.
How long is a historical memory? Are behaving as we behave because of the history? Or have we already forgotten the reason for our behaviour? Do we behave as we behave because it has become a cultural habit that no one pays attention to? Do we even notice that our behaviour has changed from one end to the other? Do we want to live in a world, where dissimilarity is flourishing, but we are taught to be blind in front of it? It is pretty stupid, that we for example can people's different hair colour, but not skin colour, isn't it? Noticing people's skin colour doesn't need to mean anything more that just saying aloud what we see with our eyes, does it? Who are we pleasing with our exaggerated politeness? Are we pleasing black people who got touchy about white people noticing they are black in the first place, or are we pleasing ourselves; it makes us whities really civilized well brought up people as we deny ourselves from seeing what anybody can see. Or does it just make our lives plain and fake?
I have now asked many questions to which I don't have answers. Do you?
Try to imagine this: you are walking on a very narrow and muddy road between mud hut kinds of little houses. There are a lot of children peaking at you behind corners, fences, bushes, adult's backs etc. All the time you here those children yelling (happily) "Mzungu! Mzungu!" as you walk on. They are like small alarm clocks telling the whole village that "here is a Mzungu"! Just as often as the children yell "Mzungu!", they yell "Teacher, teacher!" or "Good morning!" - even if it is 5 pm - and run after you just to be able to hold your hand and walk with you for a while. Sometimes you have a child hanging from your both hands and a third one is holding on your thumb. Just sometimes a child can ask for money, candy or presents, which is not nice, but I guess it is us mzungus who have thaught it to the kids in Tanzania, that they can get (undeserved) presents from us.
When you pass a group of adults standing on the street, you will hear them having a loud conversation including the word "mzungu". Sometimes it has a negative tone, but usually not. It happens meny times a day that people ask you (in Swahili) what's up, and they will be very happy if yu are able to answer them in Swahili and even have a short conversation in their language. I find these encounters pleasant and rewarding, because it is only then that I actually feel as if I was "any Tanzanian" - which I of course am not - and I feel that I am accepted here without further expectations.
The most annoying thing is that when you are in town and you are walking to where ever you are walking, Tanzanian men can actually run after you yelling "Mzungu!" and when they get to you, they empty their back bags from all the jewellery they have and try to sell it to you. This happens quite often, even when you are queuing to get money out from the wall. Why do they do that? Because they associate white women with (easy) money. Some of the volunteers here have been teaching English to masai men, who are on advanced level are even able to debate. They once had a debate about the subject "is it right to associate white women with money?" In their opinion it is of course right, because we must be rich if we have money to come here, and because we are rich, we should by products from all the Tanzanian men in order to support them. I understand, that compared to their standard, we are rich. But they don't understand that the world where we come from is totally different from theirs, and in that world being able to buy a flight ticket doesn't make a person rich.
Being called mzungu where ever I go, has made me think "why is it ok to yell "mzungu" after a white person here, but it not ok to yell "a black person" after a black person in Europe"? Is it just because of the cultural differences and different ideas of correct behaviour? Or is there something more? Do Tanzanian people feel that they have a right to treat us like showpieces to stare at and create and create a lot of hassle around, because we are on their land? Is there some historican psychology behind that I am not aware of? Or is it just me who is being too quick to take offence because of my conception about good manners? Whenever I tried to ask about it with a Tanzanian, they always said: "it doesn't mean anything bad!".
Before I even had a chance to have deeper chat about the topic with a Tanzanian person, I started to think myself, that instead of questioning their habit, shouldn't I question ours? Everubody knows why it is not ok to call people by their skin colour in western countries. But why is it still like that? Who is quilty for that? I am tempted to ask "is it the black people or is it us white people"?
In the first place it was of course us white people who treated black peoplebadly based on their race, which - naturally - led to a situation where black people don't want to be judged based on their skin colour.
How long is a historical memory? Are behaving as we behave because of the history? Or have we already forgotten the reason for our behaviour? Do we behave as we behave because it has become a cultural habit that no one pays attention to? Do we even notice that our behaviour has changed from one end to the other? Do we want to live in a world, where dissimilarity is flourishing, but we are taught to be blind in front of it? It is pretty stupid, that we for example can people's different hair colour, but not skin colour, isn't it? Noticing people's skin colour doesn't need to mean anything more that just saying aloud what we see with our eyes, does it? Who are we pleasing with our exaggerated politeness? Are we pleasing black people who got touchy about white people noticing they are black in the first place, or are we pleasing ourselves; it makes us whities really civilized well brought up people as we deny ourselves from seeing what anybody can see. Or does it just make our lives plain and fake?
I have now asked many questions to which I don't have answers. Do you?
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Wanted! Good shoes!
I have such bad blisters on my feet now that I desided to honour them by writing about walking. I just counted how many hours I have been walking since I got here. Approximately 45 hours in 2,5 weeks. It's not that much, but it is a lot for a person who is not used to walking everywhere. And I mean everywhere.
It takes 1 hour 15 minutes to get to my project. It is about twenty minutes walk from our house to town. The weather is seldom comfortable for walking: it is usually very hot or it is raining, as it is the rain season here now. Luckily the heaviest rains happen at night. If it has been raining, the roads are so muddy that it is impossible to walk, and then it takes even longer to get where you are going.
You can't walk as unworriedly here as you can in Finland. The obvious reason for that is that there is a constant threat of being robbed. It is quite safe when you are walking along roads where there are other people, but on quieter roads it is not that safe for white people. That's why some of the students always escort us teachers to the safer roads.
You can't just look at the amazing views while walking, because you also really have to watch your step. As I mentioned before, the roads can be muddy, which makes them slippery. I have seen so many volunteers come home with muddy legs, shoes and even muddy bums (one of the unlucky ones slipped straight into a ditch). I managed once to get my feet and flip-flops so badly covered with mud that I had to turn off into a house's yard and wash my feet and shoes there to be able to continue walking - luckily Tanzanian people are very helpful!
It is not only the mud which is making it impossible to walk without watching your step. Even in the town, where most of the roads are asphalt, there can be random holes on the road. One day I stepped one step back to give way to a daladala (a local mini bus) and stepped straight into a knee high hole, fell on my bum and got a wound on my hand. The daladala stopped and everybody in that put their heads out and started to repeat "pole sana, pole sana", which means that they are sorry. It was a nice gesture, but I really didn't need all that attention. At that moment I actually would have rather been surrounded by Finnish people who would have totally ignored me.
Mostly I have no trouble motivating myself to walk, but when I have, I just think that eventually it will be worth it; by the time I get back home, I will have sweat my ass off. ;)
It takes 1 hour 15 minutes to get to my project. It is about twenty minutes walk from our house to town. The weather is seldom comfortable for walking: it is usually very hot or it is raining, as it is the rain season here now. Luckily the heaviest rains happen at night. If it has been raining, the roads are so muddy that it is impossible to walk, and then it takes even longer to get where you are going.
You can't walk as unworriedly here as you can in Finland. The obvious reason for that is that there is a constant threat of being robbed. It is quite safe when you are walking along roads where there are other people, but on quieter roads it is not that safe for white people. That's why some of the students always escort us teachers to the safer roads.
You can't just look at the amazing views while walking, because you also really have to watch your step. As I mentioned before, the roads can be muddy, which makes them slippery. I have seen so many volunteers come home with muddy legs, shoes and even muddy bums (one of the unlucky ones slipped straight into a ditch). I managed once to get my feet and flip-flops so badly covered with mud that I had to turn off into a house's yard and wash my feet and shoes there to be able to continue walking - luckily Tanzanian people are very helpful!
It is not only the mud which is making it impossible to walk without watching your step. Even in the town, where most of the roads are asphalt, there can be random holes on the road. One day I stepped one step back to give way to a daladala (a local mini bus) and stepped straight into a knee high hole, fell on my bum and got a wound on my hand. The daladala stopped and everybody in that put their heads out and started to repeat "pole sana, pole sana", which means that they are sorry. It was a nice gesture, but I really didn't need all that attention. At that moment I actually would have rather been surrounded by Finnish people who would have totally ignored me.
Mostly I have no trouble motivating myself to walk, but when I have, I just think that eventually it will be worth it; by the time I get back home, I will have sweat my ass off. ;)
Asante sana, mwalimu!
Before I came here, I sometimes thought that "what do I think that I can teach people there?", "what information do I have about anything that would benefit them?", "who do I think I am that I think that I can just go to another country and teach adults there how to make their lives better?". I understand now that my worries were unnecessary.
Teacheing here is much more rewarding and at the same time, much more frustrating than I had thought possible. The best moments are when everything is going smoothly, students understand you and are showing proof of learning from you. The worst moments are when the students just don't get anything and you spent twenty minutes trying to make yourself clear with the simplest thing. Or even worse, you spent twenty minutes trying to figure out the meaning of a sentence written by a student, which doesn't really make sense. Up until now I have been able to be patient and managed not to show my frustration in those moments. My frustration is my problem, not my students'.
It is amazing how grateful people here are even for the slightest bit of help they get. It doesn't make a difference whether they are adults or children; you always see the same grateful and respectful look in their eyes after a lesson. No one rushes away, but instead they stay around for as long you (their teacher) do. And they always remember to say thank you for teaching them. Sometimes I even get the feeling that it is not so much about you teaching them, than it is about you making an effort to help them, which makes the people here so happy about having you here.
Once one of the students' kids came to after a lesson, held my hand, kissed it and said, "Thank tou, teacher" with such grateful look in her eyes. I have never seen a look like that before. One of my students, who is a beginner, stood up after one lesson, smiled, looked me in the eyes and said: "Asante sana, mwalimu", which means "thank you so much teacher".
Teacheing here is much more rewarding and at the same time, much more frustrating than I had thought possible. The best moments are when everything is going smoothly, students understand you and are showing proof of learning from you. The worst moments are when the students just don't get anything and you spent twenty minutes trying to make yourself clear with the simplest thing. Or even worse, you spent twenty minutes trying to figure out the meaning of a sentence written by a student, which doesn't really make sense. Up until now I have been able to be patient and managed not to show my frustration in those moments. My frustration is my problem, not my students'.
It is amazing how grateful people here are even for the slightest bit of help they get. It doesn't make a difference whether they are adults or children; you always see the same grateful and respectful look in their eyes after a lesson. No one rushes away, but instead they stay around for as long you (their teacher) do. And they always remember to say thank you for teaching them. Sometimes I even get the feeling that it is not so much about you teaching them, than it is about you making an effort to help them, which makes the people here so happy about having you here.
Once one of the students' kids came to after a lesson, held my hand, kissed it and said, "Thank tou, teacher" with such grateful look in her eyes. I have never seen a look like that before. One of my students, who is a beginner, stood up after one lesson, smiled, looked me in the eyes and said: "Asante sana, mwalimu", which means "thank you so much teacher".
Monday, 13 April 2009
My first moments in Tanzania
I landed in Tanzania (Kilimanjaro airport) on Sturday (4th of April) afternoon. It was +32 degrees and the air felt very humid, but it wasn't bad though: it almost felt like Africa was giving me a warm hug to welcome me. People from the organization Art in Tanzania were there to collect me and three other people. We were taken to Moshi, which is about 45 minute drive from the airport. This was when for the forts time I felt that I am Africa - in the land which I've been dreaming about. The scenery was just like in the movies and documentaries about Africa. On top of that it was so exiting to see many little tornados going wild and forming sandy statues in between the bushes.
Finally we arrived to the volunteer house: a white hostel like two-floor house with 6 rooms, where people sleep in bunk beds. There are western style toilets and showers, but only cold water. On the second floor there is a big (and I mean big) balcony where we can chill out. The best thing about staying in this house is Kilimanjaro. The picture below is taken right outside our gate, and the view is the same from our balcony.
The other volunteers are from England are approximately 20 years old (+/- 3 years), meaning that I am an old mama here, and sometimes a bit outside their conversations but it really doesn't matter at all, because they are all so sweet anyway (if you don't count the moments when a couple of them throws a childish tantrum over nothing).
We have very sweet maids here, who prepare breakfast and dinner for us, and wash our clothes if we pay a bit extra for them. On the picture below you can see one of them carrying water to our drinking water tank to be filtered.
We have guards standing by our gates (or sleeping in the back yard...) 24 hours a day to keep us safe here. I also found out that the three dogs that live with us here are street dogs, which didn't make me too happy as I am not the biggest dog fan. (Already during the first night I heard the terrible noice of a dog fight - at firts I thought that there was an angry lion outside!)
That's about all I have to tell about the first moments. I feel happy and comfortable here, and will tell you more soonish. But you have to be patient. As Tanzanians say: pole pole (take your time...) :)
Observations and thoughts about South Africa
If I had to choose one word to describe South Africa, it would be "divided". I'll try to open that up a bit in the following chapters. (Please, keep in mind that I only was there as a tourist for 3 weeks; I might be wrong about many things, and many things that seemed "black and white" to me, are not necessarily so black and white.) 
Social statuses
Rich and poor
Social statuses
The culture of having housemaids is still alive and kicking in SA. I know that it isn't that long ago since we used to have housemaids in Finland, but it had beem long enough to make me at first feel that it is a bit too much if someone's job is to come to your house and clean it up for you: you could do that yoursefl too, you know. When I gave it a second thought, I realized that it is a good thing that there is such strong service culture there. Otherwisw there wold be so many people without any work. Although, some of the work that people do, seems anyway, hmmm, unnecessary. For example: I went to a public toilet, the cleaning lady guided me to the door, wiped the floor before me and showed me where I can hang my bag. Can you imagine that? Or maybe that is just it, that as a Finnish person I am not used to beeing (over)served, and I am definitely not used to beeing called "mam" as they call you where ever you go there. But why does the existence of strong service culture make the coutry divided? Because it is the black people who serve the white people.
Rich and poorThe country doesn't have a proper system to take care of its citizens in need of help. That's why there are people who are very rich and people who are very poor while the middle class seems to face extinction soon. It is not only the people who are divided into rich and poor, but also the areas. I saw places, where money clearly lies. The places which are really poor, I was only told about, because it wouldn't have been safe to go there. From this we get to the next subject.
Dangerous places and safer (but not safe) places.
I really bugged me that I couldn't go anywhere I felt like going in SA. I couldn't just go wondering around and see places, because I might have ended up in a place where I would've too easily been mugged or even killed. Because of that I didn't feel free in South Africa. In Port Elizabeth me and my aunt couldn't go walking in the city center because two white ladies walking there are very likely to get mugged. In Cape Town I wasn't allowed to take a train because I would have been "eaten alive and thrown out of the window". Shannon is a paramedic, and og my god (!!!) the stories he told me what actually happens in CT. I knew that Cape Town is a dangerous place, but I wouldn't even have been able to make up stories that horrible in my head - and my imagination is pretty wild. It seems like you really have to know SA to be able to keep yourself somewhat safe there. If you don't, you have to ask first, if it is safe and then do it, whatever it is that you want to do. And where is the dividedness in safety? It is the white women who are the people most in danger in SA, especially if they walk alone, i.e. when it comes to safety, it makes a difference who it is that lives or travels in SA.
People
I don't know if it is because of the insecurity of the country or what, but the people are honest, are very honest and they seem to have this "we have to stock together" attitude. I experienced that every time when I needed to ask for advice from people. As I was a tourist, the people who I asked for advice gave me so much more information that I had asked for. For example, if I asked where to find a taxi, yes, they told me where to get a taxi, but they also told me not to let the taxi driver rob me, told me to agree the price of the lift beforehand and told me what would be an appropriat price to pay for the lift. These valuable pieces of information kept coming whatever it was that I asked. On the other hand, there are sao m any people who - for one reaon or another - try to benefit from other people either by criminal actions or just by taking advantage of the occurring situation, whatever it is at that very moment. Being so, I - sadly - have to say that the people in South Africa seem to be divided into good and bad - or at least into fotunate and less fortunate, which leads to different ways of coping in life within the less fortunate people.
One thing that was not divided there was the nature. South Africa's nature is amazingly beautiful and absolutely worth seeing. The beaches are stunning, the animals are absolute heart breakers and the vegetation is just beautiful. It is a pity that one can't travel in that coutry without having to worry about his/her safety. There were two things that made it possible for me to explore South Africa somewhat safely: having a car in which to drive around and knowing people with who to go to places they knew would be safe.
Cape Town
Cape Town is an amazingly beautiful city. The massive Table Mountain seems to be everywhere as it is a very important part of the scenery here. I had the chance to go up there and see the breath taking views, as you can see from the picture below.
My visit in Cape Town was more about meeting people than seeing places as I went there to visit my friend Tevya. Although I might have wanted to see more of the tourist attractions in CT, I really enjoyed the time with South African people who I met through Tev and her boyfriend Shannon.
Right after I had landed to CT, Tevya and Shannon picked me up from the airport and took me to a "braai". (Braai is South African english and means a barbeque.) Within the first couple of hours of my stay in Cape Town I had already met 10-15 South Africans and had my first ever jelly shots.
The next day my social adventures continued. First I was taken to Tevya's bigsister's birthday picnic in Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden, and I met the whole of Tev's family there. The pictures below are taken from tyhe garden.
I also attended another birthday celebration in a place called Paal, where we visited a farm, where they grow grapes for wine. And oh my, What did I eat there! Traditional African beef stew and lamb curry with rice and mielie pap (mielie pap is boiled wheat or something). The curry was just delicious (although I couldn't eat much of the sheep) and the beef stew was much like Finnish karjalanpaisti. These were the first foods containing red meat that I had eaten in 12 years. And to be honest with you, it didn't feel too nice to eat meat, but on the other hand, eating the local food is part of getting to know the culture.
We had another braai at Tev's and Shannon's, and I got to meet a bunch of new people again and hear (ordinary) lidestores that sounded unbelievable to me. But then again, it is amazing how people can get exited about ice breaker boat, snow and wolves.
Otherwise I was shopping, preparing my teaching material, seeing lizards (hih) and sun tanning. (An Indian guy told me to get a tan but he didn't realize that I actually already had a tan!)
P.S. Who is the king of the hill?
Friday, 3 April 2009
An Ethiopian fairy tail
It is midnight and I have to get up at 5.30 in the morning, but I can't wait to tell you this.
Today I have flewn from Cape Town to Johannesburg and from Johannesburg to Ethiopia, Addis Ababa. My connecting flight to Kilimanjaro departures only tomorrow morning, and because of that I had booked a room in a hotel near the airport. You can only imagine that I had been worried about this night in Ethiopia. First of all, I hadn't gotten a visa beforehand, so I was a bit worried how it is gonna work out. Second of all, I am travelling all alone now in Ethiopia, and I didn't have any idea how I will get to the hotel.
I flew with Ethiopian Airlines, which was an experience. The whole plane was full of black men. There was only me and two other white ladies and approximately 10 black ladies (as women are beeing called in Africa). And the two other white ladies were travelling with a man. So basically I felt different there. There was some Ethiopian music playing on the plain and one of the flight attendants wore some kind of traditional dress.
When we finally landed to Addis Ababa, my first task was to find a counter where I could get a transit visa. After a little wondering around I found it. I had passport photos and dollars with me, because I had read in Ethiopian embassy's web pages beforehand that you would need those. But no. I was just handed a piece of paper where somebody wrote in hand writing "transit" and gave me some other papers too and explained that I have to go through the customs and then go outside and somebody will come and take me to the bus, which will take me to my hotel. Then I had a look at the papers she had given me and it said something about Hotel Intercontinental. And this is when I had to go back and ask what was going on. I hadn't mentioned anything about my accommodation to the clerck and my hotel definitely wasn't supposed to be Intercontinental. I still have trouble believing what she said next: because I have to stay the night in Addis Ababa because of the connecting flight, they will pay for my accommodation in Hotel Intercontinental, and the transports there, and all the food that i will need during my stay. What!!! It pissed me off that I hadn't known that because I had already payd 93 € for the other hotel for the night. But of course I wasn't gonna choose that over Intercontinental!
Then I just went where I was told to go, sat down and waited until somebody came to guide me to the busses. So there i stood (me and 20 black men) outside the airport next to three different busses and three different bus drivers. When I asked on which bus I should hop to get to the Intercontinental, all the three drivers started shouting to each other at the same time and showing all the busses there. It sounded like this: "alalalalalalalal intercontinental alalalalalalalala intercontinental alalalalalalalalalala intercontinental alalalalalalala inter...." and that went on for minutes. Then they finally told me to take the first bus, which was a mini version of the proper busses. I stepped in and realized that there was no space - it was full of black men. (It really lookes like women - especially white women - don't travel much here!) Then I was told to take the third bus. When I started walking there, the drivers run to me and told me to take the second bus, which i did.
At first the bus drove to an other hotel, in front of which there was standing a guard dressed up like an Indian friend of mine when its - 20 degrees in Finland, and he had a rifle hanging on his shoulder. I didn't feel like going to that hotel. But everybody else went. And then I was taken to my hotel, and oh my, what a place this is. Regardless of all the poverty that wasn't too difficult to see on the way here, I refuse not to enjoy me being totally spoiled here.
The doors were opened to me as I walked towards the main entrance. My room has a balcony and everything is so automaticed that I had difficulties figuring out how the lights are turned on in the rooom, I ate a delicious 3 course dinner at the restaurant, and next I am going to take a path. And in the morning right after (assumingly good) breakfast I will be collected back to the Airport.
And this all costed me zero money (if we don't count that 93 € that I paid for the other hotel). Somebody pinch me! I love Ethiopia :)
Today I have flewn from Cape Town to Johannesburg and from Johannesburg to Ethiopia, Addis Ababa. My connecting flight to Kilimanjaro departures only tomorrow morning, and because of that I had booked a room in a hotel near the airport. You can only imagine that I had been worried about this night in Ethiopia. First of all, I hadn't gotten a visa beforehand, so I was a bit worried how it is gonna work out. Second of all, I am travelling all alone now in Ethiopia, and I didn't have any idea how I will get to the hotel.
I flew with Ethiopian Airlines, which was an experience. The whole plane was full of black men. There was only me and two other white ladies and approximately 10 black ladies (as women are beeing called in Africa). And the two other white ladies were travelling with a man. So basically I felt different there. There was some Ethiopian music playing on the plain and one of the flight attendants wore some kind of traditional dress.
When we finally landed to Addis Ababa, my first task was to find a counter where I could get a transit visa. After a little wondering around I found it. I had passport photos and dollars with me, because I had read in Ethiopian embassy's web pages beforehand that you would need those. But no. I was just handed a piece of paper where somebody wrote in hand writing "transit" and gave me some other papers too and explained that I have to go through the customs and then go outside and somebody will come and take me to the bus, which will take me to my hotel. Then I had a look at the papers she had given me and it said something about Hotel Intercontinental. And this is when I had to go back and ask what was going on. I hadn't mentioned anything about my accommodation to the clerck and my hotel definitely wasn't supposed to be Intercontinental. I still have trouble believing what she said next: because I have to stay the night in Addis Ababa because of the connecting flight, they will pay for my accommodation in Hotel Intercontinental, and the transports there, and all the food that i will need during my stay. What!!! It pissed me off that I hadn't known that because I had already payd 93 € for the other hotel for the night. But of course I wasn't gonna choose that over Intercontinental!
Then I just went where I was told to go, sat down and waited until somebody came to guide me to the busses. So there i stood (me and 20 black men) outside the airport next to three different busses and three different bus drivers. When I asked on which bus I should hop to get to the Intercontinental, all the three drivers started shouting to each other at the same time and showing all the busses there. It sounded like this: "alalalalalalalal intercontinental alalalalalalalala intercontinental alalalalalalalalalala intercontinental alalalalalalala inter...." and that went on for minutes. Then they finally told me to take the first bus, which was a mini version of the proper busses. I stepped in and realized that there was no space - it was full of black men. (It really lookes like women - especially white women - don't travel much here!) Then I was told to take the third bus. When I started walking there, the drivers run to me and told me to take the second bus, which i did.
At first the bus drove to an other hotel, in front of which there was standing a guard dressed up like an Indian friend of mine when its - 20 degrees in Finland, and he had a rifle hanging on his shoulder. I didn't feel like going to that hotel. But everybody else went. And then I was taken to my hotel, and oh my, what a place this is. Regardless of all the poverty that wasn't too difficult to see on the way here, I refuse not to enjoy me being totally spoiled here.
The doors were opened to me as I walked towards the main entrance. My room has a balcony and everything is so automaticed that I had difficulties figuring out how the lights are turned on in the rooom, I ate a delicious 3 course dinner at the restaurant, and next I am going to take a path. And in the morning right after (assumingly good) breakfast I will be collected back to the Airport.
And this all costed me zero money (if we don't count that 93 € that I paid for the other hotel). Somebody pinch me! I love Ethiopia :)
Thursday, 2 April 2009
What is Finland known for in South Africa?
I would have thought that no one has heard a word about Finland in South Africa, but I was wrong. Here are the known things in the order of appearance:
1. Kimi Raikkonen. They are selling T-shirts with Kimi Raikkonen prints on at the Cape Town Airport.
2. Snow and cold weather. One person even made a comment, that I come from the ice age. Ha ha ha!
3. Rovaniemi and Santa Clause. The person who took us on the cruise in Port Elizabeth had actually visited Rovaniemi, and he had been so dissappointed because Santa Clause hadn't been there. But what can you expect if you go visit him in the summer? I think that it is only fair that Joupukki gets some time off from work too.
4. The Finnish police men. There has been a reality show on TV, which introduces the police departments in different countries, and Finland has been one of the countries. The sad thing is, that the impression the show has given about our police is not too flattering. But I have tried to correct that impression.
5. HIM and Ville Valo. You should hear how funny it sounds when South Africans try to pronounce "Ville Valo".
6. The Duudsons.
7. Nokia. Can you imagine that: even The Duudsons came up before Nokia!
1. Kimi Raikkonen. They are selling T-shirts with Kimi Raikkonen prints on at the Cape Town Airport.
2. Snow and cold weather. One person even made a comment, that I come from the ice age. Ha ha ha!
3. Rovaniemi and Santa Clause. The person who took us on the cruise in Port Elizabeth had actually visited Rovaniemi, and he had been so dissappointed because Santa Clause hadn't been there. But what can you expect if you go visit him in the summer? I think that it is only fair that Joupukki gets some time off from work too.
4. The Finnish police men. There has been a reality show on TV, which introduces the police departments in different countries, and Finland has been one of the countries. The sad thing is, that the impression the show has given about our police is not too flattering. But I have tried to correct that impression.
5. HIM and Ville Valo. You should hear how funny it sounds when South Africans try to pronounce "Ville Valo".
6. The Duudsons.
7. Nokia. Can you imagine that: even The Duudsons came up before Nokia!
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