Never a dull moment

Monday morning we began intensive Kiswahili lessons. Our teachers from Nairobi accompanied us to the village and were staying together in one house. We met at the local Arabic school and split into small groups. We students were excited to see each other and to pick up more Swahili to use with our families.

Quite the classroom. Spotted a few monkeys!

I couldn't help but throw in another outfit pic.

After lessons, we met near the ocean under a thatched structure I lovingly think of as the wazungu tent. We ate lunch there (fresh fruit and veggies, finally!) and relaxed for a bit.

Wazungu tent from the dock

Out of the fierce sun

One assignment during our time in the village was a small group project. I was on the water and sanitation team. We decided that the first step of our research would be to observe the activity at Shirazi’s main borehole.  We stood around for awhile before figuring out that most women fetch water in the morning and at night, avoiding the direct sun. Oops.

Not to worry, our time wasn’t wasted. At the time we were about to give up, the village’s youngest kids got out of Arabic lessons at the school nearby. They were drawn to the borehole by our awkward crew of four strangely-dressed white people.

Our info-gathering mission turned into a massive game of down-by-the-banks. They loved it! I think we had forty kids surrounding us at one point. 

We played until we needed to return to the wazungo tent for a lecture by the village elder. We walked back to the oceanfront surrounded by our pack of singing children. We obtained minimal data on water and sanitation, but we had so much fun that we didn’t care.

That night we ate pilau, a fried rice dish with meat and vegetables. I thought it was tough to eat ugali with my hands, but rice is infinitely more difficult. Messy, messy, messy. I tried to go grain-by-grain, but my family used a smooshing technique.

Mama Fatma and my brother Ali