Dog jaunt

It is now the hour of alfajiri - the hour between five and six in the morning. I hear the mosque's plaintive calls from nearby, and Kitmeer's breath as it whistles gently through his nostrils as he dozes on his cushion beside my bed. 

Yesterday I took my dog for a walk. The concept of walking just to walk seems strange and foreign to Tanzanians; why would you choose to go anywhere without an apparent reason, on a hot, sunny day?

But I packed some semblance of a picnic (hard-boiled egg, banana, peanut butter bar crumbles), water, and a book, and we set off. Kitmeer is still at the stage where he loves everybody, which unfortunately is not a reciprocated emotion. He loves children, but unfamiliar ones to him will run away and screech at his approach. He will also run up to adults, although he is a little more cautious when it comes to men. If we are out away from people and a man walks by, though, Kitmeer will woof and let out a gentle growl, as if to inform me of what he is seeing. 

We wandered up towards the church and the primary school, then past, where the soil segues from farmable to sandy and desert-like. Spiky sisal plants dominate the landscape, and we roam narrow herd paths to find small oases of tree groves or single large trees who cast their shadow generously. Down into sand rivers, wandering up their water-worn rocks that have seen no flow but the slow trickle of cattle herds for a very long time. 

We turn back to revisit a large tree where to rest from the hot sun. We had been walking in and along a dried creek ravine, and Kitmeer runs ahead and plunges down a side trail, to descend into it once again. A short minute later, I hear his tormented cries, as if he was convinced the world had swallowed him up, whole and alone. I run back to where I see him crying and waiting, a small tan creature, and call to him. He clambers up the ravine again, and we continue, with him being markedly more careful to keep me in his sights. 

After resting and snacking, we make our slow way back to the village, where we slip through narrow passageways between brick buildings and Kitmeer capers spunkily around the courtyard of a woman drying pigeon pea pods. We both laugh and I stand at the entrance, trying to call Kitmeer out of her courtyard. After a few loops he follows me out. 

We rested in the shade of our home for the rest of the hot and dusty afternoon. 

Home again

The past three weeks I was away from my village for early service training and water security training. I attended both trainings with my counterpart, who is my village executive officer. I think we both learned a lot during the trainings, and it was great getting to spend time with everyone in my class, but these three weeks were very draining. 

On my way back, I was anticipating being able to get money in my banking town, but as things are wont to go, my efforts at the ATMs were stymied. So yesterday I bussed up to my "other" banking town, and luckily was able to get money there, although the bus ride there was a bit traumatizing as the vehicle must have been violating more safety regulations than usual. Long story short, I have a massive bruise on my knee and an oath never to ride that death trap again. 

After the grueling ride, I was walking through the bus stand, looking for my favorite conductor, when two ladies called me by my tribal name. In town I usually ignore pretty much everyone, unless of course they call me by name. I didn't know the ladies very well, but they knew me, and my sense of humanity started to come back into focus, as the misery of the bus ride subsided slowly. 

I had some time to kill so I got a shortbread cookie at the Indian grocery, bought dried chickpeas, and went fabric shopping and found three kitenge I had been looking for. 

I went back to the standi and found my conductor. We laugh about how we was supposed to bring bread for another volunteer who lives on my road, but due to communication issues that mission failed. We buy her more and wait in the dusty sun for it to be time to leave. 

And I went back to my village. Many are happy to see me and welcome me back and ask about where I was. Night falls and I get chai and doughnuts at my favorite chai house, and walk back home through the field of pigeon peas, shadows falling in the moonlight.