Ha! Yes! I officially have one follower! Nothing like an ego stroke for all to see. Thanks, Mer.

Yesterday was mostly consumed with the journey from Dar, the capital-in-everything-but-name, to Dodoma, the capital. Victor and I opted to travel by bus, heading out on the Scandanavian Express (which has some truly weird decorations on its vehicles; I think I saw a cartoon version of Christopher Columbus at one point). I'd heard and read rather scary stories about bus transport in Tanzania, a sometimes deadly combination of horrible roads and a national tendency towards completely fearless driving, but our six hour trip was actually very pleasant. Like an American chump, I arrived on time, thereby having to wait an hour and change for departure, but once we set off, the light breeze flapping through all the bright orange curtains was quite soothing. The scenery was mesmerizing. Guava juice and coconut crackers were served. What's not to like?

Victor graciously gave me the window seat (partially probably to enable his own napping, but I'll take it), so I spent almost the full trip gazing happily out the window. After the vestiges of urban life disappear about 30 minutes outside of Dar, the view mainly consists of vast picturesque vistas, spotted with feral dark green mango trees, spiky sisal plants, worn footpaths along the road, and the enormous Uluguru Mountains visible towards the middle of our trip. Gawgeous. And so many little villages just in site of the road. I watched a lot of people watching the bus - moms with ever-calm babies in slings, solitary teenagers sitting in the shade of low mudbrick buildings, young men fixing bikes. (I love bikes in rural areas. Watching a single cyclist wind around a sunflower crop with enormous mountains miles away in the background - awesome.)

But I think my favorite people to watch are the Maasai. I always noticed them in Dar. They're very noticeable, really, always dressed in long draped red and purple robes, the men tall and thin and never carrying anything more than a walking stick. They're from the northern part of Tanzania historically, but they've made their way south now. And in the country, you can see them with their cattle, calmly countrolling dozens of animals around with a rather small-seeming stick. I definitely saw a herd of about 10 cows at one point being led by two six-year old boys. (Cows. Not the sharpest tools in the evolutionary box, really.) Victor tells me that the number of cattle owned by one Maasai man is a big status symbol; one fellow may own up to a thousand animals and be quite revered for it. Perhaps they should just sell a few of those animals, says Victor, buy clothes for their kids or a nice house rather than stubbornly holding on to them all. (Victor, in case you can't tell, is not Maasai.) I guess they've become the iconic East African tribe - apparently some men make a living simply charging for photographs in tourist areas. But I liked seeing them out with their animals.

So now, Dodoma. The revered ex-president Julius Nyerere optimistically decided in the 1970s to move his capital to the poorest part of the country, hoping to bring it business and industry. Since his death, however, it's a bit of a white elephant. "Perenially unfinished", my guidebook says. Apparently every new president promises to commit wholeheartedly to Dodoma...and 12 months later, all the ministries have somehow stealthily snuck back to Dar. It's sort of funny.

The city is small - Victor joked after an hour-long walk that we'd seen it all - and much less cosmopolitan. Maybe 1 in 200 people in Dar wasn't black African. Here....well, here I'm one of two that I've seen two days. The attention also feels a little more hostile than it did in Dar, but that may be because fewer people know the handful of English phrases that used to greet me on the coast. Or it may be that I'm walking with Victor - people might not know what to make of the 5'10" white chick and the 5'4", 60-some Tanzanian man with the smart-looking sideburns.

Today was spent gathering signatures at government buildings and the local hospital. The latter was a grim place, really: many people sitting, waiting, both inside and outside (one man with his rooster), and the only wall "decorations" were price lists for various medical equipment ("Stool container = 500 Shillings"). However, by an amazing stroke of luck, it turned out that a regional meeting of reproductive and child health district managers were meeting today in our very guest house. Amazing! We were invited to tea, then sat in to listen to various districts report (sometimes in English, sometimes Kiswahili) on their progress with reducing maternal and child deaths, increasing HIV and syphillis screening, etc. I'll write more later about some interesting things I learned, but for now I'll just leave you with this teaser: Bahi region is kicking ass.