To be fair, I'm probably ever-so-slightly closer to home here in Kongwa than I was in Dar es Salaam, geographically speaking. But there are other ways to be far, friends.
Victor and I launched out of Dodoma early this morning on the 9 AM bus for Mpwapwa (fun to say). There wasn't much leg room to speak of, with my knees squished right up into the garish upholstery seemingly found on all Tanzanian transportation. But as most seats were unfilled at 8:55, I had hopes of spreading out a bit once we got underway.
Silly rabbit. By the time we left the station, the 50-seat bus was carrying about 80 human passengers and at least one large and grumpy rooster. People were thoroughly stuffed into the aisle, including one very young girl near our seats, maybe three years old. As more folks crowded in near the front, she got increasingly squished by adult hips and butts, until all I could see was her little outstretched fist, tiny fingers clutching a piece of fried doughnut for dear life. After a couple failed attempts by her mom to carve out a space for her, Victor literally took matters into his own hands. Under Mom's assenting eye, he simply swooped her up like a pro, out of the aisle and onto his lap. The little girl eyed him silently and then decided all was well, falling asleep within a minute or two whilst still clutching the doughnut. Mom smiled. Victor smiled, and nodded to himself, "I am a good grandfather." It was all very sweet, a solution among strangers in the best interest of a child - and not really something I can ever imagine taking place on a US bus.
After about 90 minutes of driving, we reached the junction between Kongwa and Mpwapwa - basically a corner between two dirt roads. Victor and I slowly extricated ourselves from the bus, watched it roar off in a cloud of red dust...then just started to laugh. We couldn't have been more in the absolute middle of nowhere. Not a building to be seen in miles and miles, right up the edge of some far off mountains. We plopped ourselves down on the side of the road and watched as some nearby teenage boys chased by after a zebu bull, which didn't seem to realize that it was the one with the horns. Again, the questionable mental capacity of cattle.
Mama Elizabeth, the reproductive and child health coordinator for Kongwa, showed up in about 20 minutes to escort us in the Kongwa regional ambulance, piling our bags next to the stretcher in the back. She strikes me as a particularly charismatic and efficient woman, chatty and friendly and ready to take us to our first series of health facilities visits that very afternoon.
After dropping our bags off in town, we spent the afternoon visiting two sites, one health center and one dispensary. The interviews went well, though I think the Sagara dispensary was the worst-off site we've seen thus far: t he pharmacy was currently out of antibiotics, and the entire staff currently consists of just one medical attendent, a surpringly serene woman who had been at the site only a month. Mama Elizabeth has plans to resupply and recruit as soon as possible, but the current situation was a bit dire.
After a nap at the hotel, I awoke to the sounds of nearby cheering. Wandering along the dirt roads and through the sideyards of low, mudbrick buildings, I eventually came upon a long, solid-looking wall that seemed to be fencing in the cheers. I hoisted myself up to peek over and discovered what looked like a secondary school soccer game, attended by everyone in town. When the game ended, about 15 minutes later, one side (I'm going to assume the winning side, but I couldn't really tell you for sure) flooded the field, children sprinting around the group, flags waving, djembes pounding. The winning side eventually took to the streets, leading a slow, dancing parade through town and out to the main road that connects all the villages in Kongwa. It was a pretty great celebration, really. I'm hoping to adopt it for my frisbee team next year. We'll need more drums. And coordination.
I'm liking Kongwa. I'm definitely the only non-African person in town, so the staring continues, but the attention seems more genuine and wholesome, somehow. (For one, no one's trying to sell me anything.) The main village consists of low tembe houses in the shadow of a craggy mountain, with a tree-spotted landscape in the other direction that stretches out for miles. The sky is perfectly clear at night and full of unfamiliar constellations. I'm amazed that I'm here.
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