peregriNation: CCS

   Africa was in my heart for some reason. I didn't know why, but when I decided to come here, my first thoughts were that of, a little bit of excitement and a large dose of fear. How would I even begin to know where to start? I saw all the same news clips and media about Africa that everyone else saw, and I had the same limited and scary visions of what it might be like. I decided it would be best for me to go in initially with an organization, rather than show up on the huge continent traveling alone, as a woman. I would start with an NGO (non governmental organization) to help me get acclimated to the culture, learn the language, and begin to see where I could be of service.
   Ibra picked me up from the hotel the next morning in an older, but clean, 15 passenger van which had seen its fair share of use, and drove me to Moshi. He is on the staff at Cross Cultural Solutions, and was sent to bring me to base camp, which would be my home for the next two months. He honked the horn as we pulled up to the gate, and from inside a security guard opened the doors. As we drove through I caught my first sight of the compound. It was meticulously groomed with hedges and green grass. I later discovered they keep it this way with machetes. Yes, that's also how they "mow" the lawn. Their power here is human, not motorized. But I've gotten sidetracked.
   CCS houses thirty people at a time. They feed us, shelter us, and send us out into the community to work for other organizations every day. Our placements range from orphanages, to schools, hospitals, women's groups, centers for street children, HIV testing clinics and so on. They also educate us about African culture, the traditions of the Kilimanjaro Region, give us Kiswahili lessons, and completely immerse us in Africa. The cross culturing is that we learn from them and they learn from us. The first two days were orientation about how to live in CCS and Moshi, our job assignments, and how we could all live together in harmony as we navigated our way through volunteerism in some very difficult areas.   Each of us has a different story of how we got here and why, and all are fascinating.
   Our days start in the open-air dining area, where our cook prepares delicious meals of rice, meat, spinach, and the sweetest fresh fruits. We wash our dishes, jump in the van and go to work. In the afternoons CCS has guest speakers come in to educate us on things such as Gender Roles, Education in Africa, Traditional Healers, HIV/AIDS epidemic here, and Kiswahili lessons. They also take us on trips to different villages and areas which you will be hearing about in detail soon. At times, we go into town to run errands and spend time getting to know people in our community. Then in the few spare moments we have left, there are the details of life to attend to, such as laundry. We wash it by hand, hang it out on the line, and then iron every item. Yes, every single article, which includes, (and especially) the underwear, because the ironing kills a certain bug that attaches itself to the clothing and lays eggs. And maybe this is too much information but, have you ever tried to iron a bra? Not to mention that your personal items are out on the line for everyone to see. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but living in such close quarters with so many people, we "got over" having any personal or private space very quickly.
   In the evenings you might find us across the street. CCS has a very strict policy against having any alcohol on the premises, and this is a good rule. A very resourceful and clever African woman named Grace, lives across the street, and has turned her side yard into the Mzungu Bar. Mzungu technically means "foreigner", but really it means, "white people". She provides local beer, brewed in Tanzania because she's brilliantly figured out that she has a captive audience of 30 people who may need a place to debrief and share experiences.
   After a full day we find ourselves back in our rooms. We pray that the electricity stays on so our fan will run through the night. It usually doesn't. It's not enough that we climb into short bunk beds, in the stifling heat, but then we basically wrap ourselves in plastic with our mosquito nets. We are usually awakened around 4:00am by roosters, and prayers being chanted at the mosque nearby. We eventually climb out of bed, decide we wouldn't want to be anywhere else, and start all over again.