A night at the Ritz.

Well, the African version of the Ritz, anyway. Last night, a group of us from CCS decided that we'd had enough of Tanzanian food and cold showers, and decided to spend a night at a "luxury" lodge nearby; the type of place where rich white people go to in order to say they've been to Africa without ever having to deal with its realities. Aside from the profusion of bugs in my room, it was quite nice - and very reasonable... $40/per person. It was almost surreal there, though - visiting there made me realize the difference between "going to Africa" and actually "experiencing Africa". Yesterday morning, I was doing home visits to poor widows dying of AIDS (more about that in a moment), and then in the afternoon, I was sipping beer (Tanzanian beer is very good btw, and it's really the only thing other than bottled water and Coke that's safe to drink. I miss fruit punch!) beside a pool, watching the sun set over Mt. Meru. I felt so far removed from the actual reality of being in Africa that I almost felt guilty for being there. If there's one thing that I've learned in the past week, it's that I really am incredibly lucky - I hope that I don't forget that fact after being back in Canada for a couple weeks.

Today, I'm just hanging out in Arusha... our weekend plans have changed. For next weekend, I've decided to go on a two night safari to the Ngorongo Crater and Lake Manyara - after all, how many other times will I have the chance to see lions, elephants, and giraffes in their natural habitat? This weekend, I'm just relaxing, trying to avoid spending money so that I can actually afford my safari next weekend. Katie's getting her hair braided right now, and then we're going to go souvenier shopping (yes, I just might bring back some stuff for all you lovely people back home!).

The aforementioned WAMATA home visits have been by far the most sobering and eye-opening part of my trip. The point of the visits is for WAMATA staff to check in on the HIV/AIDS victims that they support, to bring them some food, and to pay a brief social call. The people that they support are mainly widows or grandmothers raising their orphaned grandchildren, who really are the poorest of the poor. For the most part, they live in mud huts through which their few chickens run freely. The average home is the size of my bedroom in my apartment in Ottawa. Food is scarce, and some of them cannot even afford to send their children to school because they can't afford the uniforms and supplies. In spite of that, everyone I have met has been so friendly and welcoming - they have no problem with a foreigner who doesn't even speak their language coming to sit in their living room (if you can call it that) and asking what I'm sure are completely inappropriate questions through an interpreter. I think that the people at WAMATA want the international volunteers to see the realities of people living with AIDS in Africa, but it can't possibly be easy for these women to talk to complete strangers about their lives. Nonetheless, they are friendly, warm, and welcoming. Instead of being skeptical, they shake my hand and say "karibuni" (Swahili for welcome). I can't wait to continue with the visits next week.