tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36182482789470634722024-02-18T23:06:51.194-06:00Wilberg's WanderingsRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-7660719138033583412018-05-15T13:52:00.001-05:002018-05-15T13:58:43.048-05:00LOVE DOES Uganda - July 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been invited to join <b style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit;"><a href="http://lovedoes.org/" target="_blank">LOVE DOES</a></b> in Uganda this summer! It's hard to believe it's been 6 years since I was in Africa. It's time to go back. <br />
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LOVE DOES has been fighting for human rights and providing education to children in conflict zones for over 15 years. I'm joining them on a 10-day service trip to their projects in Uganda this July and I'd love to invite you to help support <b style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit;"><a href="http://lovedoes.org/" target="_blank">LOVE DOES</a></b> and the work they are doing in Uganda. You can read all about it here! <a class="link external" href="http://lovedoes.org/uganda" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #cc6633; line-height: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://lovedoes.org/uganda</a><br />
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I will personally be covering the cost of my flight and personal expenses for this trip, but I'd love to ask my friends and family - that's YOU - to help raise some extra funds for the<b style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit;"> <a href="http://lovedoes.org/" target="_blank">LOVE DOES</a> </b>projects: providing safe houses, sending kids to school or university, even training witch doctors looking to transition out of their field. You guys! For only $800 we can send a student to University!</div>
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<b><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: large;">You can donate here:</span></b><span style="color: #58585a; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #58585a; font-size: 16px;"><a href="https://www.purecharity.com/rebekah-wilbergs-fundraiser-for-uganda-trip-summ-1">https://www.purecharity.com/rebekah-wilbergs-fundraiser-for-uganda-trip-summ-1</a></span></h4>
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Here is the best part: I'd love to send any one of you who donates $100 or more one of Bob Goff's books, <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Love-Does-Discover-Secretly-Incredible/dp/1400203759/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1526410413&sr=8-1&keywords=LOVE+DOES" target="_blank">Love Does</a></span> or <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Everybody-Always-Becoming-Setbacks-Difficult-ebook/dp/B075SMCGJB/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1526410469&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=bob+goff+everybody+always+hardcover" target="_blank">Everybody Always</a></span>. Bob is the founder of the organization and regardless of your religious affiliation, personal background or beliefs, I promise you'll love his books. Love is love. And the concept is simple: "<b style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;">Only Action Becomes Love.</span></b>"<br />
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The whole purpose for my trip is to serve others, be present and to give of myself in the moment, however I can. To just love on people who need to feel love in a real and tangible way.<br />
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I've made some changes in my personal life recently and I am so grateful to God for opening this new door for me, reminding me who He is and that He is always faithful to fulfill the desires He created us with. I still have unfulfilled desires and quiet longings in my heart, but I know He knows and He is faithful. <br />
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Several months ago, my pastor, Steven Furtick, reminded us: "<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;">Your confirmation awaits your obedience. It's a decision that leads to destiny</span>." <a href="https://youtu.be/kKKPryXCasc">https://youtu.be/kKKPryXCasc</a> I took a step and made the decision to come back to Charlotte and I am certain that this invitation to join LOVE DOES was God's confirmation to me after my obedience to Him. As Pastor Steven said, "<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;">When you're walking with God, you don't have to fast 21 days to figure out what He wants you to do. You'll know. You'll know</span>."<br />
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For any of you who are waiting for a sign from God, I'd encourage you to remember, often God is waiting for you to take a step and then He'll send the sign!<br />
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Maybe you can't hop on a plane to Uganda...but you CAN change a life there. I hope you'll consider donating. (By the way, <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; line-height: inherit;">100% of every dollar you give will go directly to fund the LOVE DOES international programs.)</span><br />
I'm also asking you to join me in prayer. I am believing with faith that God orchestrated this opportunity and has something He wants to reveal to me while in Uganda. Please pray with me that I hear His voice and direction clearly.<br />
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However you are willing, thank you for joining me on this part of my journey!<br />
With love,<br />
Rebekah<br />
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-31583295972233788812016-08-30T15:46:00.002-05:002016-08-30T15:57:54.888-05:00"In Hope....Against all Hope"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hope. You can ask my
mom. I’ve always had it. Before the deal is done, I plan the vacation.
Despite the gloomy prognosis, I expect a turnaround. No matter how broken, I anticipate
restoration. Regardless of the loss, I
predict a comeback. Even though I
royally screwed up, I know it can be fixed.<br />
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Hope is what keeps us all going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I truly believe that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is absolutely the one thing that not a
single soul can live without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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This weekend I received some news that made me really reflect
on how important hope is: A friend who serves at church took his own life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I don’t know what his last thoughts
were or what exactly drove him to that point, I am sure he believed he had no
more hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope fuels us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I didn’t realize, until I heard this
news, was how I had begun to lose hope, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how deeply that loss of hope was
affecting my outlook on life; how it was affecting my joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You see, hope is the belief in or for something that is not guaranteed
(Romans 8:24).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is part of what
makes it so exhilarating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we knew the
relationship would be restored, the check would come through or the trust would
be rebuilt, we wouldn’t have to hope for it any more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The anticipation would be gone – and with it,
part of the joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But here is the thing about really living with hope:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It inevitably results in experiencing a
little more disappointment than most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
some people only choose to hope for a little, not because they don’t wish for
more joy, but because they live in fear of more disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And disappointment, true disappointment, it
hurts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recovery from the letdown can
feel insurmountable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lately is seems like every few days I’m taking a hit:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the deal falls through, the turnaround turns
into a letdown, restoration seems unlikely, the comeback a long way off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In almost
every area of my life, hope has turned into heartbreak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of it I haven’t even been able to
verbalize because it just hurts too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One disappointment after another; disappointment in myself, in others,
in life…even in God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel like I’ve been living out Paul’s good old equation:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Suffering <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>=><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Endurance<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>=><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Character<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Great. Just what I need. More character. </div>
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But I began to forget the last part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most important part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The promise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Character<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>=> <u>HOPE </u></b>and “hope does not put
us to shame” (Romans 5:5).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Notice how the equation starts though: with suffering. It is not the endurance that is the starting point for hope. It is not the character building. It is the <i>suffering. </i>Without the suffering we never get the hope.</div>
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We all reach that point at one time or another: the point
where enough is enough and we feel like life is just too hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We deserve a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can only take so much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And at exactly the point where you think you’ve
had about all you can bare, life has a tendency to throw you one more
disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me, if you haven’t
gotten to this point yet, you will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe more than once.</div>
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It is in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>THAT</u></i></b> moment, the moment it
couldn’t possibly get any worse, that I have decided I have a choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can choose to give in; choose to isolate myself; choose to just let life happen to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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OR<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>choose </u></i></b>hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can choose to put myself back in the
vulnerable position where it feels like the odds are 50/50 at best:
disappointment or joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>But this is the important part</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you choose hope, it’s not the
wishful thinking kind of hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the
confident hope, the assuredness of the future.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“<span style="color: red;">In hope he believed
against hope</span>…he did not weaken in faith…no unbelief made him waver.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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(Taken from Romans 4:18-20)<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s where the joy comes from: hope as a confident <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>expectation</u></i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Because real hope IS
a confident expectation.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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In one way or another, people have often told me I have some
sort of energy or light in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always attributed that to Jesus, whether I said it aloud or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while Christ in me has a lot to do with it, I
believe it is the <i>hope</i> I have in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>Him
that really produces that light, that energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
my confident expectation that what He has for me, for my life, is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly good.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That expectation isn't always easy to muster up. Most days lately it's downright difficult. I wake up with that sinking feeling in my gut that life is still hard. That prayers haven't been answered. That the news wasn't good. But that is what I love so very much about that verse: "<i>In hope he believed, against hope." </i>Even though all signs pointed against hope, Abraham chose hope because the <u>object </u>of his hope, was, and is, trustworthy. So even when I have a hard time seeing it, I say it (usually out loud, before I even get out of bed):</div>
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<i><span style="color: red;">In Hope I believe...Against Hope.</span></i></div>
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The degree to which I choose hope – with confident expectation, despite
how bad things look - is directly correlated to the degree to which I shine. Because I know:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Hope restores all things.<br />Hope heals all things.<br />Hope rebuilds all things.<br />Hope overcomes all things.<br />Hope revives all things.</i></h3>
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<b>Nordic Symbol for Hope </b></div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com1Charlotte, NC, USA35.2270869 -80.84312669999997134.8118989 -81.488573699999975 35.642274900000004 -80.197679699999966tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-30867941792938800462012-06-12T18:12:00.001-05:002012-06-12T18:13:12.210-05:00Just a Couple of Days Left...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm sitting at the <a href="http://www.oldquarter.com/" target="_blank">Hotel Old Quarter</a> in Amsterdam. I just ordered a Dutch steak - not quite sure what that is. Are the cows different here? I just got a message from a dear friend of mine that said "You're travelling the world." Wow. I am. I have. It's easy to get so caught up in life and simply forget how amazing my life truly is. Messages like this remind me to just stop and take in all in. <br />
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Today I found myself worried about how in the world I was going to get all of my loot from my travels into my suitcases. Just so you know, you would worry, too, if you saw me on the train with my overstuffed backpack weighing at least 40 kilos, my broken laptop bag, gigantic purse, three shopping bags and box of 3 highly sought after bottles of <a href="http://www.cantillon.be/" target="_blank">Cantillon</a> Gueze. But, I am quickly reminded that - whoa - I woke up in Brussels this morning and am going to sleep in Amsterdam tonight. Three years ago I would never have thought I would have a year like this. I took a chance, went back to school and met a great friend named Leslie. Even though she is a few years my junior, she gave me some of the best advice I have ever received. Leslie told me to stop making excuses. Don't let the conventional ties in every day life keep you from taking a risk and living your dreams. <br />
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I know what you're thinking: Easier said than done. I thought the same thing. I still remember the day I called my mom and told her I wanted to put all my stuff in storage and move home. I wasn't even sure what I would do next, but I knew I was giving myself the option to make a choice. I didn't even know if my mom would agree. Thankfully, she did!<br />
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It's been just over two years since I put my "things" in a 12x12 cement room - and I haven't looked at them since. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes I miss my stuff. The Christmas trees, Waterford wine glasses and skads of home decorations are all some of my favorite parts of my settled life. But, in the 24 months that have passed since I put these things away, I have traded them for 6 countries, countless cities, incredible new friends, adventures, moments of sheer terror, and even more moments of absolute delight.<br />
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As I wind up my latest trip and prepare to return home, I can't help but feel a little proud of myself. Not necessarily for what I've done, but for learning that I can. I can do whatever it is I want to do. That's inspiring and a bit nerve-wracking all at once!<br />
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Oh, by the way, I've just finished my dinner (I'm writing this all on a napkin to type up later). I love mustard as much as the next guy, but you have to love a country that serves mayo with french friends and mustard with cheese. And yes, I think the cows here in Holland are better!<br />
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A few pics from the last couple of weeks...<br />
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<br /></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-89705680533653034382012-05-09T04:32:00.001-05:002012-05-09T04:32:53.724-05:00The ScrambleI've been so busy updating the second blog I've got going for our school lunch project here in Tanzania, that somehow I've run out of time to update my readers on this blog. Hopefully, most of you have seen what I've been up to at <a href="http://www.glpterratproject.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">www.glpterratproject.blogspot.com</a>. For those of you who haven't, let me catch up you! And for those of you who have followed the other blog, let me give you some more details!<br />
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The Green Living Planet is currently working with 5 different schools in the Arusha area, one of which has become very dear to my heart - Terrat Primary School. There are about 1000 students at this school that most of us would say sits in the middle of NoWhereville.<br />
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We went to plant trees with the students earlier in April and my eyes were opened up to the needs of the school and the community. Since that visit, with the help of friends, family and several primary, middle school and high school classes back in WI, we've started to raise funds to build 8 sustainable African-style keyhole gardens which will provide the basis for a school lunch program for the students at Terrat. Last Sunday, May 6 (International Permaculture Day), we went out to the school to build the first of the 8 planned gardens. You can check out the video recap from our day here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6QYPkWzEck&feature=g-all-u">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6QYPkWzEck&feature=g-all-u</a><br />
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If you watch the video, you will see how hard the students worked. Every single child got involved. We asked for 30 kids to come, but throughout the day over 85 students showed up. We were actually unprepared to handle that many kids and hadn't brought enough food to feed all of them, so we spoke with the headmaster in the morning to ask him if some of the kids could go home and come back the next weekend to join us on the next build. I guess that was one of those silly, "I-come-from-America-and-in-order-to-run-things-efficiently-we-can't-have-all-these-kids" ideas. The headmaster, who may I just say LOVES his students to pieces, told us he couldn't send the kids away. They were too excited to be there!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benson and the headmaster<br /><br /></td></tr>
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So, let me tell what happened on Sunday:<div>
All 85 students worked. We got the garden completed within just a few hours and then all 85 students waited around for another hour to get some lunch. While we were waiting one of the little girls built a replica of the garden and she and some other students sat around reviewing the layers and steps to building the garden so that they could go home and teach their parents. </div>
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Then, guess what happened? When lunch was ready, somehow (kinda like the 5 loaves and 2 fish), all 85 students, 7 volunteers, 2 parents, 2 school chairmen and the headmaster, ate lunch. And with only three jugs of water, all 97 of us drank until their thirst was quenched. <br /><br />I'll be honest though, in the midst of the joy (and relief) I felt that everyone was fed, there was a slight ache. After the headmaster had made sure every child got an equal portion of food, he returned to join the "adults" for lunch. I brought the left-over food we had to the students, adding it to the rice that remained in the kitchen. When the students saw the extra food, chaos ensued. Arms, plates, hands, all rushing to get any extra food available. Yelling, pushing, shoving. These normally respectful, well-behaved students were clambering for any extra bite of food they could get into their mouths. I stood for a moment, unable to move, and just watched. Then, when I brought out the water, the response was nearly the same.</div>
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Never in my life have I known what it is like to feel that I needed to scramble for a bite of food. Not once. So, while I will never be able to fully relate, I am thankful that, in that moment, I was given a glimpse of the importance of this project. It isn't just a cool idea or a trendy cause. For these students, who are willing to work so hard to get it done, it is a game changer - a reminder that people in this world care about them and a promise that maybe someday the scramble will end.</div>
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For more info, check out: <a href="http://www.glpterratproject.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">www.glpterratproject.blogspot.com</a></div>
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<br /><br /></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-809573957511793622012-04-20T14:23:00.000-05:002012-04-20T14:23:02.201-05:00It's as simple as "Yes."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Back in November I wrote a blog post entitled "<a href="http://www.wilbergswanderings.blogspot.com/2011/11/best-day-ever.html" target="_blank">Best Day Ever</a>". Why is it that, no matter how old we get, how many mistakes we make, or how many lessons we learn, we often miss the most obvious signs in our lives? When I wrote that post I was in Arusha for the weekend working with my friend Benson, his organization <a href="http://www.greenlivingplanet.org/" target="_blank">The Green Living Planet</a>, and Mama Jane and her orphanage. It only took me 4 months to realize being in Arusha, working with the people I truly care about who have given their lives to improve the lives of the people around them, was the place for me. Every day here is a gift.<br />
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On that great day back in November while we were visiting Mama Jane's land, we stopped to see the local government primary school adjacent to her property. As you know from my last post, I went with some volunteers with The Green Living Planet, so plant trees at that school last week. The children go to school all day without lunch and the women wait every Thursday for the government to drop off meager food rations to help quell the effects of the 3 year-long drought that has plagued the area. The pleading looks in the eyes of these women stayed with me after our two day project last week and I couldn't shake the feeling that we could do more.<br />
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So last Friday, while I was vainly sitting out in the sun, scarf over my somewhat burned face and 100 SPF suntan lotion on the charred triangle on my chest, trying to even out my tan lines before a wedding, I prayed for an idea. A way to bring lasting change. Within 15 minutes I flew out of my chair, bad tan lines all but forgotten. It was simple. Kids helping kids. Remember bakes sales, penny auctions, potluck dinners and coin wars? If I could find 20 classes in the U.S. that would commit to trying to fundraising $100, we could come up with enough money to build 8 African keyhole gardens that would grow enough vegetables to start a school lunch program. This week I put together a project proposal, fundraiser ideas and my first ever YouTube video and within 24 hours we have already had 7 classes signing up to help! Incredible.<br />
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I think that, inherently, everyone wants to help somehow. Sometimes, we just don't see <i>how.</i> For me, my intention for coming here in the first place was to help. And, embarrassingly enough, for several months, I enjoyed the relationships, experiences and places, but never really felt like I was helping anyone. I wanted to help, but, even in a place with so much need, I didn't see how I could. I've come to the place where I see that no one can do it all, but everyone can do something. And sometimes, the opportunity is right in front of us. We just have to realize that this is our chance. <br />
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For me, it's the unpaid electricity bill that forces the hardworking women at the orphanage to walk through the neighborhood to collect water so they can wash the floors and cook the day's meals. It's the little 5 year old boy named Victor who stood in the road outside of a shop watching and waiting for me, even though we had never met before. He walked with me to my house for a banana and now comes back every day after school to say hello, only wishing for me to take a few minutes away from work to play with him on the swing set. His mother goes to the market every day to sell fruit in the hopes that she makes enough money to bring home dinner in the even. Victor, at 5 years old, wanders the neighborhood alone, in old worn out shoes, waiting for her to return at dusk. Then there is Jane, the house girl who cooks and cleans for less than $60 a month. When I asked her if I could pay her $6 a week to wash my laundry, she hugged me and told me that God had brought her a blessing. <br />
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But here's the thing: I know we can't do it all. I can't either. While I know I've made a difference in the lives of some people, there are so many more I just can't possibly help. Two single mothers asked me to sponsor their children's education today. For just over $300 a year, both kids could attend a great English medium school here in Arusha. I just can't afford it. A man came to the clinic yesterday, with holes literally worn through the bottoms of his swollen feet. He needed serious medical attention, but refused to go to the hospital because he said he couldn't afford it. The Maasai warrior who guards my house at night, came to me with mosquito bites all over his feet two nights ago. His only shoes are a pair of plastic sandals. All I had to offer were a pair of knee-high, mismatched socks.<br />
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The lesson I've learned is this: All we have to do is open our eyes to the opportunities around us. We can't do it all, but we can all do <i>something</i>. So remember, the next time you have that fleeting moment where you think you could do more...You can! The opportunities are all around you. All you have to do is recognize them and say "yes".<br />
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Thank you from the bottom of my heart to those of you who have said "YES" to helping Terrat Primary School. Thank you on behalf of the children, but most importantly, thank you from me, for giving me the gift of today. My latest "Best Day Ever."<br />
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<br /></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-23471928560231977902012-04-15T07:42:00.004-05:002012-04-15T08:05:32.612-05:00What Can One Tree Do?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've never been much of an environmental advocate. My favorite hair spray happens to come in an aerosol can. I miss driving my SUV. I only remember to use my reusable grocery bags when I'm shopping at Whole Foods - and only then because it just looks cooler. And I'll be the first one on a plane to anywhere. I love to travel. Yet, here I am in Tanzania, and I find myself spending my days - and most of my nights - working to help a new environmental nonprofit organization get up and running. What gives?<br />
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Benson Mariki, managing director of <a href="http://www.greenlivingplanet.org/" target="_blank">The Green Living Planet</a>, has become a good friend of mine and when we met last October he told me about his dream to start a nonprofit organization that would help teach the people in his community how to care for their surroundings and, in turn, improve their standard of living. Last week I had the chance to go with Ben to Terrat Primary School, a rural school just outside of Arusha. The school has 1000 students and on any given day less than 10 teachers. The two run-down buildings with 9 classrooms scarcely hold enough desks and chairs for 500 students. The floors are covered in mud and dirt and the cement walls only extend upward to the place where the roof begins, leaving a triangular shaped hole above the walls from one classroom to the next. Noise travels easily and teaching over the voices from the next classroom over can be a tiresome task. The children themselves are extremely poor, walking miles to attend school each day. They carry their only cherished possessions - a single exercise book and a pencil - to and from school each day in an old, backpack or shoulder bag. The students arrive at 7am for the morning meeting and remain in school until 2pm each day before beginning their journey home.<br />
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I visited Terrat Primary School for the first time last November. The children were on break, but I could easily envision this old public school, long-ago forgotten by the government, filled with students eager to learn whatever anyone was willing to teach them. My predictions were right. Benson, Maricel, Abdullah and I arrived at Terrat last Wednesday to continue the work The Green Living Planet had started a few weeks earlier. The goal is to plant 500 trees on the grounds of the school to help improve soil quality, provide shade for the students and slow erosion. The area Terrat is in is a farming community that, over the past few years, has experienced severe drought and poor crop returns. The headmaster at Terrat welcomed us with open arms, excited about the work we are trying to do to revive the environment in his area.<br />
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Maricel, Abdullah and I were each assigned a team of 11 students and our mission for the day on Wednesday was to dig 113 holes, one foot wide, one foot deep and fifteen feet apart from each other, to plant the remaining seedlings in the following day. I tend to be a bit competitive, so I got my team to work right away, devising a system that allowed us to work quickly and efficiently. The kids were AMAZING! We worked for four hours and dug 69 of the 113 holes dug that day. And just to be clear, when I say "dug" I do not mean with a shovel. We had old hoes that were attached to 3 foot long narrow tree limbs that we used to chip away at the clay and limestone we found just under the top soil. <br />
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Every time I picked up a hoe, my kids crowded around me, giggling at the "mzungu" who was trying to dig a hole. They would ask me if I needed their help and usually took over about half-way through my attempt at digging. We spent the day, working hard, joking and laughing. The students also got a kick out of teaching me new Swahili words like manure (bolea) and plow (jembe). Several times during the day I asked my team - nicknamed the "Red Army" by Abdullah because they worked so hard - if they needed a break. It was, after all, the middle of the day and we were outside working during the hottest hours under the sun. Nevertheless, each time I asked, the kids said they wanted to keep going. They wanted to "win!" At one point the school bell rang and the other 900+ students ran out of the classrooms for break. When I asked if it was time for lunch, my kids looked at me for a moment and then explained that they didn't get lunch. There is not enough food in the area to provide lunch for the kids at school so only those who can afford to bring 50 Tsh (about 3 cents) can buy a mandazi (small fried donut-type snack) from one of the local women selling treats on the edges of the school grounds. I left that afternoon, face sun-burned, but smiling, with a tinge of sadness in my heart for these children who exuded so much joy, but had so little.<br />
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Thursday morning we returned to plant the seedlings in the holes we had dug the day before. We arrived to find a much bigger crowd gathered around the schools grounds; parents and grandparents sitting on stones waiting with old rice sacks or buckets. Ben told me these people had come to collect food rations from the government. While we planted that morning, many of the women called me over to chat and laugh with them. The site of mzungu who speaks any big of Swahili in their area is likely pretty rare and they seemed to get a kick out of me running my little "Red Army." One woman in particular, stands out in my mind. She asked me if I could bring them rain. She didn't want money or food - only rain for better soil so that she could tend her own fields and grow her own crops.<br />
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I've been following the <a href="http://ar.gy/blogs" target="_blank">58: Global Impact Tour</a> since last summer. For those of you who don't know about it, it's a movement based on the teachings of Isaiah 58 working to end extreme poverty in our lifetime. What I love about the project is that it includes an alliance of several nonprofit organizations all over the world that are working together, in different ways, to achieve the same goal. Each month <a href="http://ar.gy/blogs" target="_blank">58:</a> features a different country and issue. I was excited to see that this month the featured issue is the connection between poverty and deforestation. The information on their "<a href="http://ar.gy/blogs" target="_blank">tour page</a>" this month has given me a lot of insight into the positive impact simply planting trees can have on the improvement of an entire community. I'm hopeful that the work Ben is doing with The Green Living Planet will help the mamas at Terrat improve their soil quality so that they can provide for their children. In the meantime, we are looking at projects we can start to help provide school lunches for the kids by growing food in gardens and in the school field.<br />
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I have learned that environmental work isn't about politics. It's not about global warming, Al Gore, saving the ozone or left-winged liberalism. In the third world, it's simply about providing the means for the rural poor to feed their families. Over the next 6 weeks we are celebrating three big environmental days: Earth Day (April 22), International Permaculture Day (May 6) and Environmental Day (June 5). <a href="http://www.greenlivingplanet.org/" target="_blank">The Green Living Planet</a> and <a href="http://my.live58.org/tour" target="_blank">58:</a> are both heading up big projects to restore fruitfulness to the land in Tanzania and the Dominican Republic respectively. You can learn more about how to support these projects over the next six weeks here:<br />
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The Green Living Planet - <a href="http://www.greenlivingplanet.org/" target="_blank">www.greenlivingplanet.org</a> and <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/jti3w" target="_blank">Support the project for as little as $10</a><br />
58: Global Impact Tour - <a href="http://ar.gy/blogs" target="_blank">http://ar.gy/blogs</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xT7rSTrM1yxlx9ivy_2hcAwBvLyBARsreKLkbxml87dk-Bj0iGOv8V_UThAYPlSt7dK_0iDXuZWtMr6LlVTX2whkchvi0YpmCbPjoRRpPZ6pHEqTEBuBNiJEJ2lCh0azMS6MAS4UhU4/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xT7rSTrM1yxlx9ivy_2hcAwBvLyBARsreKLkbxml87dk-Bj0iGOv8V_UThAYPlSt7dK_0iDXuZWtMr6LlVTX2whkchvi0YpmCbPjoRRpPZ6pHEqTEBuBNiJEJ2lCh0azMS6MAS4UhU4/s320/7.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben teaching the kids how to plant the seedlings.</td></tr>
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</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com1Arusha, Tanzania-3.3666667 36.683333299999958-3.4309692000000003 36.61694329999996 -3.3023642 36.749723299999957tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-65858226221602776542012-03-18T06:17:00.002-05:002012-03-30T00:53:28.297-05:00Controversy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been thinking a lot about controversy lately. Controversial actions usually attract a lot of attention. Media outlets go head to head, experts debate in Congress, professors engage students in lively discussions, and everyone, everywhere, takes a side. Often, in humanitarian and development circles, controversy is unavoidable. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dar es Salaam</st1:place></st1:city> for the past week and have had plenty of access to media and the latest news. The film <b>Kony 2012 </b>was released by Invisible Children last week. The outpouring of support literally shut down several Invisible Children websites. Outrage over the alleged misuse of funds by Invisible Children also flooded message boards, blogs and Facebook pages. I went to see the movie, <b>Machine Gun Preacher</b> a couple of days ago here in Dar. It is based on the true story of Sam Childers, an ex-criminal, who makes it his own personal mission to help children whose families had been brutally destroyed by the LRA in <st1:place w:st="on">South Sudan</st1:place>. He saves thousands of children from the horrors of war in <st1:place w:st="on">South Sudan</st1:place>. In the process, he literally takes up arms and fights back against the LRA. The movie ends with the real Sam Childers saying during the credits, “If a madman abducted your child and I said I could bring them home, does it matter how I do it?” Controversial question? I’d say so.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On a smaller scale, I’ve had the opportunity to both talk and work with dozens of development workers, researchers and NGOs while I have been abroad. Some of these people have literally given up their own lives in order to improve the lives of others. Unfortunately, a lot of the talk in development circles is focused on what everyone else is doing wrong. Invisible Children is too late. Sam Childers was too violent. World Vision spends too much in overhead. Angelina Jolie is just trying to boost her image. Yes. Sometimes we have to look at what is done wrong in order to figure out how to do something right. Sadly, most of what I am seeing here on the ground, in academia and in the media, is just a lot of finger pointing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the media places blame, it’s more understandable. They’re creating hype, developing a headline story. But, when one NGO points the finger at another, well – I’ll just say it like it is: I think it’s appalling. From an outsider’s perspective, it just looks like one NGO trashing another in order to attract a new donor’s dollar. I’m not the expert, but I do know that just about every NGO out there is trying to right a wrong, win a fight, better a life, support someone in need. And not a single NGO out there gets it all right. Not one. Sometimes we spend too much in overhead and other times we skimp in the name of saving a penny, but serve one less because of it. In some cases we act on emotion, ignoring some of the consequences, but in other cases we sit in a board room, weighing decisions while motherless children sit in mud homes crying for help.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not saying every action, by every NGO out there, is justifiable. And I’m not validating seemingly corrupt actions one way or the way. All I’m saying is that sometimes children are fed, wells are dug, schools are built and lives are saved despite our humanness. Do the ends justify the means? I don’t know. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What I do know is that fighting each other isn’t helping anything. So why don’t we stop calling each other out publicly? Pick up the phone and offer up your expertise. The blame game isn’t making Invisible Children look bad. It’s not making World Vision or Sam Childers look bad. It’s making the nonprofit sector look bad.</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-89984175913309941282012-03-10T03:37:00.000-06:002012-03-10T03:37:27.466-06:00I need a what?!?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">If there is one thing I am more afraid of than spiders, it is the dentist. And, as luck would have it, early last week I found myself wide awake at 3 am, in excruciating pain, in a guesthouse in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Iringa</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region></st1:place>. Looking back on it, it is sort of funny. I had pretty much convinced myself that I had the worst migraine imaginable that was radiating pain through the right side of my face, my eye and my jaw. Truthfully, it was sort of like the time I fell face first on the ice, held my hand over my bloody smashed in teeth and told my mom I didn’t have to go to the hospital because it was only a broken nose. Apparently, I will subconsciously recreate any ailment in order to avoid a trip to the dentist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My denial lasted a few days and then last Friday night I woke up with pain that was undeniably only in my tooth. So this past Tuesday, I started my two day journey to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dar es Salaam</st1:place></st1:city> to find a dentist. I was able to meet up with four of my friends from Zanzibar and for a couple of days we hung out, played cards, caught up, cooked fajitas, enjoyed a few drinks and ate at great restaurants. It was a much appreciated mini-vacation. Then, Friday morning, I found myself rolling through the traffic jams in downtown Dar in a bijaji, chattin’ it up in Swahili with my driver, heading in to the dentist to get a filling. In <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>. To be honest, I was pretty proud of myself for just stepping up and figuring out where to go and how to get there all by myself. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the dentist’s office the excitement of my adventure had worn off and in its place was a nauseating feeling of fear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My fear quickly turned into downright panic when the dentist informed me that a filling wouldn't do it. I would need a root canal. And, of course, not just any root canal, but a triple root canal. Apparently my tooth had three canals that had to be drilled out and the process would take two days. Fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s been exactly 24 hours since day one of my root canal and I’m doing surprisingly well. Somehow, in a third world country, I found a really smart, extremely kind dentist who reassured me he would do everything he could to make sure I was comfortable. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the headphones I asked for to block out the drilling sound! Aside from that, he held true to his word. He was great. I clenched my trembling hands together, did my best to think about anything other than what was going on in my mouth, and in thirty minutes it was over. The pain hasn’t been too bad and by next Tuesday I’ll be ready to head back to Dr. Shabbir, my new favorite dentist at <a href="http://www.dentaltanzania.com/" target="_blank">SD Dental Clinic</a> for round two.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, I plan to enjoy my time in the city and take advantage of the little luxuries like movie theaters, Subway, pedicures, ice cream, high pressure showers and digital TV. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMaXew9lZZtz-jyiVl38KNQhcrrW4wBj9cDAgsPI__yPeJKA9tIyIIdVhfcMPtYqKtyMIMEEz0kKdfOxTyYg6f0ZbIwh1nPGxgU7p5ZUEG-s9vAoCAk_iT6K7FwcVhkgG6ytgzeUPK1U/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMaXew9lZZtz-jyiVl38KNQhcrrW4wBj9cDAgsPI__yPeJKA9tIyIIdVhfcMPtYqKtyMIMEEz0kKdfOxTyYg6f0ZbIwh1nPGxgU7p5ZUEG-s9vAoCAk_iT6K7FwcVhkgG6ytgzeUPK1U/s320/1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One hour after my root canal - on the way to the U.S. Embassy</td></tr>
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</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2Dar es Salaam, Tanzania-6.822921 39.269661000000042-7.0036885 39.030196500000045 -6.6421535 39.509125500000039tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-61432847260909633752012-02-28T05:35:00.000-06:002012-02-28T05:35:13.531-06:00On the Mend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sitting in the cutest café eating a bacon and avocado panini. I meant to take a picture of it just to prove it, but once it arrived, well let’s just say I got so distracted I forgot. It doesn’t look nearly as appetizing any more. But it sure is good!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As some of you know I’ve been pretty sick on and off the past few weeks. I had strep throat twice earlier this year and it came back in full force. Twice. In about 3 weeks. Then last week Sunday I was visited by a pretty terrible bunch of stomach parasites. I’m not sure what was worse – the symptoms of the parasites or the poison I had to consume for three days to kill them. All in all, I spent another five days in bed, in the village, dreaming about my return to the U.S. and wondering if I would ever be able to eat again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVRcAqc5npyPUS7c-lQzYhoV8JGrfVo1pFwM9X93WTeCUqMiKQORj9L7kdHAX_bsbsuFhanGeTHu-zvgbmAw2ybfEgDNB5lIv05E7ec_kn5KnHtJM-OvLGyWwuw863v79O89Dh_vUaSI/s1600/17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVRcAqc5npyPUS7c-lQzYhoV8JGrfVo1pFwM9X93WTeCUqMiKQORj9L7kdHAX_bsbsuFhanGeTHu-zvgbmAw2ybfEgDNB5lIv05E7ec_kn5KnHtJM-OvLGyWwuw863v79O89Dh_vUaSI/s320/17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bed - and home last week</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As you can tell by the panini, I survived and I’m eating again. Thank God! For a minute there I thought I might end up dehydrated, emaciated and dead. Ok, maybe not dead. But it wasn’t fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, I decided to head into <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Iringa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place> for a few good meals, a hot shower and some decent internet access. I’ve been busy working on a research paper for school and haven’t had the time to get much done in the village. My break here in Iringa has been amazing and refreshing. I’m staying in this really cute little guesthouse that has a café and craft center and is run exclusively by people with different disabilities. We even write out our orders because the waiters and cooks are deaf. Pretty cool! You can check out the place here: <a href="http://www.neemacrafts.com/">www.neemacrafts.com</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I start my journey back to the village tomorrow. And when I say journey – it is exactly that. An hour and a half ride on a paved road from Iringa to Mafinga where I catch a “bus” that takes me on the 4-hour ride through the tea fields to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Ikan’gombe</st1:placename></st1:place>. The bus, as they call them here, is an old, dented up, psychedelic-looking thing, with cracks all over the windshield and a lot of black exhaust bursting out of the tailpipe. It broke down twice on my way here and word from the village makes it sound like its condition has worsened considerably since the weekend. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches here, but in this case, I really need the bus to leave on time and arrive in the village at the scheduled 6pm arrival time. That gives me just enough time to make it up and down the muddy, hilly path, through the forest and over the river before dark. Here’s hoping…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here are a few pics so you can see my home that I’m heading back to:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSr8hvGxAB38qhaTn60FsF3TICPHNfqdU7g8MNzV5qVqcs-t1dwtcnZjr46OOVhd7Y6rRqkv2nZeXuJyC77IsLy5iq0RzJxDkEdHlX-Nl_TAoHNbj7_yFR5-SDpjAIuXYDLiWdNQU_IQ/s1600/32.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSr8hvGxAB38qhaTn60FsF3TICPHNfqdU7g8MNzV5qVqcs-t1dwtcnZjr46OOVhd7Y6rRqkv2nZeXuJyC77IsLy5iq0RzJxDkEdHlX-Nl_TAoHNbj7_yFR5-SDpjAIuXYDLiWdNQU_IQ/s320/32.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from my bedrooms into living/dining area</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_vj4q4LVKwIXNQtvX2b1ojus0aMCKtwOD7Ezqk17s1mKPqBrUhUQ1TwIyZtAzT6owXuB7d2QJsec4v73_seP4jD_NESObr1Cpdq1c6XwR50pkhyphenhyphendA4pUQpRQu21y9Xq7-dWkmzpH8Ac/s1600/33.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_vj4q4LVKwIXNQtvX2b1ojus0aMCKtwOD7Ezqk17s1mKPqBrUhUQ1TwIyZtAzT6owXuB7d2QJsec4v73_seP4jD_NESObr1Cpdq1c6XwR50pkhyphenhyphendA4pUQpRQu21y9Xq7-dWkmzpH8Ac/s320/33.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Kitchen" - the blue thermos is for my hot shower water</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-XyhwGAinm4zeHzLOKOfh5RorefVIzPPnrIPv9ucb9dYgvxtCPMJmqMShjwfD6Q6sZclmEOdMa6CbXe9YaY4zcrXe3e26M9oJWpI3qOu0bdAxcPKlXm-ntYWE_5TtMo-RjrlapkZRzc/s1600/34.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-XyhwGAinm4zeHzLOKOfh5RorefVIzPPnrIPv9ucb9dYgvxtCPMJmqMShjwfD6Q6sZclmEOdMa6CbXe9YaY4zcrXe3e26M9oJWpI3qOu0bdAxcPKlXm-ntYWE_5TtMo-RjrlapkZRzc/s320/34.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stove, burner, hot water heater and oven</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJpDXnwsSYf6Hbv5coXhstiRl9jnxIjvAW7eYuplcuN2dhhgwt4TtXK9L9cukCkd0-1-wcclA8WZziBU5Y4BkeU-e62UUd50bKXGPG56DBI1Ql454DwhTH-fxRKCDZshrxIYi9uqPjow/s1600/35.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJpDXnwsSYf6Hbv5coXhstiRl9jnxIjvAW7eYuplcuN2dhhgwt4TtXK9L9cukCkd0-1-wcclA8WZziBU5Y4BkeU-e62UUd50bKXGPG56DBI1Ql454DwhTH-fxRKCDZshrxIYi9uqPjow/s320/35.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-explanatory</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_f7i0W2rVgNNwBgUXCCXkxz8NknoG0FsERs93Eo3NZ-5Yw2pwTTM8pNO8yWTyIaTdvqLTcxnfA46G5L7IEO_xwFWJzN5B_8Z1zbdazirxx4gQgZAJpjtMRdiNSapxurNeOeUvbIS7Dk/s1600/36.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_f7i0W2rVgNNwBgUXCCXkxz8NknoG0FsERs93Eo3NZ-5Yw2pwTTM8pNO8yWTyIaTdvqLTcxnfA46G5L7IEO_xwFWJzN5B_8Z1zbdazirxx4gQgZAJpjtMRdiNSapxurNeOeUvbIS7Dk/s320/36.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morris - my buddy in the village</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqspDPOe5b8o0G1XKnFDtzB81DA0HxZrTqDNke_WXavDbxrW4zeidStPdimO7R3XjBxstBuT6Nt9s0PDYM125NuB_z2lKYRDfv7XnRManSqCTN0ki5FU-PmVUWMk2W_F8MAwPEcKAXao/s1600/37.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqspDPOe5b8o0G1XKnFDtzB81DA0HxZrTqDNke_WXavDbxrW4zeidStPdimO7R3XjBxstBuT6Nt9s0PDYM125NuB_z2lKYRDfv7XnRManSqCTN0ki5FU-PmVUWMk2W_F8MAwPEcKAXao/s320/37.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama Lillian and Angela - the two cooks at the main house and the best part of my days here</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last Sunday, the day I got sick, I went on a little big of a journey with Evodia, a Form 4 (senior) girl who did an interview with me for H20 for Life. H20 for Life funded the water projects at our school here and wanted to hear from one of the students how it has improved life for them. Evodia is such a smart girl, full of joy and ambition. She is the student academic leader and helps kids with their homework. She hopes to return to VSI as a science teacher once she completes university. Our walk through the forest and down the hills was a bit of a hike – and of course, the path that goes down, must come up again. The only difference is that here it usually goes up and down a few more times after that! Flip-flops were not the wisest choice for the day. We did finally make it to our destination though and Evodia proudly showed me the well the students had dug. Now that I live in a home with no running water, I am much more appreciative of wells. I’m also extremely appreciative of the schools girls we hire to bring us water back from the well. That was a LONG hike I would not want to take with a buck of water on my head – especially knowing I am going to need at least 3 more buckets just to make it through a day of cooking, bathing, laundry and bathroom visits!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWcyo8kbk9sBhMN_lbGqBOIpzEiJud6w5OIYRSCW8tf_PZTYCd3Zlgpjb2vg-HcERVXsVjpgMxFXKzn-zkQETPZwtfOrHm6_yXmD-f32dbzpHeNLJiee5ufZGp9kBVmYO8SVBzMZIs80/s1600/38.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWcyo8kbk9sBhMN_lbGqBOIpzEiJud6w5OIYRSCW8tf_PZTYCd3Zlgpjb2vg-HcERVXsVjpgMxFXKzn-zkQETPZwtfOrHm6_yXmD-f32dbzpHeNLJiee5ufZGp9kBVmYO8SVBzMZIs80/s320/38.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evodia at the well the students dug</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml5WmZqkOM0HwhrQvBg5VJyk2QGV_HTrVxJIaTjhTmL4sAQpyUuYW4Yhc3h7xRFMJl6PhX7_IRfWcZIEBPAsjXLrSNggu-ai7vwdO2azT2LydgH8UWBmsHnsS07A877nBVhptUGkqiY8/s1600/39.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml5WmZqkOM0HwhrQvBg5VJyk2QGV_HTrVxJIaTjhTmL4sAQpyUuYW4Yhc3h7xRFMJl6PhX7_IRfWcZIEBPAsjXLrSNggu-ai7vwdO2azT2LydgH8UWBmsHnsS07A877nBVhptUGkqiY8/s320/39.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at the spring leading to the well</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBD39c9A_xKO_1YtLfjztiG82WYEaDLUr3xbyLSJH_xPYiT9u2n1VbHMEG5Jm-Y6mU2u_UsmVqLkckjmQRZxG1Fw4b7EtLcnVAwW2k7yhI2gp-YGCXoT3JyuVUrS2sujPMCcGfpb6RskY/s1600/40.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBD39c9A_xKO_1YtLfjztiG82WYEaDLUr3xbyLSJH_xPYiT9u2n1VbHMEG5Jm-Y6mU2u_UsmVqLkckjmQRZxG1Fw4b7EtLcnVAwW2k7yhI2gp-YGCXoT3JyuVUrS2sujPMCcGfpb6RskY/s320/40.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storm rolling in on our walk back from the well</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not much else to report as of right now. My illnesses put me out of commission for a bit, but I’m ready to get back to work. Thanks to so many of you for your prayers, messages and emails while I was sick!</div><br />
</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-6641181423774191722012-02-09T03:51:00.000-06:002012-02-09T03:51:16.350-06:00Humble Pie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">For most of my life I have easily fit in just about anywhere; maybe most easily, as one of the guys. I drink with the guys. Watch football with the guys. Shoot pool with the guys. And talk shop with the guys. I guess that’s why adjusting to village life – or <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Village Schools</st1:city> <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region></st1:place> life – has been more of an adjustment than I thought. I had some idea what I was getting myself into. I mean, I figured I’d have to give up my flat iron, heels and maybe even the sparkly eye shadow. And while camping doesn’t exactly come naturally to me, I have found that I actually love it! I thought that for four months I would trade in the girly side of me for the side that’s used to fitting in with the boys. What I didn’t know that while the first part of that was true, I would definitely <i>not</i> be fitting in with the boys. I am the last to be served at every meal. Not only am I expected to carry all of my own bags, I am usually expected to carry one of the men’s, too. I am rarely, if ever, included in any of the shop talk. And no one ever opens the door for me or offers up their seat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have to be honest. This was not what I had bargained for. I mean, I have tons of experience, right? I expected to be a huge help to this organization and to be appreciated and, I’ll admit it, even respected for what I can do while I’m here. Instead, no one really knows who I am or what I’m doing here. In fact, VSI has never had an intern before so since I’m not a teacher, I don’t quite fit into the hierarchy. And as a woman, without a title, that puts me at the end of the table with the leftover rice and - if I’m lucky - some of the sauce left in the bottom of the pan.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I realized yesterday that since I am not here to change the culture, the only thing that can change is me. And the truth is, it’s not about me. It’s not about the people that are around me. And it’s not even about <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Village Schools</st1:city> <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region></st1:place>. It’s about God’s plan for me (which, let’s be honest, is still really about Him). I’m working through the book Sun Stand Still by Pastor Steven Furtick. It’s a pretty incredible book about the power of faith and desiring for your life to be so impactful that people have no other option but to say that it was God. Early last week while I was reading the book, I was struck by I Peter 5:6, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God so that at the proper time He may exalt you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Humble.</i> I decided to make that verse my prayer. I knew I was struggling with a few things around me and figured a little humility might help me fit in a little better. Heck, it might even round out my character a little; prepare me for whatever is next. So, while we’ve been warned in church a thousand times that when you ask God to change something about yourself, sometimes it is painful, I marched right on ahead and prayed for humility. After all, I thought God would just flip the switch and change something in my heart. I didn’t realize He would continually place me in situation after situation where I was literally forced to be humble! And worse than that, I’ve been surrounded by some of the most amazing women I have ever met. They wash clothes, clean filthy bathrooms, boil hot water so the men can shower, cook meals, fetch water and clean dishes. But, more than all of those things, they are strong, and smart, and hard-working, and joyful….and FULL of humility. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So here’s the thing. I haven’t mastered it yet. In fact, I’m pretty sure I have a long way to go before this trait is anywhere near the list of my top ten qualities. But, my eyes have been opened to the true beauty of a humble spirit. The women of the villages here in southern <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> are truly gracious. And while they aren’t treated as such, in my opinion, they deserve far more respect than any of the elders or leaders around them who demand it because of title, age or gender. These women don’t demand respect. They don’t expect respect. But, they have mine. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLLzyauf-GJxnBumFyH2b6fn8ubOK8D6AcBL6YrHRc3v_aNZjyLVK_FCWlgIMxEeKY57PLf6V8F0GFrjhprw-BzN_GfIe9AXzIQoWZ4yoj5606nnC3MU4IlhBAPPp_WOurQdGYXmpsyA/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLLzyauf-GJxnBumFyH2b6fn8ubOK8D6AcBL6YrHRc3v_aNZjyLVK_FCWlgIMxEeKY57PLf6V8F0GFrjhprw-BzN_GfIe9AXzIQoWZ4yoj5606nnC3MU4IlhBAPPp_WOurQdGYXmpsyA/s320/1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rehima, me, Suzie, Sara, and Antonina<br />
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</tbody></table></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-77525263020771051112012-02-02T02:00:00.000-06:002012-02-02T02:00:30.619-06:00A Story from Madisi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For the past few days Steve, Emmanueli, Sara and I have been stranded in the small town of Njombe, about 6 hours from our home school, Madisi. We left for Lukima, a VSI school near the border of Tanzania and Mozambique and not even halfway into our journey, the transmission in our truck went out. After 5 hours on the side of the road we finally got a tow back to Njombe which was an hour away. We are still waiting for the repairs to be finished. I don't have internet access often and thought I'd take the time to write a blog post. The only problem: Not much to write about when all I've been doing is waiting in a tiny guest house for 3 days. So, instead of a story from me, I'd like to share with you Susan Vinton's latest blog post. She and Steve started Village Schools 7 years ago and Susan has dedicated her life to supporting her friends with HIV in the villages surrounding her home. The sick come to the VSI clinic every day for help, support and friendship. She is the busiest woman I know and treats everyone who comes to her with compassion and love.<br />
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Enjoy...<br />
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<div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Steve & Susan Vinton</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Village Schools International</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Box 1929 Tomball Texas 77377</span></b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.villageschools.org/" style="color: purple; cursor: pointer; font-weight: inherit;" target="_blank"><span lang="FR" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">www.villageschools.org</span></a></span></b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="ecxMsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">February 1</span></b><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">, 2012</span></b></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">A beautiful scene – Baba Asia walking with his 2-year old little boy Bekam, as the two of them were coming home from church. Baba Asia had been my enemy for at least five years – he hated me and he hated everything about me – but recently he became my ally and even more recently my brother in Christ. In the midst of all of the death and sorrow that is a part of our lives here, I see God so at work as He draws even the most unlovable towards Him.</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Baba Asia was arrogant, angry, mean and oh so very powerful. And he didn’t like me, he didn’t like Village Schools, and he especially didn’t like what I was doing here. Oppressing and being just downright mean to women in these villages seemed to be his specialty, and for some reason I will never understand, he seemed to get away with it. As I tiptoed into the world of HIV six years ago, and as I slowly started putting the pieces together, following the trails of infection, I ended up at his house on several occasions. The first time the trail of infection led to his house, I humbly and politely let him know that getting tested for HIV was a great idea. He was polite and all only because of my nationality and because of age, but his heart was oh so very hard. </div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I entered into the lives of his many wives. One of my very first friends here was his first wife Sila, who I was shocked to find out was just left to die, after three of her children died. As she put it, he and his new wife would just laugh at her as she turned to skin and bones. When I picked her up and sent her on to treatment, what Baba Asia had planned was thwarted and it made him angry. Sila recovered and her presence made a mockery of his powerful arrogance. And then there was Zaida. She was only 19 years when he married her, but threw her out when she became sick and her baby died. I called Zaida one of my daughters and through many visits to her little house, I grew to love her. I still remember when she became a new creation in Christ. The joy transformed her dying body. Then there was Mama Asia, the wife of the moment in his home at that time. Her misery and unhappiness was apparent to all in the whole village. I could barely watch as sores took over her body. As I privately talked to her about HIV testing, she let me know that she also would be kicked out of the house and she would lose her children. But eventually she chose life and she got on our bus and she started treatment. And sure enough, he kicked her out and sent her back to her parents – without her children. As she left, Zaida entered the house once again, becoming the next wife of the moment. Why would she return when he arrogantly sent for her? I honestly will never know. Poverty and hunger and desperation is something I’ve never lived with, so I have no pat answers, and I won’t try to think I can understand what would cause her to return to his house. But what I do know is that God used the fact that Zaida was there in that house when Baba Asia’s past finally caught up with him. Maybe all Zaida wanted was a child she could love – and indeed that she got – her little Beckam was beyond adorable! </div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">HIV is something that you can’t hide from. It is just a matter of time. Baba Asia used his money to buy all the antibiotics he needed. He used all his money to buy good food. He used all of his money to get good medical care if he did get even a little sick. And it kept him going for a few years longer than all of his wives. But it was TB that finally kicked him hard. And then when he learned that he not only had TB, but that he was also HIV positive, that was when his world unraveled. Within a few months, he went from being all powerful to being a man who was dying. Through my friendship with his scared teenage children, through my contacts with his father, and through my many conversations with the all-forgiving Sila and Zaida, I stayed updated on Baba Asia’s illness and through them I sent him many times practical help. It was through them that I sent him to Kibao Hospital to be admitted, and it was there that he encountered by dear friends, the sisters. When he informed them that he really didn’t have any money to pay for the hospitalization and the treatment and the medicine, they told him, “Don’t worry, Mama Vinton is taking care of it for you.” </div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Why would she do that?” he asked. </div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“She does it for everyone. She serves Jesus like we do.” </div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">And it seems that it was that day at the hospital that the seeds were planted. His dog eat dog view of the world was finally challenged. It took a whole year for Baba Asia to recover. His damaged lungs collapsed twice. Zaida faithfully cared for him, at times as though he were an infant, and then she fell to TB as well. We prayed with him often, and I took any of medical specialists Dr. Leena would bring with her to visit him. Talking to him after his two near death experiences, he finally agreed that God sent him back to take care of his family. He even smiled and had a playful twinkle in his eyes as I talked with him. His heart was finally started to thaw.</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">And then there as a Christian marriage seminar going on in our village and I asked him to go. Word had gotten out late about the seminar, and we needed some participants fast! And so I just went to him to invite him. Zaida was way too sick to attend, but much to my surprise – and everyone else’s – Baba Asia showed up. Three days later, he told me that it was the best thing he had ever attended. He told me that that he learned that he had just thrown away good marriages over stupid and little things. His heart was thawing even more.</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Visiting in November with Sila, she let me know that Baba Asia was visiting her church, always sitting in the back, just listening. It was on Christmas Day though that Baba Asia and Sila’s son both became Christians. I couldn’t think of any better Christmas gift in the world. Sila’s son told me later that he just decided that living without God was hopeless. The new sparkle in the boy’s eyes revealed a new person.</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I wish the story had a happier ending, but ten 10 days after Christmas, Zaida, the one I liked to call my daughter, got a headache and died 12 hours later, leaving Baba Asia, her two-year old Beckam and all of the children in Baba Asia’s house who she had lovingly cared for in lieu of their own mothers. Few things shock me anymore these days, but this one broke my heart. We rushed to the funeral and watched her be buried. Mainly I watched Baba Asia watching Zaida being buried. There he was burying the one woman he had finally come to appreciate. I’m glad that Baba Asia is still with us. He doesn’t hate me anymore. His transformation speaks volumes to all those in these villages who have yet to meet the One who is the Great Physician. He heals a whole lot more than just bodies.</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-82285787217874264312012-01-27T00:36:00.000-06:002012-01-27T00:36:22.194-06:00Settling In<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I alluded to my uncertainty about where I was headed in my last blog post – but let’s be honest. You all know me well enough. Let’s just call it like it was: All out anxiety over the idea of sleeping on a mat on a dirt floor, with no running water, rats nesting around me at night, zero electricity and a cow sleeping in an indoor stable in the central room. Ok, maybe I wasn’t worried about the cow, but you get the point. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. Zero. Zilch. And, while my mind was wandering to the worst possible scenario, somehow I just kept thinking that it would be ok. I mean, I’ve made it this far, right? I figure I can pretty much grin and bear just about (let me repeat – <i>just</i> about) everything now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thankfully, my expectations – or lack thereof – were greatly exceeded. After a long day of travelling with many stops (none of which included a bathroom), we made it to Madisi at about 9pm. Now before I go any further, let me clarify something that I didn’t understand before: Madisi is actually just the name of the hill upon which the school was built. Whenever VSI builds a school, the village chief and the people of the village decide where the school should be built. The land that is chosen is always the best land in the area – what we would call “prime real estate.” Madisi is no exception. The hill is actually a relatively large mountain at an elevation of 6000 feet (which means extremely pleasant, cool weather!). From the top where the school is located you see miles and miles of mountains, valleys, rain forest, tea plantations and coffee crops. The view is one of the most beautiful I have seen in all my life and for the next four months I get to live on the top of this mountain. Last night before dinner, Susan took me to a hidden sitting space. We walked down the path that cuts through the forest in the back yard to the edge of the mountain and I was greeted by a scene that reminded me of Gorillas in the Mist. In that magical spot several mountains seem to come together in a circle creating a sort of crater effect in the middle. The crater valley is covered in dense rain forest that is now protected and home to monkeys who play among the trees. Susan has planted some gardens along the path and there is a covered bench where I can sit, read and enjoy the view. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sure you are all dying to see pictures, but until I can get some sort of internet connection up here, I don’t know when I’ll be able to upload anything. I have email access on my phone, but that’s about it. As I am writing this I don’t even know when I will upload it, but the past two days have been so full already I knew that if I didn’t sit down to type now I might never catch you up. In the meantime, here’s hoping I can upload this soon!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Update: Found internet while we were travelling in the car so I am taking advantage of it!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3D9rjP01LEdzjzODc8p5b3LEwGcySWTfjFXrVJ4qbjgvaJN42Wd76oenYRV2m8gJv_ChHCzNwP3D6SLpZJanG4vsocmsB6m9NhvPSLenTQvyTnBNunnO8bVRngFlQUPhWgycJ6mXADI/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3D9rjP01LEdzjzODc8p5b3LEwGcySWTfjFXrVJ4qbjgvaJN42Wd76oenYRV2m8gJv_ChHCzNwP3D6SLpZJanG4vsocmsB6m9NhvPSLenTQvyTnBNunnO8bVRngFlQUPhWgycJ6mXADI/s320/11.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqMl75xOhvncD9RwKbjobn4L4Flv1B1eDLFdlnjfkwRtID6GhkytS69I0TDRakHu7yP5Fq0xhcPqehv3nDX4th3ittikJBg-E9csVh7VzlfByaIAXVDwZPqddAy6JDsPR5wls73jmNU/s1600/5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqMl75xOhvncD9RwKbjobn4L4Flv1B1eDLFdlnjfkwRtID6GhkytS69I0TDRakHu7yP5Fq0xhcPqehv3nDX4th3ittikJBg-E9csVh7VzlfByaIAXVDwZPqddAy6JDsPR5wls73jmNU/s320/5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the time being I am staying with Steve and Susan, their two boys Joshua and Jonathan and Morris the dog. I can’t tell you how excited I was just to be greet by a dog when I arrived! He and I have become fast friends. The house reminds me of a clash between Little House on the Prairie and Meryl Streep’s home in Out of Africa. It is big and has an openness to it. While we don’t have running water all of the time, it is pretty consistent. Thankfully it rains for a short time almost every day so the rainwater fills the basins which makes life a little easier. I am, sad to say, back to the bucket showers, but hey, that’s life. I can’t complain about the food at all. It has been amazing. My first night we had spaghetti with red sauce – which is pretty common around here – but we also had homemade garlic alfredo sauce, garlic bread, a fresh salad and dill dressing….what?!?! Everything is freshly made. Even the bread. We have a huge vegetable garden next to the house – and when I say huge, I mean what most of us would consider a hill side. The garden has strawberries, guave trees, passion fruit, zucchini, squash, asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, green peppers, oregano, basil, dill, and a lot more that I am forgetting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As for the work itself, Wednesday, my first day here, was an insanely busy day. The community we live in has a nearly 40% HIV/AIDS infection rate. After being here a short while, Susan started a program to transport those she met who were infected to get the ARVs they needed to become healthy again. Now, seven years later, with the help of many of the villagers, she has built a clinic that serves almost 500 men, women and children. Twice a month they travel from miles away on foot to receive their medications. She also provides education for new mothers on how to prevent the passage of HIV to the new babies. New babies in the area are also given milk and formula. It sounds relatively simple, but formula is extremely difficult to find here and VERY expensive. Susan again got help from some of the local villagers and they have managed to negotiate a good price for the formula from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">South Africa</st1:country-region></st1:place>. Anyway, Wednesday was CTC day, the day when everyone comes to the clinic, which is just down the path from the house, to receive their ARVs. Susan took me to the school in the morning at 7:30 am to meet her first class. The next thing I knew she handed me the exercises and lesson book and said she had to go to the clinic. I was teaching an English class. Well, as things happen here, one class turned into four classes and by 2 pm, after pretty much winging 6 hours of class, I was starving and exhausted. (Props to all of my teacher friends – I don’t know how you do it every day!) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the last class, I walked down to the house during the student’s break and met Susan on the path from the clinic. She immediately took me down to meet some of her friends. Thankfully, by 3 pm we made it back to the house for a quick bowl of beans and rice and then it was back to work. I spent the rest of my afternoon meeting mother’s and their children, tracking who came and handing out milk and liche (a soybean, peanut mixture with another ingredient I have forgotten). Around 6 pm we went to visit a women who did not show up for her ARVs during the day. She has a cancerous infection on her leg that is common in pregnant woman who are HIV positive. Susan had arranged for her to go to the nearest large town to get a referral so that she can go to the only cancer treatment center in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region> that is located in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Dar es Salaam</st1:city></st1:place>. I am told the center is over-crowded with two or three patients to a bed. But it is the only option Tanzanians have. The trip will not be easy, but the treatment will save her life.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that was just the first 24 hours! Tomorrow Steve, Emmanueli, Sarah and I are leaving for 3 other villages where we will help teach a computer-based book keeping system to designated people at the schools. Students pay for their tuition as they can and with over 3,000 students you can imagine how keeping track of the schools fees can get messy when everyone is paying a little bit at a time. Tuition is the equivalent of about $25 for a year and some students pay that in four or five installments. That’s a lot of receipts! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll update you again when I can – and hopefully get some pictures up, as well. Pray for internet! It may not seem as important as rain, but sometimes it feels like it!</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-89449246785079007522012-01-23T14:20:00.000-06:002012-01-23T14:20:47.232-06:00On the Road Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">As some of you may know, I have recently made a change in my plans for the second half of the year – a BIG change…but a great one! I am writing this post from Wihanzi Guest House in Iringa, TZ. I’ve had my dinner – chipsi mayai (a favorite of mine made of eggs and french fries, especially at the cost of 1600 Tsh – about $1). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MYaNHkpIPuT56jHKCRmoWBI3RNChAE1MdRSme3AnC9_2QgYnAvtIl3kIbAic4JrynNoc8cR94R43b-BUABLiniDE-92S-PuUmisSR8dH9s8o-n8amIjBHk0WHDhPga09r_CT6uCE2Z8/s1600/22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MYaNHkpIPuT56jHKCRmoWBI3RNChAE1MdRSme3AnC9_2QgYnAvtIl3kIbAic4JrynNoc8cR94R43b-BUABLiniDE-92S-PuUmisSR8dH9s8o-n8amIjBHk0WHDhPga09r_CT6uCE2Z8/s320/22.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chipsi Mayai</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGVAUsgdrja2eqbIBiz6hUBbtcVHr6l4369foWj5PMSZKbyinqHUfYqlnOAR34kuaednrTS4j2jp_nvSgaDBLpqy-n7qYKOmbTJ0wnqTqSQJp-OdaDRcPDwNNZzB84EDO2GwWtNQL3fU/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGVAUsgdrja2eqbIBiz6hUBbtcVHr6l4369foWj5PMSZKbyinqHUfYqlnOAR34kuaednrTS4j2jp_nvSgaDBLpqy-n7qYKOmbTJ0wnqTqSQJp-OdaDRcPDwNNZzB84EDO2GwWtNQL3fU/s320/1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wihanzi Guest House</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I took a 13 hour bus ride from Arusha in northern <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region>, down to south central <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> today. It’s been a long day; however, judging by the speed (or lack there of) of my internet here, I have a feeling it may be difficult to post anything from the villages so I figured I better give you all a quick update now. Also, when you have a chance, take a second to look at my “Photos – Munich 2011” page on the right. I’ve uploaded a few more pics from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region></st1:place> that I didn’t get time to put up over Christmas. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This morning I said goodbye to my dear sweet friend, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Carolina</st1:place></st1:city>, who I met in Arusha over Thanksgiving break. I nearly missed my bus. Everything here in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> is slow…except the long distance busses which seem to be in the biggest rush when you are trying to load 3 suitcases and a backpack in the storage space underneath. The ride was hot and long, but beautiful. I saw 3 herds of elephants, several impala and a random warthog along the side of the road. And the landscape in central and southern TZ is amazing. We were moving too fast to take pictures, but as soon as I get some I will post them on the blog.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a lot of “no’s”, much prayer, and good advice from friends and family, I have been given the opportunity to work as an intern with Village Schools International – Tanzania (VSI). I won’t go into much detail about the organization now, as I’m sure I will have much more to share once I get to work, but take a minute to check out their website <a href="http://www.villageschools.org/">www.villageschools.org</a> Steve and Susan Vinton started VSI in 2005 and have since helped poor villages build over 20 secondary schools in rural Tanzania, with many more in the works. There is a severe shortage of secondary schools for children here in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Less than one in eight children will ever have the chance to attend secondary schools purely due to a lack of space, teachers and schools. VSI is working to bridge the deficit between supply and demand in rural <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tomorrow morning, Steve Vinton and a couple of the Tanzanian VSI workers who have been with him since the beginning will pick me up and we will head out to the <st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Igoda</st1:placename> where <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Madisi</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Secondary School</st1:placetype></st1:place>, VSI’s first school, is located. I believe I will be living in Igoda, but to be honest, I have no idea where or what to expect. I’m a little nervous that my excessive luggage might even scare Steve away! I’m hoping he sees what’s in my heart before he judges me by all the stuff I’ve managed to cart across <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> in my bags!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So tomorrow I am heading into the unknown. I may or may not have a shower, flushing toilet (or flushing hole in the ground), real floors or even a tin roof. Who knows. But, what I do know is that working with VSI in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Igoda</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region></st1:place> is exactly where I am supposed to be. And while it may be challenging and a huge lifestyle change for me, I am not afraid. Something big is around the corner…I can feel it. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzKhfAaLtf8tBme4uKpZlanJ0VaBeRXB0zrPqvqGsSc85d4POy9BRUiHvqItdfuNyY926-xCKiFQnIhOFWVK8BJPj4dcxxBAbtssldZe4TjG0F5rozHdCdK0hu6JiKOhxsK83shvUiwM/s1600/21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzKhfAaLtf8tBme4uKpZlanJ0VaBeRXB0zrPqvqGsSc85d4POy9BRUiHvqItdfuNyY926-xCKiFQnIhOFWVK8BJPj4dcxxBAbtssldZe4TjG0F5rozHdCdK0hu6JiKOhxsK83shvUiwM/s320/21.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Kilimanjary - 1.23.12</td></tr>
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</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-33418828735635879542011-12-27T14:27:00.000-06:002011-12-27T14:27:37.367-06:00Dachau<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">So many words have more appropriately described both the horrors and revelations that visitors have experienced at Dachau Concentration Camp in Dachau, Germany. For those of you who have not yet had the chance to visit one of the camps, I would like to share my visit with you...in pictures.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Work Makes Free"</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cFF0spc-P8o_-m2ZXyMfNiIztlUB1BE4TsH6tVfOVOjnkQS-GhnqBfHzKpUMDT2VUJZwm30zpfRTbaGs-UOxD7qgfa3lF6jiKp54vpKfmANhKDC1D5zJ4_IQW0HLYEo_QS29ccMsGBg/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cFF0spc-P8o_-m2ZXyMfNiIztlUB1BE4TsH6tVfOVOjnkQS-GhnqBfHzKpUMDT2VUJZwm30zpfRTbaGs-UOxD7qgfa3lF6jiKp54vpKfmANhKDC1D5zJ4_IQW0HLYEo_QS29ccMsGBg/s320/2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bunker</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 Prisoners Shared Each Bed</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All but 2 of the bunkers were removed after the camp was closed. All that remains are the foundation stones.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When the camp was liberated there were 30 bunkers, holding up to 60,000 prisoners at any given time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The second crematorium built at Dachau.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gas chambers...word above the door implied that they prisoners were heading in to the showers.</td></tr>
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</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-14709189727292749972011-12-24T11:43:00.000-06:002011-12-24T11:43:13.650-06:00A Magical Merry Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I still have so much to catch you up on. It is hard to believe today is Christmas Eve. My trip to Germany is quickly coming to a close. <br />
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Earlier this week I bought a ticket to go see an Italian men's choir, La Montanara, perform Christmas music at the Residenz - the former palace of all of the Bavarian monarchs. Obviously, I chose La Montanara over the Vienna Symphony Orchestra because, well, eye candy is better than ear candy any day, right? So, Tuesday evening I got all dressed up and went out on the town for dinner and a concert. I settled on the Lowenbrau Zum Franziskaner Beer Hall for dinner. <br />
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As I waited for my dinner of Bavarian three mushroom soup and Franciscan pork shoulder with belly bacon and bread dumplings I took in the sights around me. Old German beer steins line the walls of a room filled with long wooden tables, benches and booths. Men and women shared meals of liver loaf and "semi-warm" potato salad over a Lowenbrau Original. I have to say, there is something great about being in a city where you never have to worry about ordering the proper wine with your dinner. Every table in the hall had a basket of pretzels and a couple of liters of local brew on it. While the younger crowd was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, they were far outnumbered by the more properly dressed, mature diners in traditional Bavarian clothing. Even a few family dogs joined in for dinner, waiting patiently under the tables of their owners.<br />
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Shortly after I placed my order, the waitress returned with my bowl of soup. The soup, second only to my grandmother's cauliflower cheese soup, was absolutely incredible.<br />
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After finishing my soup, I was already seriously second-guessing my decision to order the pork shoulder. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath and a sip of beer, in the vein hope that I might clear a little room. While I was in Nuremberg I was told by a waiter that the Franciscan pork shoulder could only be found in and around Nuremberg and it was not to be missed. I feared that having had such a short stay in Nuremberg I had missed my chance, so when I saw it on the menu Tuesday night, I knew I couldn't pass it up twice. While I was waiting for the main course, I watched the American wearing the fanny pack across the room from me, order an Evian water in a beer hall and blow his nose into his handkerchief. For a moment, I worried I stood out as much as he did. And while three different people have assumed I was a local and stopped me to ask for directions here in Munich, the sad truth is I do. After all, when my meal came, I pulled out my camera...again!<br />
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One of these days, I'll come to terms with the fact that there is no shame in looking like a tourist. In the meantime, I must admit, I still turn a bit red every time I pull out my camera to take a picture!<br />
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After eating as much of my dinner as I could possibly consume, I made my way down the street to the Residenz theater. Of course, despite being incredibly full, I thought it best to stop in to the local chocolate shop for a little after dinner treat. I bought a bag of chocolate covered gingerbread and a bag of the jelly orange slices my grandpa used to share with me when I was a little girl. He likes all things German and I think he would have been smiling down at me the other night as I enjoyed the city.<br />
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I arrived at the theater, checked my coat and managed to find my seat without too much trouble, considering I don't know more than 5 German words. I just love Christmas - I know I've mentioned that a few times - and I was really excited for the music that night. Imagine my surprise when I was expecting 26 Italian "Il Divo-type" men and out onto the stage walked 26 men all over the age of 50! I literally giggled at myself in my seat. I mean, who picks out which Christmas concert they are going to go to based on what they think the performers will look like! Nevertheless, La Montanara was amazing. I found myself closing my eyes and just taking in the music throughout the evening. The entire performance was a cappella and it was breathtaking. <br />
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What an amazingly magical night. While being away from family and friends at Christmas is never easy, people do it every year. And how lucky am I to be celebrating Christmas in a place that I believe knows how to celebrate the birth of our Savior better than anywhere else? As I write this, I am listening to some of my favorite Christmas carols, enjoying some traditional (and untraditional) German snacks and getting ready for Christmas Eve service in Munich. <br />
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Merry Christmas from Munich, my friends and family. Sending love to you all!</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-79566255891279919602011-12-22T10:42:00.002-06:002011-12-22T10:45:21.230-06:00So Much to Share, So Little Space!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So much is happening so fast here in Germany that I could probably write a blog post every day - that is, if I wasn't so tired by the time I got back to my room at night! I have a lot to catch you up on.<br />
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This past Friday I left Munich for Nuremberg, Germany, home of what I am told is the oldest and best Christmas market in all of Germany - if not the world. I knew my stop in Nuremberg would be short, so I quickly dropped my bags off at my hotel, bundled up and hopped the train back to the "Old Town". From the moment I left the station I was transported back to earlier times. Nuremberg is quaint and cozy; every corner of the town tastefully decorated for the Christmas season.<br />
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I followed the path of Christmas lights straight into the town center and found the Christmas Market and my mug of gluhwein.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9U8co5NG_xwCydL3mJSr8AzRYwL1J-K5XgODDk9GOJjYja-qdd8bvi7LReM9K-TpSu3jHkZY7RKzZRh9JSobynLeFupbTHlrPh9CpL7QTl_xRnD_fQn1Bot8kkKggrdsyvp-m8ATwQSI/s1600/71.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9U8co5NG_xwCydL3mJSr8AzRYwL1J-K5XgODDk9GOJjYja-qdd8bvi7LReM9K-TpSu3jHkZY7RKzZRh9JSobynLeFupbTHlrPh9CpL7QTl_xRnD_fQn1Bot8kkKggrdsyvp-m8ATwQSI/s320/71.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The night was extremely windy and, as a result, a bit chilly, but the scheduled carol band was brave enough to face the cold. I stood in the town square, enjoying my mug of gluhwein and listening to some of my favorite carols. Watching the band struggle to keep warm brought back memories of my marching band days in Wisconsin. There is nothing like trying to keep a brass instrument warm on a freezing cold winter day - I give these guys credit. The music was beautiful. Standing in that square listening to the music that night will always be a special Christmas memory for me.<br />
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Of course, while I was in the market I grabbed a snack - or two:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIInVvhezaDx2ELI5ek-V27mBhLlvg4eIF1H3RG943dMlQtajRHp8Cv4PPJhSqsucgEcz1px1Lv1Q9mfFcgniODznFkhNpD4-BknrmLaollUD7IgDTuoXNIyZ6yyf3LYxRtqvl19KmmFc/s1600/75.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIInVvhezaDx2ELI5ek-V27mBhLlvg4eIF1H3RG943dMlQtajRHp8Cv4PPJhSqsucgEcz1px1Lv1Q9mfFcgniODznFkhNpD4-BknrmLaollUD7IgDTuoXNIyZ6yyf3LYxRtqvl19KmmFc/s320/75.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And, I even exhibited a bit of restraint, passing by the chocolate covered goodies stall:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCkMP958Y7haHnj84y2o952EVvIphJh_X_v5EFjzlwXgQ6kOJ5_iZ5BKfeLkYQAHa8LjPykNeH5jCzcdz3bZiuICyDuVJ3D-dtNtMzmNZCG-XUOuMKNOcedE9-WPBW38qCprdqVbUd6E/s1600/77.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCkMP958Y7haHnj84y2o952EVvIphJh_X_v5EFjzlwXgQ6kOJ5_iZ5BKfeLkYQAHa8LjPykNeH5jCzcdz3bZiuICyDuVJ3D-dtNtMzmNZCG-XUOuMKNOcedE9-WPBW38qCprdqVbUd6E/s320/77.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPlNAuHrgHFaKIVZJxce5S21ohURJk6a5UkZ6oTVzKd-8gDtWGhH95oXngGm9DxK0wx-4MprKqTnVZJ3LAeRwC0mNoTPK6RwbstS899sh9x6EF8E20mmvEEklmNZugi_b7wegYYDXYxY/s1600/79.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPlNAuHrgHFaKIVZJxce5S21ohURJk6a5UkZ6oTVzKd-8gDtWGhH95oXngGm9DxK0wx-4MprKqTnVZJ3LAeRwC0mNoTPK6RwbstS899sh9x6EF8E20mmvEEklmNZugi_b7wegYYDXYxY/s320/79.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>...I was ready for dinner at Nuremberg's Original Bratwursthaus.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YpGGv2QPmCpEKxmOjpjVhUNemd17bwKJ4Kxcn5xe-Gy_CySIrbV7bz1XQ-iGfdU_LMKDJ636Q60kN6LkNDNDkXSen5WA1xI99McEI0dM6QL8FP4fO6WUTVwVdircfsZlsCcVPLBETTk/s1600/59.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YpGGv2QPmCpEKxmOjpjVhUNemd17bwKJ4Kxcn5xe-Gy_CySIrbV7bz1XQ-iGfdU_LMKDJ636Q60kN6LkNDNDkXSen5WA1xI99McEI0dM6QL8FP4fO6WUTVwVdircfsZlsCcVPLBETTk/s320/59.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Saturday morning, I met my friend Emilie for coffee in Nuremberg. I literally have not seen her since we graduated from the 8th grade together. Thanks to Facebook and a mutual love for adventure, somehow we were able to reconnect in Germany. We ended up having so much to talk about and I lost track of time. At 1:08 pm I looked at my clock. My train to Salzburg was scheduled to leave at 1:10 pm. Oops. We booked it to the train station and I was able to catch the next train out, arriving in Salzburg only an hour later than I had originally planned. <br />
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By the time I arrived I only had about an hour before the Christmas markets closed up for the night and when I saw the suite I was upgraded to, I almost stayed in for the night.<br />
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I'm glad I didn't! I ended up walking around the town for a bit and then heading down to Salzburg's Oldest Beer Cellar for a comfort food dinner of Weiner Schnitzel and a good, dark brew.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI8JBdzTBoitWP7PjbxohVjQDKpb87I1XyfI7UbdZDOhwzwUAl_vs2ZaUC3W36aojwQSE5UZiDmXl6klu2jaAT4b-74k2m6ARGW8lVBmUug37DcLeXYqtHS3oGWroz6e4Y744KLx3QeA/s1600/86.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI8JBdzTBoitWP7PjbxohVjQDKpb87I1XyfI7UbdZDOhwzwUAl_vs2ZaUC3W36aojwQSE5UZiDmXl6klu2jaAT4b-74k2m6ARGW8lVBmUug37DcLeXYqtHS3oGWroz6e4Y744KLx3QeA/s320/86.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I know it may seem like I'm eating and drinking a LOT here...but at least I didn't order this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mkaSktDBl0KgvyCzezP-qX4JWNfEUkRPjZIIR7LkYgN_We5W-_AeU4AikYX4GHidmNCAK_sMA7Up7Z3sC51scqb-qexvKx6xx3ZofkNytA-9bho0tkOzOucIUDp0f5cLFU5h5x7Kfds/s1600/87.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mkaSktDBl0KgvyCzezP-qX4JWNfEUkRPjZIIR7LkYgN_We5W-_AeU4AikYX4GHidmNCAK_sMA7Up7Z3sC51scqb-qexvKx6xx3ZofkNytA-9bho0tkOzOucIUDp0f5cLFU5h5x7Kfds/s320/87.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The next morning (Sunday), I woke up early so that I could visit the Christkindlmarkt, Sound of Music sights and take the tram up to the Festung Hohensalzburg - the fortress at the top of the old town. This blog is getting long - again - so I'll give you the highlights in pictures. After all, they say they're worth a thousand words, right?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure how they get these to grow in winter</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fountain from the Sound of Music</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmfeQ0xeTwpz8H3_9ZAZgH4clIPOkJzs5qg4_7Z7EAsRno9FS7oyByRmeA31rDJllE_7_3jl_dr2FZ4b3VViGETYUk9jQN-1k-wlYHIbr72bRFWmO4If3LE8-hAe4Ba8cGrEAajVOoEA/s1600/6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmfeQ0xeTwpz8H3_9ZAZgH4clIPOkJzs5qg4_7Z7EAsRno9FS7oyByRmeA31rDJllE_7_3jl_dr2FZ4b3VViGETYUk9jQN-1k-wlYHIbr72bRFWmO4If3LE8-hAe4Ba8cGrEAajVOoEA/s320/6.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not really sure what this is all about, but I liked him!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mirabell Gardens with the Festung in the background</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Town - Alstadt</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24RsUpT_UIr7uXvTG7MyZwjFNZ0nQVHFE3BL1Pp6smmQ4I44L4g0M_akQkQWezwiND1Nymp-DyXPbH2IFh2NJWIQf7j1c6uOMRtlMdZEdpY7WMk1sl4FRmSyqdueRdufFEBr4vfpwK1c/s1600/20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24RsUpT_UIr7uXvTG7MyZwjFNZ0nQVHFE3BL1Pp6smmQ4I44L4g0M_akQkQWezwiND1Nymp-DyXPbH2IFh2NJWIQf7j1c6uOMRtlMdZEdpY7WMk1sl4FRmSyqdueRdufFEBr4vfpwK1c/s320/20.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thought this was pretty crazy...until my bro explained it to me.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the Festung - Alps in the background</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBoQ8mSgyQ9avN0VvV1j4EX5RW9SJ624C_5hsUoDJ5Mwx0W1GkypWJwepNiraoSqxG94xxBZ6bzblEwSDNtQH7PRnSLyjc-_fS0uy38iTOWri6UIPw9Hhj4nXNtw6n_Xqly6KSWzXTDG8/s1600/27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBoQ8mSgyQ9avN0VvV1j4EX5RW9SJ624C_5hsUoDJ5Mwx0W1GkypWJwepNiraoSqxG94xxBZ6bzblEwSDNtQH7PRnSLyjc-_fS0uy38iTOWri6UIPw9Hhj4nXNtw6n_Xqly6KSWzXTDG8/s320/27.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salzburg</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1EfujuJ40LE51eyqiTOdx-IraKJOw9en7SLJGhSOuQ2PI17uksTaRkszJBNi7-M-r0s0Us_M8aZPGj4EHNg-Tl_vJ9lXU6qZ0GnjYqtZ398915DixY7GJOPpErVpsxwiMq3t3RqrpqEw/s1600/38.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1EfujuJ40LE51eyqiTOdx-IraKJOw9en7SLJGhSOuQ2PI17uksTaRkszJBNi7-M-r0s0Us_M8aZPGj4EHNg-Tl_vJ9lXU6qZ0GnjYqtZ398915DixY7GJOPpErVpsxwiMq3t3RqrpqEw/s320/38.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at the Christkindlmarkt</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyfqXU6UkomSYLbaeC471S8yj_ziH9qv1uTz88eIg6Tnt2-xZ3WbboJlAdypeIcUm_GGrrAGG1VsgTjAflppiOVT9EbD_vf1eE4iaZmMWIFWxUe1JPINlHRIY-vrAg0xB43eJqQ5_nAw/s1600/39.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyfqXU6UkomSYLbaeC471S8yj_ziH9qv1uTz88eIg6Tnt2-xZ3WbboJlAdypeIcUm_GGrrAGG1VsgTjAflppiOVT9EbD_vf1eE4iaZmMWIFWxUe1JPINlHRIY-vrAg0xB43eJqQ5_nAw/s320/39.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had no idea what I was ordering, but it looked good - it was.</td></tr>
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Stay tuned for more tomorrow...the best is yet to come! This week has been pretty great. I'm off to Marienplatz for some dinner, gluhwein and Christmas music in the market. Merry Christmas, friends!<br />
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<br />
</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-13571171282266494582011-12-16T15:55:00.000-06:002011-12-16T15:55:15.143-06:00The Most Wonderful Time of the Year<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">What a change over the past 48 hours. I am so blessed. And while blessings don’t normally include a good bourbon on the rocks, tonight they do. Cheers to you, Bro.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For those of you who know me, you know I love Christmas. And to say I love Christmas probably doesn’t fully capture my real feelings. I mean, I LOVE Christmas. The trees, the lights, the carols, the gift giving, the cards, Santa Claus, candlelight services – I love it all. So, when I started thinking about spending my year half-way across the world in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I immediately began wondering what on earth I would do for Christmas. Yes. I am in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> to study the culture and people in the ‘interest of national security.” Nevertheless, while learning how Tanzanians celebrate the holidays may have been interesting, I just couldn’t bear the thought of a hot, Christmas tree-less Christmas. I began Googling “best Christmas cities in Europe” and up popped <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Munich</st1:place></st1:city> with its plethora of Christmas markets. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was all it took. Here I am:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwH9H27cXjYo3au-IMcDzHChT605h85RnAfRmsGvw4w7uKEFZCEK8cvDrn_nWkZg6JTdLYf_r4a4rQPtys5kQBAli9rVbqlqyg1Tz-SgXlrfMDQ5D69Ux8pEZvsZtPgFu8HbjhFfIm28/s1600/16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwH9H27cXjYo3au-IMcDzHChT605h85RnAfRmsGvw4w7uKEFZCEK8cvDrn_nWkZg6JTdLYf_r4a4rQPtys5kQBAli9rVbqlqyg1Tz-SgXlrfMDQ5D69Ux8pEZvsZtPgFu8HbjhFfIm28/s320/16.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on my balcony in Munich</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Ok, so now that you’ve seen me, let’s get to the good part: Christmas in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Munich</st1:place></st1:city>!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lDVhtUqCEZt_tncsBcmuX8I2CB6Dv0e8YDuUk5FCiMz-KM9tX7RPZAq1CQn4rDYUJpcBFDUTvm02hDUtydOz5i2Q8szOXK8MqA71e8eIodAs6FMtlJEGEg4dRdRv_cgQKGWwNnVlUns/s1600/31.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lDVhtUqCEZt_tncsBcmuX8I2CB6Dv0e8YDuUk5FCiMz-KM9tX7RPZAq1CQn4rDYUJpcBFDUTvm02hDUtydOz5i2Q8szOXK8MqA71e8eIodAs6FMtlJEGEg4dRdRv_cgQKGWwNnVlUns/s320/31.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfqLZrUeXZxt43Mg7h6vcqY87xnA3pjXBGUYBIcUO-_u2keK_BaiiP9wUPh_bzMUQYM6ne4-YylPXMuo0nRFAXTH7HtPdz05mQlBX2zveVYxj4X5MHSdrfTwHm-dh9QFc9cvFySmJGS0/s1600/29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfqLZrUeXZxt43Mg7h6vcqY87xnA3pjXBGUYBIcUO-_u2keK_BaiiP9wUPh_bzMUQYM6ne4-YylPXMuo0nRFAXTH7HtPdz05mQlBX2zveVYxj4X5MHSdrfTwHm-dh9QFc9cvFySmJGS0/s320/29.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first 12 hours in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Munich</st1:place></st1:city> were nothing short of incredible. The plane landed just after 6 am at <st1:placename w:st="on">Munich</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">International</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype> from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Doha</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Qatar</st1:country-region></st1:place>. On both of my 5+ hour flights I had an empty seat next to me and was fortunate enough to get a bit of rest. Once I collected my bag (yes, that’s right – I only brought my backpack!), I hit up the ATM (which apparently is not called an ATM here) and found the DB machine where I was able to purchase a train pass. I studied the map for a few minutes and figured if I could catch the train to the central station and then the 54 bus, I would make it to the Hilton without having to splurge for the taxi fare. Now, I know, you may be thinking if I can afford the Hilton, I can afford a taxi. I “Priceline’d” the 5-star Hilton for my first two nights in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Munich</st1:place></st1:city> and, boy, am I glad I did. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the train and bus, I arrived at the doorstep of the Hilton without a hitch. The young woman at the front desk was kind enough to allow me to check in early – really early – and by 11 am I had taken a very hot shower, spent at least 30 minutes applying make-up and doing my hair, and got ready to head out to see the town. I made a quick stop at the concierge to find out where I could buy a jacket, hat and gloves. I had already purchased my transit day pass, so I was off again, taking the 54 bus to the U3 train. (Little tip: When taking public transit in a <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">new city</st1:place></st1:city>, sometimes it is best to just act like you know what you’re doing and follow the guy in front of you!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I emerged from underground into a Christmas wonderland…literally. Within steps of the underground was a gluhwein stall and steps after that was another one that specialized in bratwurst. I walked from stall to stall with an unremitting smile on my face. I clearly remember my first thoughts: “This place is perfect for me! Seriously?!? I went from living on an island in the middle of the <st1:place w:st="on">Indian Ocean</st1:place> for the past three and a half months to vacationing here? Nice.” I knew right away that for the next 13 days I would be living <i>in</i> Christmas. Just what I had hoped for.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After wandering for all of 10 minutes, I decided it was time for some bratwurst and sauerkraut. For less than 5 euro I got a plate full of this:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FG1WEs5-yPd_3wtBblU2MxK3NXlV-HKubnFEpweVaJgW8xV1qPfR9v4vOvAPe_O6uoDqf6JSJvY-9r7xe74o8rZ24KkB5Wg7nRWjSmj06VzyQ1d29M4SLZ0gn-jT2eXztUKNmM_cqEw/s1600/14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FG1WEs5-yPd_3wtBblU2MxK3NXlV-HKubnFEpweVaJgW8xV1qPfR9v4vOvAPe_O6uoDqf6JSJvY-9r7xe74o8rZ24KkB5Wg7nRWjSmj06VzyQ1d29M4SLZ0gn-jT2eXztUKNmM_cqEw/s320/14.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Meal in Germany</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>After consuming more meat than I had in the whole of the past 3 months, I was re-energized and ready for a little shopping. You can imagine I didn’t bring too many winter weather-appropriate clothes to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>. And yes, I’ll admit, I got a bit sucked in at the H&M sale, but I now have 4, in my opinion, fashionable, winter outfits. Going to have to get someone to take a few pictures of me so I can prove I am, once again, dressed like a Westerner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After heading back to the hotel to change and drop off my purchases, I went back to Marienplatz to explore the rest of the Christkindlmarkt. I wandered through the streets, taking in the sights. The glockenspiel and Marienplatz did its song and dance at 4:30 pm. Night falls early here and shortly after 5 pm, I took a stroll through the Krippelmarkt, where most of the stalls sell nativity scenes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EwlA9YvMbpOEtceNsRYPiBe9RSAE7bwL7gBp66KH3LDv-DbmYqHBSvBpnOIHJPF9JmsbhUpdrtuP0dgHUn0j6Ldcb_ZTmN-HBPCE0pUGiUdqIhQ7KTdVO-eh4AXhujLVnpiyhhpMMlw/s1600/23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EwlA9YvMbpOEtceNsRYPiBe9RSAE7bwL7gBp66KH3LDv-DbmYqHBSvBpnOIHJPF9JmsbhUpdrtuP0dgHUn0j6Ldcb_ZTmN-HBPCE0pUGiUdqIhQ7KTdVO-eh4AXhujLVnpiyhhpMMlw/s320/23.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG721UuqRiwXO5J4fZ87o6xecw7liWaMs6ZBslsKbDiO7aaQDUncv3cwr7jvRmvTJsthhjZZJsGakQ-iiDjhgOlSDJl7NjParSFuB_mIuNqQlkEOLkBl4CxrqGT8EjG0GJ3RrsePN-kaA/s1600/24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG721UuqRiwXO5J4fZ87o6xecw7liWaMs6ZBslsKbDiO7aaQDUncv3cwr7jvRmvTJsthhjZZJsGakQ-iiDjhgOlSDJl7NjParSFuB_mIuNqQlkEOLkBl4CxrqGT8EjG0GJ3RrsePN-kaA/s320/24.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Soon, I found myself at another gluhwein stall and found that the chill of the night air gave me the perfect excuse to buy my first mug. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzcjeN_1JzjBE5Z2AooE0SUlQiqt9MohinRnrU_NDp3i_Bd8ALhbbUGqWDgNpl3u_7fqHEdQNDI6aOnSsBqoxroZlUs8rYLv1nqb-Wa2vbzXxmB07xUq1rHTkkNv2VzuYzzVwGGstl5w/s1600/28.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzcjeN_1JzjBE5Z2AooE0SUlQiqt9MohinRnrU_NDp3i_Bd8ALhbbUGqWDgNpl3u_7fqHEdQNDI6aOnSsBqoxroZlUs8rYLv1nqb-Wa2vbzXxmB07xUq1rHTkkNv2VzuYzzVwGGstl5w/s320/28.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">For 4 euro and a 5 euro deposit, I’d like to say that I thoroughly enjoyed the gluhwein. Truth is, I didn’t really like it that much! However, I am happy to say I had a second mug tonight and it tasted much better. Either after one mug, I had grown accustomed to the taste or everyone makes it a little differently. Whichever it is, it is good enough for me!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This post is much longer than I had planned when I set out – and I feel like I haven’t even begun to tell you about my first 2 days back in the 1<sup>st</sup> world. For now, I’ll give you the rest in pictures:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjEx3g7HyWJhF6gi7ZcLQSCUE-_UK3T_oKDcC_i-jqYATaxYNzZDEXPVHmeaKcsX6TTjnSRA04C8V4sDG4A8ou0OD3pER25xDZ9ow3CRqYhsC9yjnhmxMC7syoYdsHLCtdtWOAtretlE/s1600/40.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjEx3g7HyWJhF6gi7ZcLQSCUE-_UK3T_oKDcC_i-jqYATaxYNzZDEXPVHmeaKcsX6TTjnSRA04C8V4sDG4A8ou0OD3pER25xDZ9ow3CRqYhsC9yjnhmxMC7syoYdsHLCtdtWOAtretlE/s320/40.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCo4SBxdem1ckHy7kXr4YIBFJRDvzdn-JXb8bSbhu1KQmZq5-I7e98OxYPQE0XI0O8lVWOmoYenw_nw8ZzqboiLy2s8BfjKnuzD_5ToplKGLd1jxhAmb5amkFAvOkZMcbL1T8R18cHUiw/s1600/25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCo4SBxdem1ckHy7kXr4YIBFJRDvzdn-JXb8bSbhu1KQmZq5-I7e98OxYPQE0XI0O8lVWOmoYenw_nw8ZzqboiLy2s8BfjKnuzD_5ToplKGLd1jxhAmb5amkFAvOkZMcbL1T8R18cHUiw/s320/25.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yBJh7xre1KzB6cReRNrfaCkh-UlFyu4d0JyCN8hjg3QxI5gJvWMXRhsrAmbomK1l0s_nEQadcAeU4OUMD2naXUPZ6MpjHB0YFdnhSpxV4WCGf6DyUb9SMO3uL5KBporVS0lAvWcoLQA/s1600/19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yBJh7xre1KzB6cReRNrfaCkh-UlFyu4d0JyCN8hjg3QxI5gJvWMXRhsrAmbomK1l0s_nEQadcAeU4OUMD2naXUPZ6MpjHB0YFdnhSpxV4WCGf6DyUb9SMO3uL5KBporVS0lAvWcoLQA/s320/19.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAPOD-SMJvNwG2rVedmNACBfX6-BmmzKStGmh3FQdSQ2uOTP8gRv0mB01QTwrdJBLZQgJtHsdjLCnWhl2Yh7Aqc1b-Y5SvCS1cLXs12XxEXVvYrS6EP-EFAocjk1wwZdbtrlDQi2u3NA/s1600/13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAPOD-SMJvNwG2rVedmNACBfX6-BmmzKStGmh3FQdSQ2uOTP8gRv0mB01QTwrdJBLZQgJtHsdjLCnWhl2Yh7Aqc1b-Y5SvCS1cLXs12XxEXVvYrS6EP-EFAocjk1wwZdbtrlDQi2u3NA/s320/13.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC58MMS7hgFGvS-aT-ueQrk-euk-k8h6Zd-_hgsD0bZ_oLpuBmqhRp5GZnme6x51itN7MUDHO80QroP4ztHtJURu0YNySRD-pe7qe2OV9enjvxmDc2jxygCKV0DSq-NPVZTi5FKtuIlo/s1600/51.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC58MMS7hgFGvS-aT-ueQrk-euk-k8h6Zd-_hgsD0bZ_oLpuBmqhRp5GZnme6x51itN7MUDHO80QroP4ztHtJURu0YNySRD-pe7qe2OV9enjvxmDc2jxygCKV0DSq-NPVZTi5FKtuIlo/s320/51.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x1sW0QVCa_aEuqojMx0LNhWE5yHyeWVnXV6X1dkfPkDpqTSX3W7qQb92FXjBbFXSekEcJELRb8Nd23Rp4Dxht0kOrvcVbGzN7MUi3vCd5C_riOtn8uFLbibTHyvj608N3TbdzKO0N10/s1600/34.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x1sW0QVCa_aEuqojMx0LNhWE5yHyeWVnXV6X1dkfPkDpqTSX3W7qQb92FXjBbFXSekEcJELRb8Nd23Rp4Dxht0kOrvcVbGzN7MUi3vCd5C_riOtn8uFLbibTHyvj608N3TbdzKO0N10/s320/34.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6OfJUlVNrcmMqLB6JLlwn93xs0FmAd3Xy5O1chF3ohaQ-OJqxp_RgSATwLFCkKqf6iHO1o2H2q8NTlZdb9s7aw4308Sw61h41F8dya4uPWdUv5yYFBFdaFM0PxHf1OQA-zJGIInlVUU/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6OfJUlVNrcmMqLB6JLlwn93xs0FmAd3Xy5O1chF3ohaQ-OJqxp_RgSATwLFCkKqf6iHO1o2H2q8NTlZdb9s7aw4308Sw61h41F8dya4uPWdUv5yYFBFdaFM0PxHf1OQA-zJGIInlVUU/s320/11.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCM_5gisRheqYFdFMF3HN19tSzT7TWwqEblHFNTl0y55c-dMqcjEkCEGveHcOCQAaZTBc5kd24D98bi_DQQOUVnOLJKO_RvwxwX33b6Z0TtczoUITOVIIdUBe_5haYkqRXgndf2LyQ1wg/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCM_5gisRheqYFdFMF3HN19tSzT7TWwqEblHFNTl0y55c-dMqcjEkCEGveHcOCQAaZTBc5kd24D98bi_DQQOUVnOLJKO_RvwxwX33b6Z0TtczoUITOVIIdUBe_5haYkqRXgndf2LyQ1wg/s320/7.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will be doing a bit of travelling (or should I say, ‘more travelling’) this weekend. First, Nuremburg, then <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Salzburg</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Austria</st1:country-region></st1:place>. Be back in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Munich</st1:place></st1:city> on Monday. Merry Christmas, everyone! I miss you.</div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-38258733525377649212011-11-22T07:38:00.000-06:002011-11-22T07:38:32.035-06:00Best Day EVER!Ok, so maybe not <i>ever</i>, but last Saturday I did feel a little bit like Rapunzel must have felt when she left the tower for the first time. I've been waiting for 3 days to blog about the day so I'm just going to jump right in.<br />
<br />
Friday I came back up to Arusha for the week to finalize my plans for the upcoming semester. Saturday morning I woke up and immediately thought of <a href="http://wilbergswanderings.blogspot.com/2011/06/mama-jane.html" target="_blank">Mama Jane</a> (if you haven't yet, take a minute to read my last blog post about her). I had plans to meet with her later in the week, but couldn't wait to see her and the kids. Plus, a few other friends here wanted to meet her, too. Saturdays and Sundays many of the village kids, most of whom are orphans, come to her "center" in Ngarimtoni just outside Arusha. It just felt like the perfect day to go. So Jill (from Canada), Carolina (Sweden), Benny (Tanzania) and I got up early Saturday, stopped to get coffee, picked up some food at the market for the kids and ran a few errands. We also stopped for a great lunch at a small Japanese restaurant and I got sushi! Yes, sushi in Tanzania. Between the latte and sushi, my day was already off to a pretty great start.<br />
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Benny was kind enough to drive us around for the day which saved us a ton of time trying to get from place to place on local transport. Of course I told Mama Jane I remembered how to get out to the center, so we lost a little time driving in the exact opposition direction, but we finally made it to Mama Jane's around 3pm. After jumping out of the car to get a huge hug from Jane, I went inside with Carolina, Jill and Benny where the kids were all waiting patiently for us to arrive. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCn4-tW10yDYk_I7mUWM0qEP8z9IiD47l1MW7qogaPot32u5_EM9WYc4ICaP9TnlJAkM8Xea5YpVqrbx8Nlws4IpOYyntq-RF1zWdXOhtzs2WXEpAb4UO0MsVl-IiiGcX_aWPhlm4yB0/s1600/171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCn4-tW10yDYk_I7mUWM0qEP8z9IiD47l1MW7qogaPot32u5_EM9WYc4ICaP9TnlJAkM8Xea5YpVqrbx8Nlws4IpOYyntq-RF1zWdXOhtzs2WXEpAb4UO0MsVl-IiiGcX_aWPhlm4yB0/s320/171.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After a quick introduction we were treated to several songs and dancing by the kids. There is absolutely no way to explain the feeling I have watching these children sing. I tried to explain it in my other post about Mama Jane, too, but words are so inadequate. There is so much joy packed into such a small, simple room. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydw6GCC8NAcz57_W0P52oEeCqCa7lchzXtxkC9hZefNJHrc5Oubs2Ng5zCpsbqawwJZESGthn2V9Uzxpwazbwk89RWezx-f-lLDrrE6YYbqUpTytX63GwqGJaSZti5Kgq4sdxGUObndM/s1600/170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydw6GCC8NAcz57_W0P52oEeCqCa7lchzXtxkC9hZefNJHrc5Oubs2Ng5zCpsbqawwJZESGthn2V9Uzxpwazbwk89RWezx-f-lLDrrE6YYbqUpTytX63GwqGJaSZti5Kgq4sdxGUObndM/s320/170.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benny even got up to join the kids!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the music, we all went outside to play with the kids, laugh with them and get plenty of hugs. We only had about a half an hour because the kids usually return home at 3pm on Saturdays, but those 30 minutes were full of laughter and smiles. I wish somehow you could all come to visit Mama Jane's. When we got in the car to leave, Jill and Carolina had the same reaction I did the first time I went. They both said it was their best day in Tanzania so far and couldn't stop talking about what they wanted to do with the kids and when they would return.<br />
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Benny and Mama Jane spoke for a while when we were playing with the kids and made plans for us to go visit the land Jane and her husband have purchased for the new school and orphanage they hope to build. Benny also runs a nonprofit here in Arusha called <a href="http://www.greenlivingplanet.org/" target="_blank">Green Living Planet</a>. He's been busy doing some amazing work with kids in Arusha teaching them to plant trees, properly dispose of trash, and take care of the land they live on. He also has plans to expand his education programs and start sustainable gardens through the local communities. While Benny and Jane were talking they discovered that the land they each own is practically connected! They discussed some of the conservation projects Benny has been working on, as well, so we decided to stop by one of the project sites first. Mama Jane, 5 of the boys that live with her, Caroline, Jill, Benny and I, piled into the car and headed out to our first stop. <br />
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The land Benny's uncle owns is beautiful. Benny has plans to build an education center on the land where school kids can come to learn more about land and trees and plants and how to take care of the environment. He spent a few minutes talking with Jane's kids and asking them questions about what they knew. He has a knack for teaching. The boys were engaged and excited to talk with him. It was pretty cool to watch. We had climbed up a hill on the property and on our way back down to the car we saw a rainbow in the distance. Another pretty cool sign that day that a lot of things were coming together for a reason.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Most of our day was spent driving on rough roads and our trip to Mama Jane's land next was no exception. We arrived to a place in the road that was heavily washed out by rain. Benny looked at it a few times, tried to find an alternate route and then decided to go back to put his "off-road" vehicle to the test. I don't claim to know anything about driving a manual vehicle so I just sat back and held the kids down as best I could. He backed up and gunned it...right into the mud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqw7n02w2FJFUUAf6iaAIxM_fPOlsUEmHPeWDy9TEeB1g39vDCW616TuFAW_dlo4H0Il7VbAs2lQmHtcoWkeKdt5mDLB736ZpodHwvfUh1OaHdmRqA-kkeF78wK0bMCBRpn_KSOoe3aKU/s1600/162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqw7n02w2FJFUUAf6iaAIxM_fPOlsUEmHPeWDy9TEeB1g39vDCW616TuFAW_dlo4H0Il7VbAs2lQmHtcoWkeKdt5mDLB736ZpodHwvfUh1OaHdmRqA-kkeF78wK0bMCBRpn_KSOoe3aKU/s320/162.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The kids stood back, watched, and giggled in disbelief.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcnwuUCru5X5FWOkAfA6BVMaO1i_q8LanM8c77s3amSuZ4Tk_Ag5fnmtV3euL9nPGBIKreCVH1hToXUJBvB2anJnuTZUXZLrDh9aAQOeHE4MouftvtUGOa4uoRPrQ3yOg_NAqGdgdn9E/s1600/163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcnwuUCru5X5FWOkAfA6BVMaO1i_q8LanM8c77s3amSuZ4Tk_Ag5fnmtV3euL9nPGBIKreCVH1hToXUJBvB2anJnuTZUXZLrDh9aAQOeHE4MouftvtUGOa4uoRPrQ3yOg_NAqGdgdn9E/s320/163.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mama Jane (in her Sunday best) gingerly dug up a few rocks to use for traction.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn61eA-9w8T1Q7tjrsxbmsWN1ts7IcTsGsNMCRZAmISLNoBG2adb2se_VeLuwKZGu61QqknS6guVKpTzmVVCTgGUCUpYeQdIzdOPeid3gkhXZqngfa3ayP693qywGLOcvzwhfVXxT-kj0/s1600/165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn61eA-9w8T1Q7tjrsxbmsWN1ts7IcTsGsNMCRZAmISLNoBG2adb2se_VeLuwKZGu61QqknS6guVKpTzmVVCTgGUCUpYeQdIzdOPeid3gkhXZqngfa3ayP693qywGLOcvzwhfVXxT-kj0/s320/165.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did what I do best: Throw in my two cents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdLMQtSZwhmzZMD3P51PYzdm8iZc6CRkTluuwZZlO8RxA1vzjgy31zOq5MXwK8mfoxHyPF2CKML1GSXRKNqAdWZ7okhiU705yiQWJxU2dbxBWJApfUtos5NGj3oZrmKoT2GjwhpSFRcA/s1600/166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdLMQtSZwhmzZMD3P51PYzdm8iZc6CRkTluuwZZlO8RxA1vzjgy31zOq5MXwK8mfoxHyPF2CKML1GSXRKNqAdWZ7okhiU705yiQWJxU2dbxBWJApfUtos5NGj3oZrmKoT2GjwhpSFRcA/s320/166.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And with the help of several villagers we were back on our way in about 30 minutes - Mama Jane and one of the boys holding on for dear life in the front seat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyTgE3MS1uBKb0Ve6wHQwxoD0UKA0ijcgCRw3n2f9fmF6mobRaIMpFcK5Yz92x_ZAGVG6CWnl0ztMaw5opVklE5uLJQ6oGtvJsbTWAE7KJg4_PAkJdDyhq5Fryvfw1Cgksl-flqVBR1c/s1600/167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyTgE3MS1uBKb0Ve6wHQwxoD0UKA0ijcgCRw3n2f9fmF6mobRaIMpFcK5Yz92x_ZAGVG6CWnl0ztMaw5opVklE5uLJQ6oGtvJsbTWAE7KJg4_PAkJdDyhq5Fryvfw1Cgksl-flqVBR1c/s320/167.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We arrived to Mama Jane's just before sunset. The property is amazing. It is in a rural area outside of Arusha and the view from the land is breathtaking. We walked around the property for a while talking about Mama Jane's dreams for the future. She currently has 17 children living in a rented house with her in Arusha, with a couple hundred kids coming to the center on the weekends. Her dream is to build an orphanage that can house as many children as possible. She also plans to build a secondary school where the orphans and other neighboring children from poor families can get an education. A large garden will be put in to provide food and income for the school and she and her husband hope to provide projects for local Maasai women to be a part of so that they can earn extra income, as well. I asked Mama Jane if the boys with us knew what the land was for. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Oh yes. We come out here often together with all of the children so that they can pray over the land." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQi5Go9L2areQvNTDRbbralMqVHyXAM13J4nPyrdcl5FmTUjI3a6_EZLuPw1klZSiJAk5iGBVEeXK3kpPGcG2ffolXTZXMUtkvDi9XU4loNtY13yIAP7nmM6M0aRqDIlqoJ_Pq9wPfWg/s1600/168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQi5Go9L2areQvNTDRbbralMqVHyXAM13J4nPyrdcl5FmTUjI3a6_EZLuPw1klZSiJAk5iGBVEeXK3kpPGcG2ffolXTZXMUtkvDi9XU4loNtY13yIAP7nmM6M0aRqDIlqoJ_Pq9wPfWg/s320/168.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can't begin to imagine what Jane and her children must feel when they visit their land. Jane and her husband have saved for years just to purchase the 4 acres you see them standing on. I can see such pride and hope for the future in their eyes. The children see such a bright future for themselves. Jane has so much faith that all will be provided at the right time. She chooses not to focus on how long it took to save the money just to buy this land. Or how much longer it could take to save enough to build an orphanage and a school. The children don't worry that it may take so long that they won't even get to live there. They simply believe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We said our good-byes shortly after and made plans to connect again. As I mentioned, Benny and Jane are going to work together on a few projects. Carolina is heading back next weekend to play football with the kids. Jill will be teaching children's health classes at the center and I am meeting Mama Jane this Friday to see her building plans and talk further about her needs. We are all in love with what Jane is doing and choosing to believe for Mama Jane and the children, too. She is doing amazing work here. I just hope I get to be a part of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIYbkAty6coLj5nWrw15vqlChM-mGV84313OPnq21oQaLIRe_xf2l4iTShmlMXMKlO9kJjFmGX4Qac1vGrFRrIkAINYVQlcRQ5DW004mDOOajUxFhRb9a3yRLssGK4S51ri7lnYD-Sq8/s1600/169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIYbkAty6coLj5nWrw15vqlChM-mGV84313OPnq21oQaLIRe_xf2l4iTShmlMXMKlO9kJjFmGX4Qac1vGrFRrIkAINYVQlcRQ5DW004mDOOajUxFhRb9a3yRLssGK4S51ri7lnYD-Sq8/s1600/169.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-59775334759326785522011-11-07T10:47:00.000-06:002011-11-07T10:47:34.911-06:00Back to BwejuuAlmost immediately after posting my last blog post, I was struck down...with a fever that is. I had decided to take a "mental health" weekend. So completely American of me. I know. I booked a hotel room with air conditioning, got a manicure and pedicure and planned to spend my entire weekend working on research and ironing out my plans for the next 6 months. Nothing went as planned. I guess I shouldn't even be surprised at that by now. I ended up getting strep throat which, for the first few days, only presented as fever, chills, body aches and nausea. As horrible as I felt - and trust me, it was pretty bad - I am extremely thankful I had found myself a nice little air conditioned room with A/C, a toilet and a shower to spend my weekend in. I pretty much stayed in bed, curled up in the fetal position, for 48 hours. By Sunday morning I caved. I couldn't get my fever to break and all signs pointed to malaria. Thankfully, by Monday morning I figured out it was strep throat - very uncommon here, but relatively common for me. I received lots of prayers, emails, messages and texts. Thank you, thank you, thank you! All of my friends and I have been sick a few times now and we always talk about how great it is to get messages from friends and family. Laying in a hot room for days on end gets a bit boring while you are trying to recuperate and in the fever-filled haze we inevitably check our cell-phones and emails every 30 minutes or so for some hint of what is going on outside.<br />
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I'm fully recovered now and am realizing how quickly this portion of my program is coming to an end. This past weekend Jenn, Ashley, Roger and I went back to Bwejuu (our favorite hide-away) for Jenn's birthday weekend. Keavy, our fifth amigo, got a bacterial infection and was house-ridden for the weekend. We missed having her around, but have decided it's a great excuse to repeat the seafood feast we had on our final weekend here in Zanzibar in early December. <br />
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Ally, Iddi and the gang at Pakacha Bungalows threw quite the birthday shindig for Jenn. The ocean perch you see in the picture above was, without a doubt, some of the best fish I have ever had in my entire life. And, as usual, everything was caught fresh for us that day. We also went on a dhow boat trip this weekend, had bonfires and played plenty of card games. All in all, another great weekend.<br />
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I'm sure some of you are thinking all I ever do is go to the beach! Sometimes I even feel like that. In many ways I'm anxious to be back on the mainland and back to "work". Our time here in Zanzibar is really specifically for language learning and most of us have put our research and volunteer interests on hold while working on getting a handle on the language. As for me, my original plan was to move to Dar es Salaam for the spring semester so that I could take some courses in Tanzanian foreign policy and local government systems. I've done some more research and connected with other U.S. students who have taken courses in Dar and the university appears to be a bit lax and unorganized. After a lot of thought and research, I've decided to pursue my own research interests independently next semester. One of the advantages of this is that I will be able to begin work immediately after Christmas. University wasn't scheduled to start until late February. My new plan allows me to use my time more wisely here. I'm hoping to partner with more schools and orphanages over here in Tanzania and explore some new programming possibilities. For those of you who remember Mama Jane and her orphanage in Arusha, I've reconnected with her and hope to see her over my Thanksgiving break to explore helping her further. I can't wait to see her again!! What an amazing woman. <br />
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I've got a few other things up my sleeve that I can't wait to share with you, but until I get final approval I'll need to keep my mouth shut. In the meantime, I'll try to stay out of trouble and stay healthy. Love you all!<br />
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-17158126396935789902011-10-29T01:36:00.000-05:002011-10-29T01:36:55.880-05:00Little VictoriesMidterms: complete. All in all, I think I did pretty well on them! While I was in DC for the Boren training several people told us what to expect when learning a language: highs and lows; a moment in which I would feel like I knew less than I did when I arrived; moments when I thought I would never be able to learn this language; and breakthroughs where everything just starts to flow. I feel like I'm finally in the last phase (and yes, I've experienced all of the others, too)! Don't get me wrong - I still pull out my dictionary every 5 minutes in class and I'm not exactly reading the Swahili newspaper - but the language is becoming easier every day and I can see how far I've come since I got here 8 weeks ago. It's exciting to think where I'll be in another 32 weeks!<br />
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I've made significant strides in a few other areas as well. For example, my house mom, Mariam, loves to feed me. After a few weeks of waking up early to eat breakfast with her, I finally just gave up the facade. Let's face it: I'm not really a morning person. And waking up extra early to eat breakfast (which is something I don't usually do anyway) wasn't exactly starting my day off right. Thankfully, she seemed to get the point and she began packing my breakfast for me to take with me. Thus began a new set of problems. Instead of the cup of tea, biscuit and 2 pieces of watermelon I would eat, Mariam began handing me a BAG filled with an omelet, 1/4 of a watermelon, 2 or 3 oranges, a couple of pieces of sesame bread, a few small bananas and a container of cooked bananas. Plus, a bottle of fresh-made juice. (Not gonna lie - I love the juice...I am just not too sure where the coke bottle came from that she pours it in and whether or not it was ever washed.) In case you're thinking that this feast of a packed lunch may just be the culture norm here, it's not. Last week I walked into class and another student, Liz, said I was the talk of her dinner table the night before. Apparently, everyone was talking about the "girl who walks through town with a giant bag of food" every morning. Moral of the story: With every victory, comes a new battle. It may be smaller than the one before, but it's still a battle. I've now convinced Mariam I don't need the omelet, but I'm still working on cutting out a few other items.<br />
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I may have mentioned in another earlier post my concern about laundry. Seeing as I live in the projects, I don't really have a place to wash or hang out my clothes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stairwell - I live on the 4th floor</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuAgICsO0hqgWak1tDsSuIXe9mWKM_Fs-1kwJW4ME0ZgSYgDiuAB9mJ8xzEpdUSSoX5MJRuORFOy3HMCw1-JBcl2bfsxJDfgIOZHHhrNgFyR_HfGwRPriEI8Dasrlt5O8PMy1s7JlmxI/s1600/117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuAgICsO0hqgWak1tDsSuIXe9mWKM_Fs-1kwJW4ME0ZgSYgDiuAB9mJ8xzEpdUSSoX5MJRuORFOy3HMCw1-JBcl2bfsxJDfgIOZHHhrNgFyR_HfGwRPriEI8Dasrlt5O8PMy1s7JlmxI/s320/117.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I suppose I could try to hang my laundry like these peeps, <br />
but I'm not sure I want my underwear hanging out for all to see!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_IgFS2YmOJZEewvbftzigRyjW0kLaZvTzCbV-Exn0R9NWFXd-i1Addtw_dmSNPGjwwqubKzVGi9AsSvgoJV5pcVZ3SjJ_32HI50QWcIyw3bJx4kEj2niolXXkbphshIo1QRnfv6g5Gc/s1600/118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_IgFS2YmOJZEewvbftzigRyjW0kLaZvTzCbV-Exn0R9NWFXd-i1Addtw_dmSNPGjwwqubKzVGi9AsSvgoJV5pcVZ3SjJ_32HI50QWcIyw3bJx4kEj2niolXXkbphshIo1QRnfv6g5Gc/s320/118.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My place is on the fourth floor...no laundry line.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Thankfully, with 2 pair of clean underwear left in my closet, Ashley came to the rescue. She walked into school one morning and proudly announced that she had just taken her underwear into the shower with her, washed it and hung it into her room to dry. Genius! The next morning I brought 3 pair in with me, hung them under the fan on a hanger in my room and by the end of the day I had clean, dry, underwear that wasn't hanging out offensively for all of Zanzibar to see. I sat in my bed that first afternoon and every time I looked up at my drying underwear another huge smile crept onto my face. Victory.<br />
<br />
Next week I'm starting Matinee Movie Day on campus. All of the students from the University, families, and friends are invited. We are watching Justin Bieber's "Never Say Never." (Another big smile.) The Zanzibari's I've spoken with are pretty excited about it - as are (most) of the Boren students. I'm starting - or maybe just spreading - BieberFever here in Zanzibar! I'll post pics next week.<br />
<br />
This weekend I'm laying low, taking a little "me-time." I have a lot of ideas and thoughts to put down on paper and am still focusing on how to best spend my time here next semester. I know I say it almost every time, but thank you for your notes, messages and emails. I love hearing about what's going on at home...it makes you all feel closer. Love and miss you!Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com4Stone Town, Zanzibar Town, Tanzania-6.162222 39.192073499999992-6.1703225 39.184471999999992 -6.1541215 39.199674999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-69229920586463535572011-10-23T02:33:00.001-05:002011-10-23T02:35:48.856-05:00The Change-upIt is Sunday morning here in Zanzibar and I'm enjoying the opportunity I have to just chill out. My friends and I - apparently known as the traveling crew - left Friday after our language tutorial for Jambiani. We've spent quite a few of our weekends in Bwejuu and figured it was time to venture out and try something new. Both Jambiani and Bwejuu are small beach towns on the east side of the island, but word was that they had completely different vibes. Bwejuu is pretty secluded, so we decided to head for Jambiani to enjoy a livelier weekend with the locals. <br />
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We arrived in Jambiani after a long and detoured daladala ride. For those of you picturing the daladala picture I posted back in January, here is a picture of what they look like in Zanzibar:<br />
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They are open-air and packed with at least as many people as you see in the first picture. Our daladala on Friday was also carrying bags of cement piled on top as high as the sticks you see in the second picture. We took several deep breaths (every time the roof above us sank a bit and the poles on the sides began to buckle), looked at Roger (our resident expert in all things) for reassurance that we would survive the trip, and began our 1 1/2 hour journey to Jambiani. After a few extra detours to deliver goods and pick up more people, we made it to Jambiani in what turned out to be almost 2 1/2 hours. Thank goodness for iPods. A local hotel owner took us down the beach to the area of bungalow hotels that were more in our price range and we settled in to our rooms for the weekend.<br />
<br />
Here's the great thing about our group: We usually just take things as they come and are willing to try anything once. Well, we tried Jambiani. And now I am waking up in my familiar room in Bwejuu, after a great night of playing cards and watching the meteor shower from the beach. Our friends here at Pakacha Bungalows sent a taxi to come get us in Jambiani and bring us "home." Ally took our dinner orders late afternoon and sent a runner to get Kingfish, crab, and octopus from the local fisherman for our dinner. We ate a feast! I had freshly-caught crab cooked in coconut curry sauce, with steamed rice, spiced vegetables, salad and home-made chips (ie: big french fries). I was stuffed. Life at our little island getaway is pretty good!<br />
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This week we have mid-terms at school. There will be a LOT of studying happening in the next 4 days. Classes have been going great and I'm really excited about all that I have learned. Some days it feels like I have so much more to learn or I am so far behind some of the other advanced speakers, but when I look back on what I knew when I arrived and compare it to what I know now it's pretty incredible. It really is amazing what I am learning even when I don't realize I'm learning! <br />
<br />
The next few weeks will be pretty busy with mid-terms, a few weekend trips, another trip or two up north to Arusha/Moshi and planning for the next phase of my fellowship. We also have two upcoming papers and presentations due for our Swahili classes. Everything is in full swing now. It's hard to believe that we only have 7 more weeks left in Zanzibar. I'm making some changes to the second half of my program here in Tanzania and I'll update you all on the new plans soon. Until then...Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-61104483088919007532011-10-13T13:36:00.001-05:002011-10-13T14:01:15.419-05:00Top 10 Best Moments in Zanzibar (so far) I realize creating this list now is a bit like Brittany Spears releasing her album Greatest Hits: My Prerogative (2004) after only 5 years and 4 pop albums. But I'm gonna go ahead and release the list anyway...mostly because my friends and I need some comic relief.<br />
<br />
So here it is:<br />
<br />
10. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Throwing up – with style - over the side of the dhow on the way back from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Prison</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Island.</st1:placetype></st1:place></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">9. </st1:placetype></st1:place></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Laughing until I was crying – or crying until I was laughing – with Ash over pili pili Indian food we couldn’t afford, while shoving a granola bar in my mouth as quickly as I could to stop the burn.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">8. </span>Stacey: “Rebekah, are you sitting on the termites?” Me: emotional breakdown<br />
7. Roger losing his wallet…can someone please send us a t-shirt to Zanzibar that says "Drama Queen"?!?<br />
6. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Scaling the wall with Rog and Ash on the beach in Page…thank God we had that snack break for Ashley first or we would have never made it over the wall</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">5. Sitting with Jenn, recalling our first days with the whole group (all 26 of us) in Stonetown. Me: "We must have looked like idiots, walking around this small town in a giant group like tourists." Jenn: "OMG! You could see our giant white blob on f*#%ing Google Maps!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">4. </span>Keavy: “Well, no. I mean, I think when it prints it comes out on edible paper.”<br />
3. Bonding over rummy with Rog and Ash: “Upthegrove?!”<br />
2. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">First weekend in Nungwi: Ashley passing out in the tire; Rog schmuckin’ out on dinner; Jenn giving us a look in the rear view (mirror); my (bad) advice to Ashley – “Just text him and say ‘Please stop calling me’”; Jenn’s text saying school was cancelled (Good lookin’ out, Jenn)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">1. </span>Taking a hot shower…oh wait, that hasn’t happened yet.<br />
<br />
Thanks, peeps, for a hella good first 6 weeks!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-69103151078169879172011-10-09T12:29:00.000-05:002011-10-09T12:29:56.522-05:00A Trip to Dar = A Trip to Disney (or so it felt)I think I said it last summer: "The first 30 days are the hardest." I don't know why I don't ever listen to myself - I mean, let's be honest, I expect everyone else to listen to me, right?! This past Wednesday marked my 30th day here in Zanzibar and life is finally falling into place. Don't misunderstand me. I am still "showering" with a bucket 80% of the time, the food leaves much to be desired, and every day brings a new obstacle; however, mentally I am stronger than I was before and it is much easier to deal with the daily curve balls. I've come to expect them. <br />
<br />
This evening I walked into town after sunset to sit in a cafe and work on my computer a bit. I needed a change of scenery. I knew I should have left a bit earlier, but getting out of the house is never easy. Mwalimu Mariam always insists on feeding me before I venture out. The cold fish and greens weren't calling my name, but I obliged, sat down for a banana, some rice and watermelon and was on my way (late, of course). Stonetown is an old city with windy narrow streets. Unfortunately, the main route around the edge of town is a straight shot that also happens to be a much longer walk and full of hecklers. There has also been an increase in petty crime in that area lately. Given that I had my laptop, I decided to try to navigate my way through town. Bad choice. I got lost, ended up on the main route on the edge of town anyway, tripped a kid to the ground who tried to rob me and arrived at my destination a bit hot and sticky. Such goes life here. This adventure was on the heels of my hair dryer blowing out my surge protector power strip and then my straight iron starting on fire when I plugged it into my converter. Two weeks ago this day probably would have sent me over the edge. Today, it was just another day in the life. <br />
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This past Thursday I went to Dar es Salaam (the biggest city on the mainland) to visit the U.S. Embassy and check out the UDSM campus where I will be attending classes last semester. Being at the Embassy was inspiring. I have to admit the lunch I was looking forward to at the cafeteria there was a bit of a letdown, but meeting the officers at the Embassy and hearing more about the work they are doing was inspiring. My trip to the UDSM campus was better. It is a beautiful campus and much bigger than I had anticipated. Overall, I just got a good vibe from the whole experience. Classes are starting February 20 - about a month later than I was expecting, but I think it will be fine. The best part of the weekend occurred after my campus visit. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but I went to a shopping mall!! And it had a Wal-Mart, a movie theater, a bookstore and a coffee shop. There was even a fast food restaurant! I know I'm supposed to be soaking up the local culture, taking in moment I spend here in Tanzania. But, to be honest, I needed a small break. My friend Junior actually said he has never seen me look happier than when I was walking out of Wal-Mart. I didn't even buy anything aside from a Kiswahili dictionary, but knowing that I have access to a few small conveniences from home once I move to Dar is definitely a comfort. You can check out the "mall" here (<a href="http://kitomai.blogspot.com/2010/12/mlimani-city-mall.html">http://kitomai.blogspot.com/2010/12/mlimani-city-mall.html</a>)- it's no Mayfair, but seeing as I never expected to see anything like that here it certainly felt like it! You'll notice in the pictures it even looks like they decorate for Christmas!<br />
<br />
The rest of my weekend was just as great. Spent some time with my pal Jenn (another student in my program) and some of my friends from Moshi who are in Dar for a couple of weeks. We stayed in a great hotel for $15/night, went out to the some local bars, ate local food and just got to leave Zanzibar life behind for a while. I returned yesterday and feel refocused on what my goals are here. Life is good.<br />
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Thanks to everyone for your notes, comments, emails and FB messages. You all helped make my first month bearable. I miss you all!Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-1130583846836304482011-09-29T06:10:00.001-05:002011-10-05T04:43:29.640-05:00Keeping busy...I'm sitting on my bed in the middle of the afternoon savoring a small piece of my Hershey's Symphony bar and wondering if it will really be 9 more months before I taste solid chocolate again. I figured I better stop lamenting over melted chocolate and catch up on my blog.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Where to begin? Some things haven't changed - or have changed and then changed back again. For example, within 24 hours of my last blog post I was informed we finally had running water; only to lose it again the next day. The day we lost water again also happened to be the day I returned from a beautiful trip to Prison Island just off the coast of Stonetown. We took a small dhow boat to the island, spent the day in the sun, ate lunch on the beach, got to pet the giant turtles...and then took the dhow back to town. I spent pretty much the entire trip back trying to keep down my lunch. Outcome = unsuccessful. For the next 3 days I was sick in bed. No food, very little water. I couldn't keep much of anything down. Being sick is bad enough, but being sick in a 3rd world country where clean bathrooms do not exist and laying on a cold bathroom floor is definitely NOT recommended is terrible. Almost all of us on this adventure have been sick in one way or another. We're all just hoping we are through the worst.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Aside from physical exhaustion, we are pretty much all mentally exhausted, too. This portion of my fellowship is a pilot program and, well let's just say, if we were keeping score there have been more losses than wins. Fortunately, while we all seem to lose our sanity from time to time, my friends and I have managed to try to find the humor in everything and we are surviving. Classes are inconsistent and often not as beneficial as we would like. Time is always a-wastin'. The food is hard to adjust to. Transportation is unreliable. Homestays are not always easy to deal with. And we seem to be lost more often than not. Just finding a place where we can all crowd around a laptop and watch a football game is a challenge. Personal space is a concept that is hardly understood and finding someone who will wash your underwear is pretty much unheard of.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Thankfully, last weekend I got to travel back up to Moshi to visit my friends up there. I can't clearly convey how great it was to be back - and it wasn't just because the weather is so much better there! I found myself taking time during the weekend just to enjoy the moment I was in. On Friday I stood in the kitchen just staring out the window to the backyard. In that moment of quiet I was reminded how much I do love Tanzania. I think I'm just still in the process of learning to love all of it! We didn't have running water in Moshi, our car broke down on the way from the airport in Arusha, and some other surprising problems came to light during my time there. Despite everything, I loved every minute of my time in Moshi. We went to the market, watched movies, played pool, went back to some of my old haunts, ate good food and slept in. Plus, Saturday night I got to make dinner. I taught Fatuma how to make the filling for chicken pot pie and then we dumped it over mashed potatoes. It was just what I needed - a little comfort food (with a bottle of riesling)!</div><div><br />
</div><div>I told myself from the very beginning not to forget that the first 30 days are always the hardest. Sometimes I still seem to forget. The good news is that I'm almost to the 30 day mark and I've survived...maybe only by a shoestring, but I've survived. It will only get better from here!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dhow boats we took to Prison Island</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turtles on Prison/Changuu Island</td></tr>
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</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618248278947063472.post-50405078472508164862011-09-17T12:50:00.000-05:002011-10-05T04:43:29.641-05:00Learning to Live with Gratitude, Not AttitudeI haven't written a blog post for a week - and for good reason. I wasn't sure how I would manage to write a post without complaining. Classes are hard. My schedule is packed full of requirements: language partners, field trips, 4 hours of class in the morning, grammar lessons in the evenings. Not to mention I no longer have running water which means bucket "showers", sweaty nights and cranky mornings. Having a toilet to pee in is a luxury that is never guaranteed. The food is sub-par. Upset stomachs are abundant. Getting lost is becoming the norm and timeliness is not a concept that is understood here. Even when we go away on the weekends to chill out and gather our wits we encounter one obstacle after another before we are able to finally find a place to unwind. <br />
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This weekend my friends and I went to Bwejuu, a small town on the east coast of Zanzibar for the weekend. Somehow, in the middle of paradise, it is easier to slip back into complaining about life in Stone Town rather than enjoy the beauty of where we are at. This morning when I awoke I found that I was already in a less than ideal mood. I had just woken up and I was already dreading returning back to life in the "projects" (the nickname we've given our humble little neighbor'hood'). On the one hour daladala ride back to town this afternoon, I put on my headphones, turned on my favorite playlist and took some time to just chill out. I've decide to commit to focusing on the things that I am thankful for here. I am living my dream. Receiving a Boren Fellowship is a huge honor - one that was given to me. Looking at the people around me, the villages we passed and the landscape I am privileged to see, gave me a little perspective.<br />
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I want to share with all of you some of the things that I am thankful for so far:<br />
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First and foremost, I have an amazing family and strong group of friends back home who I can always count on. You have supported me, encouraged me to follow my dreams, prayed for me and cheered me on. And you haven't forgotten about me now that I am halfway around the world. I don't know what I would do without you!<br />
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Second, only to my friends and family back home, are the new friends I have made here. To the gang I went to Nungwi with our first weekend in Zanzibar: Judging by our first weekend together, we have a pretty incredible 3 months ahead of us. We are so lucky to have plenty of crazy stories, DQ moments, good meals, cheap rooms, and even cheaper drinks to look forward to. Here's to Ashley learning how to brush her teeth, Jenn chatting up the locals, Keavy avoiding any future run-ins with sea urchins, Roger remembering to pay for his meals, Kate avoiding any future food poisoning, Rusty finishing his Thank You's, and Stacey finding a better role model than her new big sis'. Can't wait for the Full Moon Party, guys! Thanks for joining me in the insanity.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scaling a private wall in search of a place to crash in Page...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First afternoon out with the girls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sista from the 'hood</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keavy and Jenn - back from a run</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ67NSAH2fhAKPNhAV0PGueWa7M30WSbAhyphenhyphenIDiptPK5MG8SjzZz3WKSYL2RpEcBeMCtLjqsFmA6czQGoL6J2CPYARwtnUP3er8RZqbdQu7koyqRWJD80yX7eP6Ub0d64O9WAGrnDxSA6Q/s1600/52.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ67NSAH2fhAKPNhAV0PGueWa7M30WSbAhyphenhyphenIDiptPK5MG8SjzZz3WKSYL2RpEcBeMCtLjqsFmA6czQGoL6J2CPYARwtnUP3er8RZqbdQu7koyqRWJD80yX7eP6Ub0d64O9WAGrnDxSA6Q/s200/52.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching the gang how to play Hold 'Em</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenn getting a sea urchin removed with local "medicines"</td></tr>
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I have plenty more to be thankful for. Although living conditions are less than ideal, I have a house mom who loves having me. She cares about where I'm going and what I'm doing. My teacher at the university here is, in my opinion, the best teacher at SUZA and my class couldn't be better. I have a huge room with plenty of closet space to hold all of the little luxuries I was fortunate enough to bring from home: granola bars, Off Botanicals bug spray, plenty of summer outfits, a year's worth of Caudalie skin care products, magazines and candy bars from my girl (who just sent me a picture of herself with my Grandma!), photographs from home, beef jerky, room spray, extra laptop batteries, sound proof headphones, Starbucks Vias and 14 pair of shoes. I have my pillow pet to sleep with every night and a necklace I wear every day to keep my sis' close to me.<br />
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On top of all of that, I am living the life I had always hoped I could live. How amazing is that? I get to live in Tanzania for a year and build new friendships that I already know will last a lifetime. I have been given the chance to see parts of the world many will only ever dream about seeing. I have the opportunity to explore issues that I am most passionate about. I get to travel and better understand how people here live; to learn what their needs are and to hopefully discover what I can do to help. And at the end of it all, this fellowship provides me with priority hiring status and a leg up into the federal government.<br />
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I am humbled and blessed. I am reminded that life really is what you make of it. By choosing to focus on what I am grateful for, rather than what isn't quite what I expected, I already feel better. Thanks for listening...and if you're feeling the same way I was earlier today, give it a try. Make a list. We have been given so much more than we realize.Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00723403609602764745noreply@blogger.com0