Our Trip to Arusha and Mr. Ringo

After a leisurely weekend of War and Peace and My Life, on Monday morning we hit the ground running. Literally: William needed help getting his 1950-something royal army issue land rover to the repair show, it starter motor out of whack. It took five young men pushing him along the road at a run and then a sudden turn down a third hill with a quick flip of the keys to get the engine humming.

For Sam, driving to town in that car felt like a moment out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Lacking passenger doors, we took sharp turns with one hand latched to a handle and another to a backpack. Arriving at the bus park in true style, we got into a vehicle headed for Arusha and started the 1.5 hour drive. A sign for Spices and Herbs, an Arusha Ethiopian restaurant, caught our eye on our way to our stop.

We compensated for a relaxed weekend with a jam-packed day of informational interviews. First was the famous Mr. Ringo, a Tanzanian development consultant. The last time Jake met with former Beatle, he came off as slightly distant and even discouraging - curious as to why Jake was in Tanzania in the first place. Maybe because he appreciated the return visit or the cash in tow, or maybe because Jake had misread him the first time, Mr. Ringo was much more enthused and seemed quite receptive to our plans.

Our discussion with Mr. Ringo focused on management strategies, who suggested ways in which we should carry out our focus group discussions, unify the women and men in the community, and improve our chances of success. For instance, he suggested bringing farmers participating in the loaning program to exposure visits at similar successful programs and described ways to create a sense of community ownership over the project. He also explained the importance of baseline surveys to assess the initial status of loan recipients in order to determine the success of our program.

Besides management suggestions, Mr. Ringo introduced us to a new and crucial contact: Heifer International. Just minutes after Mr. Ringo made the suggestion, we were sitting in the office of Heifer's Deputy Country Director discussing our plan. The country director was initially skeptical of our proposal during the time of ujamaa, or African socialism, Heifer International had attempted to help ujamaa villages raise livestock collectively by giving them animals raised on a central farm in southern Tanzania. The central farm failed because there was no clear division of duty.

He dove into the details of Heifer procedure, for instance the preparations and training that animal recipients receive before the cow is delivered. In Heifer, communities are organized into groups of 10-20. Half of these farmers receive training, plant fodder, build sheds, come up with a community coordination plan, and generally prepare to receive the cows. The cows and training are eventually passed on to the other half of the group.

From the country director, we were referred to another Heifer branch and Dr. Taxi, a veterinarian. The doctor described the nuts and bolts to us making the case for dairy cows versus dairy goats. Cows' gestation periods are longer and usually produce only one calf. Goats, on the other hand, can reproduce every five months and, if cared for well, have twins 60-70 percent of the time. Goats produce substantially less milk than cows, 2-3 litres per day compared with 10; however, in some markets goats' milk holds a higher value than cows' thanks to its medicinal properties (it's good for ulcers). Cows also require more hectares of land for feeding. We intend to discuss all these factors with the community to determine what species to invest in. The drastic price difference ($120-30 for goats and $600+ for cows) makes goats a more attractive option. Unfortunately, this might hinder our capacity to provide a meaningful choice to community members.

Until our meeting with the doctor, we were somewhat naive about the in-depth training required for animal husbandry. It turns out that we will have to devote substantial effort and funds to host training sessions, send farmers to a two-week livestock training institute, or come up with some combination of both educational methods. Our training plan will consist primarily of a training of trainers; those who receive the first round of training by means of our funding will be responsible for relaying information to their contemporaries in Shimbwe. We are considering integrating this training of trainers into our Grameen approach by assigning either the initial or ultimate loan in each group of five to trained trainers.

Feeding, housing and security, treatment, and breeding are the four critical issues that dictate the success of a livestock project, including milk production and longevity of animals involved. While we believe that families who are loaned animals will be responsible for feeding the livestock, milking it twice a day, and cleaning its faeces. However, the question remains: who is responsible at the central farm at Sia Primary School? We're hoping to have the government provide a vet to visit the animals once every two weeks or potentially have the local Shimbwe vet provide pro bono services and technical advice. Since our first meeting with Duma we have struggled with the question of whether to build a reinforced cement structure or to use a less durable wood frame. After yesterday's meetings, we are leaning heavily toward the latter option. Mr. Ringo suggested that poor community members might perceive an out-of-place cement structure as gaudy and serve as an inadvertent symbol of our projects' elite nature and inaccessibility. Furthermore, he said that committed thieves will find a way to penetrate a structure regardless of its material composition. This renders the question of saving costs by eliminating the need for a nightwatchman moot. Dr. Taxi of Heifer seconded Ringo's perspective, suggesting we use whatever materials are locally available.

After a long and extremely educational day, the memory of the Herbs and Spice advertisement lingered on our minds. We decided to treat ourselves to Ethiopian food - a delicacy anywhere in the world that gets better and better the closer you get to Ethiopia itself (notes from the motherland of Ethiopian fare pending our prospective visit). We didn't have to look at the menu for more than once before deciding to down the combo meat plate, a selection of ground and boned beefs, chicken, and lamb in a splendid smorgasbord of spicy red and yellow sauces. These delights were served in small dishes over a traditional flat and spongy sourdough. After guzzling two meat-loaded rolls of bread apiece, we dumped the remaining sauces onto the dough unfurled over the serving platter. These too we attacked with abandon stoked by weeks of involuntary vegetarianism.

Passed the closing hours of the Rwandan genocide tribunal, we promised to return another day and speed-walked towards the bus station to get out of Arusha before dusk. Walking along the sidewalk (a revolutionary innovation compared with Moshi), a man in a purple sweatsuit straight out of Tony Soprano's wardrobe ran towards us as we crossed a bridge. Rather than averting Sam, the athlete clenched his fists, drew his arms to his chest, and unloaded them into Sam's. With ninja-like speed and elephantesque strength, Sam caught the gentleman's double-strike with open palms and hurled him over the gleaming rail into the furiously foaming level-five rapid below. But with a ravishing flourish of Ghandi-like forgiveness and Chuck Norris-level athleticism, Sam hung one leg over the railing, caught his assailant by a bunch of purple sweatshirt over his chest, and deposited him safely on the other side of the bridge. Without acknowledging the incident, we walked onwards to the bus station avoiding salesman of safaris and illicit drugs alike.

Safely on board the bus, Jake and Sam waited for it to fill. Readers of Sam's Uganda blog may recall when a live chicken was placed directly under his legs for a three hour drive. Apparently, he can live countries but not conditions. Sam sighed when a teenager holding a clucking chicken sat adjacent to him. However, Sam was luckier than the gentleman seated left of the chicken, who spent a large part of the bus ride with a roll of chicken drool tacked to his overcoat.

Our Thanks and Gratitude

We would like to offer our thanks and gratitude to the following people for helping make this project happen:

Deb Boltas and Hanalyn Davies, Deborah Fried, Mr. and Mrs. Gelband, Paul Gelburd, James and Nancy Goldstein, Nancy Guarisco and Alan Orland, Ellen Kanatt and Fred Groen, The Hamill Family, Paul Hanson, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Amit Oren, Karin Render, Paullette Rosen and Michael Volmar, Janet and Seth Rosenberg, Nancy and Adam Rosenberg, Jeanne Steiner and Will Rosenblatt, Michelle Sugg, Ellen Schwartz, Defne Veral, and Mr. and Mrs. Workman.

Our main benefactor:
The Katherine Wasserman Davis Foundation

And of course, our parents.

Our First Visit to Shimbwe, and a Promotion

Jake:

For the first time on this present visit, Sam and I went to Shimbwe.

Checking whatever jet lag remained at the flaps of our mosquito nets, Sam and I sprang out of bed at 7 am and made our way to Duma's meeting spot at the YMCA at 730. Duma was hosting a blood pressure clinic for elderly Shimbwe residents. about twenty European, American, and Australian volunteers and guests of volunteers greeted us on arrival. Last year, Frida and I traveled to Shimbwe in dala dalas packed with native early-morning travelers. Now, on at least some days, volunteers are capable of filling a public van themselves. This speaks to the organization's sustained growth through increasing popular awareness. The rest of the day would confirm my predilection that our numbers were uncalled for. I don't mean to toot my own horn: aside from introducing Sam to community members and village leaders, who will play a key role in our project, I counted us among the expendable majority.

Outside the blood pressure clinic, which was held in a daycare center that Duma furnished, about ten local workers laid the cement foundation for a new health center the government is erecting in Shimbwe. Shoeless, they shoveled gravel and lugged dirt in buckets through a light but chilly rain. Almost The clinic itself was was a medical assembly line consisting of various stations through which patients passed on their way out the door. Canadian medical students took blood pressures, Sam and others measured BMI's, and a Tanzanian physician saw individual patients, made recommendations, and prescribed treatments. Fumbling aimlessly for a task, myself and some travelers who were visiting Duma agreed it might be best for us to leave. Confirming our suspicions, Lauren, the volunteer in charge of the clinic, discharged five of us to find some food. We climbed Shimbwe's central road until we arrived at a small bar. Corn and wheat flour patties called chapati where the only nourishment available. We ordered two rounds. Stale margarine leaked from the first stack. The next five still trapped heat, but I'm still waiting for my first chapati hot off the stove.

I also told Freddie and Clementi, two government leaders, that Sam and I had arrived ready to execute some of the plans I had discussed with them last summer. I did it in Swahili and like to think they were impressed my new Swahili prowess. Mostly, they just seemed excited to kick-start the project. Freddie also told us he thought it would be safe for us to live in the village, and that he would be willing to watch out for us should we choose to move there.

Until yesterday, our project was barely more than a well-informed concept. Now, the physical layout of the farm, the kinds of financial products it is going to offer, and the social machinery necessary to run the farm and deliver the loans are necessarily coming into view. I envision this as involving two weeks of intensive research on gestation periods, upkeep costs, and profit margins for the various species of farm animals under consideration. We hope community members will ultimately dictate the animals available on the farm. We will elicit their opinions through focus group discussions and village forums we plan to schedule over the next two weeks. By next Friday, we are responsible for submitting a report outlining the "ABCs" of the plan.

Sam:

Jake and I took the first of what will be many trips to Shimbwe, waking up at the crack of dawn though not earlier than our roommate, who has taken to drinking and snoring less.

Hopping into a dala dala packed with other mzungus, we began the journey up Mt. Kili. Dala dalas, like taxis in Uganda, are medium-sized vans that follow specific routes at which you disembark. Dala dalas are like taxis in Uganda but on crack. Whereas in Uganda, taxis were filled to the brim, they still followed strict occupancy limits, which police officers enforced stringently. The dala dalas, however, are more like clown cars in a Chinese circus. When we picked up two Tanzanians at the foot of Mt. Kili, the conductor (who collects fares) took to riding outside the dala dala. Besides Ugandan boda bodas (motorcycle taxis), dala dalas have to be the least safe method of transportation in existence. Oh yeah, our cargo included gallons of gasoline, just for kicks. These vans are literally moving firebombs.

The road up to Shimbwe is beautiful with corn, banana trees, and other flora lining the roads. As we went higher, a small divot by the side of the road was all that separated us from a deep valley. Riding up, volunteers waited anxiously to see whether we would make it beyond one stretch of road that becomes impassable during the rain, which it was. Duma volunteers recalled stories of walking up to Shimbwe on rainy days when the dala dalas couldn't make it beyond the initial ascent. We were happy to make it all the way to the top and even happier when the jugs of gasoline were removed from the trunk.

We set up shop in a day care center built by past volunteers. A rival day care, recently built and managed by Tanzanians, has left this one empty. Some volunteers were upset and felt that their hard work had gone to naught, but others optimistically saw the rival center as evidence of development and the kind of competition that gives rise to a robust capitalism. The residents of Shimbwe may have realized the demand in the market and figured they could do just as good a job themselves. I agree. The flaw with so many NGOs and development agencies is their false presumption that progress means providing more services. On the contrary, a good development agency should see success as a continuously diminished role.

Community members had their blood pressure measured by three Canadian medical students, who didn't look a day older than 13, and then had their height and weight taken so we could measure their BMI. Based on the numbers, community members were referred to an adjacent health specialist and doctor, if necessary. Duma was able to provide discounted medications, courtesy of a government program, to help community members lower their blood pressure. Apparently, Americans and Tanzanians both share a desire for a pill rather than preventative care.

Adjacent to the day care center, laborers were breaking ground for the construction of a new health care center. One of the workers was an albino, a sight not uncommon here. In Tanzania as in Uganda, albinos in rural areas are often in danger because their body parts prove valuable, macabre commodities for sale to witch doctors.

The rain meant that fewer people came and those who did more slowly. Jake and I, along with three volunteers from North Carolina, walked further up the road and dined on chapati, a tasty bread that I hadn't had since Uganda. Packing up, some of the volunteers started the long descent down the mountain with hopes that a dala dala would pick us up. We made it halfway down the mountain before one passed us and was too full to take us. By the time a second one came, we were close enough to home that it wasn't worth it. After the two hour hike ravaged our calves, Jake and I felt comfortable skipping the day's run and treated ourselves to a Tanzanian beer called Safari, which our roommate told us was a "gangster beer." Though delicious and cold, I still have fond memories of Nile Specials and their above average alcohol content.

Both of us:

After the beers, we retired to the chairs in front of our house for some easy reading. Jake continued War and Peace, and Sam, finishing Dead Aid (expect a review shortly), embarked on Bill Clinton's My Life. We were interrupted by a string five text messages sent to both of our phones. The message, from Duma head Francis, let us know we had been officially instated as Directors of Duma's Economic Department. We are to replace Lexi, a young Brit who is continuing her travels in Vietnam. Besides the resume builder, the position puts us in charge of another animal loaning project with distinctly different financing methods than our own. We accepted the position intending to dispense of our responsibility for the pig project using our new found powers of delegation. In addition, Francis requested a detailed report on the fundamentals of our project to be submitted to Duma's management team and for use in creating a memorandum of understanding with the Sia School staff. Using the diplomatic skills we perfected during our four years at Bates College, we got a one-week extension that will allow us to do much research.

Today, we were off. Voluntarily waking up at 8 a.m., we hit the 3.5 mile point in our pursuit of ten. Runners, please advise as to how to train. We have six months, unlimited ambition, and almost as much dedication to match. We've enjoyed a relaxing day and following our morning trek, have replenished our bodies with healthy portions of rndizi (bananas) and mshikaki (cow) roasted on a busy street corner. We have since taken refuge in what seems to be a whites-only coffee shop with western-style toilets (read: plastic seats intact) hedging against likely cases of indigestion. We will continue to run to work on our abs, but thus far the evidence shows that at least our intestines are cut from iron.

Sleepless Nights and Our First Meeting with Minjeni

Mount Kili

Aside from working on our project, we've been trying to get into shape, specifically morning runs while working around a robust dieting schedule involving three meals and two tea times daily. Having learned of Sam's skittish attitude towards fish, Frida has prepared a custom-made meal to cater to his "allergy" while cooking dagaa, Zanzibari sardines, for those more inclined t o Tanzanian flavors. Every morning, we eat uji for breakfast and attempt to leave for our run but have been thwarted twice by tea time, which arrives so promptly after breakfast that we barely have room left.

In search for a good run route, we were kicked off what seems to be a private, overgrown soccer field being mowed by hand before stumbling onto a more accepting field across the street from a university. Our run begins with a giant hill on route to the field and ends with multiple laps around the field. We've calculated the field to be a half mile -- the treacherous holes and cow manure compensate for any generosity in our estimation. Although our initial runs have been short, we've resolved to hit the 10 mile mark by the end of our 6 months. We'll let you know how we fare after tomorrow's three mile jaunt.

Besides full stomachs, our runs are hampered by snoring-induced insomnia. Our third roommate, Frida and William's son, although a wonderful character who means well, makes noises that resemble a hibernating bear riding a motorcycle. We often rush to bed soon after dinner in the vain hope that if we fall asleep first perhaps his snores will not disturb us. Alas. Jake, who has shared a room with him in the past, doesn't recall this being an issue, but it seems that the snorer has also taken up drinking heavily, often wandering into the room with glossed-over eyes. We have suspicions that he may be sleeping with a family friend helping Frida out during summer vacations. We don't fully fall asleep until he wakes up at 6:30 a.m.

After our own amicable confrontation, Frida offered him a stark choice: give up pombe (drinking) or sleep on the couch. He chose the couch, but an earthquake emanating from the living room assured us that he was near. Sleep is now a guilty pleasure, though one we're glad to embrace.

At the end of our first internet cafe visit, Jake was surprised to learn that an old friend from Loliondo, a remote village about 14 hours from Moshi by bus, had traveled east to greet him on arrival and had been waiting for several days for him to establish contact. Perplexed, Jake purchased his first mobile voucher and rang Elikana, a Masai chief, who agreed to meet him in Moshi the next morning. At breakfast, Elikana told Jake about an ongoing land dispute, and the two made plans to go on a safari together. Jake also met Elikana's second wife and their new baby and was happy to walk away from the rendezvous without having been asked for cash. Upon learning that Elikana is connected to an internationally-recognized NGO, Jake jumped at the opportunity to submit a job request for next year.

After breakfast, we went to a local mzungu (white people) place called the Coffee Shop. Sam chomped happily on a chicken sandwich while Jake, who had eaten with Elikana, journaled feverishly and attempt to knock off the rest of the Western canon with War and Peace, which Virgin Atlantic, upon seeing it in his carry-on bag, required him to check at the gate.

Eager for their first meeting with the Duma Group at 4 p.m., Jake and Sam wrote an outline for their impending presentation. The outline is as follows:

Introduction

- How we got here

- Backgrounds

- The Grant

Jake's Thesis Research

- NGOs as arbiters of imagined landscapes

- Political conflict in oppressed populations

- Intensification of conflict with impending introduction of resources

- Gender development objectives

- men

- women

Goals

- Sustainable animal farm managed by the local community

- Facilitate a micro-finance operation using livestock with the farm as a training source for loan recipients

- Educating kids on properly raising livestock

- Possible supplementation of school funds and/or providing employment to local community members

Structure

- While we have various thoughts on the approach to be taken, we want these to be driven mostly by community members with input from the NGO, village government, and the school

- Purchasing animals of community's choice

- A Grameen model approach to micro-finance using animals as capital

- Lending animals out to families with form of interest presumably being portion of offspring

- As the stock grows, the project will grow increasingly self-sustainable profitable, and accessible to the greater community

- One structural thought we had was a supervisory board made up of Representatives from the community, the school, Duma Group, and these appointments might be made on a rotating and/or democratic basis

The meeting was fantastic. Present were Francis, the head of the NGO, Frida, and 8 volunteers. We introduced our plan, stressing our Obama-esque philosophy toward project management involving pithy debate and deliberation amongst stakeholders. We emphasized that the buck stops not with us but with the people of Shimbwe. It was encouraging talking in a group filled with intelligent and articulate people who clearly had put a lot of thought into development practice. The Duma Group is currently starting a similar pig program (hereafter known as PP2.0) sans a central farm that will act as a bank for micro-credit, the idea is to give pigs to groups of women who will raise them and pass offspring onto additional groups of women. The group flirted with potentially merging the two projects, and we have a meeting tomorrow to consider the ways in which our own proposal might interface with the pre-existing PP2.0 in more detail.

Besides the credit aspect, the key difference between the two projects is that ours attempts to appease both men and women since women prefer development schemes that allow them to work from home. A past project (PP1.0) involving a community pig farm run by women in Shimbwe has engendered conflict: women accused their partners of skimping on responsibilities and once asserted their elected manager was skimming personal profit off the top of collective earnings. Nevermind that the project has lost money from the start, mostly due to internal bickering and missallocation of project resources. Two American tourists, sympathizing with Shimbwe's women, imposed PP1.0, however generously, from the top. We hope our project takes and will take more of a cue from the grassroots, allowing us to avoid the mortal obstacles faced by the women in the ill-fated and discouraging PP1.0. We think that Duma's Pig Project 2.0 is on the money with its decentralized approach. Just as importantly, the fact that it uses pigs, traditionally considered women's' properties on Kilimanjaro, helps to bolster women's' economic rights against men in the development process, which is a quality of the project that the women of Shimbwe are likely to appreciate.

In addition, the group discussed whether loans should be made to only members of the Duma group or all community members. While we were initially in favor of animals being loaned out to anyone in the community, other volunteers suggested that the initial loans be made to Duma members or that scholarships be awarded to high achieving students whose families are non-members. Other interesting suggestions (not to toot our own horn) were to have a certain percentage dedicated to Duma members and the remainder to the greater community or different methods of loaning to Duma members versus community members (e.g. in some self-help groups, loans are made to multiple members simultaneously, whereas in the Grameen method loans are made to an individual in a group and passed along to the next member without interest if the loan is repaid). We have a lot of details to work out.

One financial knot to untangle is how to measure interest when working with animals. Interest on cash loans is easily quantified. How many chicks, piglets, or calfs does it take to repay a loan of their mother? Cash might lose value but it doesn't get sick or die. What do you do if an animal dies be it the mother or offspring? Who is responsible for the inevitable veterinarian fees? Any suggestions from our readers would be deeply appreciated.

We truly aim to make this a participatory development project and are implementing lessons from People First. To Sam's Ugandan study abroad compatriots: jokes on you. (With all the love and kindness in the world).

Arriving in Tanzania

Early apologies for the delay in posting. After three days of flying (that felt like extended day to Jake or one polyphasic day for Sam) beginning in New York and ending in Nairobi, Kenya, we have arrived in Moshi, Tanzania.

We really lucked out with flights it seems. From Newark to Heathrow, we had the pleaure of a crying toddler throughout the entire flight who stood in contrast to her mute brother who was entirely well-behaved until projectile vomiting onto the floor during landing. From London to Nairobi, we only had to deal with a crying baby directly behind us, a nonfunctional entertainment system, and a bumpy ride with mechanical noises that no plane should make.

Arriving in Nairobi, although we were among the first to stand in the line ot have our visas stamped, we paid so much attention to the lovely British ladies in front of us that we managed to get our visas second to last. Jake publicly wondered why there wasn't a separate line just for Americans, and Sam didn't understand how Jake hadn't been shot yet. After waiting online for what seemed like ages, we proceeded downstairs to collect our baggage, which we were ecstatic to learn had not been stolen, ripped apart, or otherwise manhandled in what is one of the world's most reputedly sketchy airports.

We boarded the "short bus" and started the six hour ride to Moshi. Although construction obstructed our bus, we smelled development in the form of the scent of freshly paved cement that ran tantalizingly near and parallel to the dusty roads on which we travelled. Oh well, maybe on the way back. Nothing makes you appreciate America's niceties like miles upon miles of unpaved roads. Every time our bus glanced a thrilling stretch of tarmac, a roadlbock (usually used for construction) forced us back onto dusty detours. At one point, a woman laced a stretch of road adjacent to her property with jagged rock to keep traffic dust off her maize.

At the Namanga border crossing, we were accused of drug trafficking due to Jake's box of "medications." Fortunately, our drivers' sly words (and our white skin) saved us from Guantanamo. That Jake had neglected to write down important African phone numbers complicated our arrival in Moshi. Unable to contact our host family, your noble adventurers were left with two options: pass the time in town with all of our earthly possessions in tow waiting for an e-mail carrying much needed digits or risk a taxi ride to the Frida and William's house only to be stranded outside of the gate. After some cost benefit analysis, we opted for the latter. It appeared that we had chosen in err as our knocks, shouts, door bell rings, and traditional African car honks went unanswered. Luckily, William eventually came to the door.

After a pleasant dinner, extremely fatigued we retired to our mosquito nets at 9:30 p.m.

Following in the tradition of a Bates morning, we woke up at noon. Needless to say, our host family was pleased to see us alive. Breakfast had been left for us on the table, and Sam faced his first challenge back in Africa. The previous evening's meal was an easy enough rice and meat dish. But uji proved a far more ferocious animal. A purpleish grainy mush that shares its consistency with Bates' carrot ginger soup, or, for those who are unfamiliar, wet snot. Jake dined happily and entertained as Sam concentrated on taming his overpoweirng gag reflex. To those who wondered whether Sam could find something worse than Uganda's matooke, the answer is unequivocally yes. We are both fortunate that neither William nor Frida were present at the table for this sight.

But Frida kicked open Sam's closet door at lunch when, having served us a delightful portion of ujali (corn meal or pocho) and lentil like beans, she offered mtindi. To Jake, mtindi is like a milkshake, but Sam sees it for what it is: sour milk in yogurt form. Unlike the uji which Sam dutifully piled in regardless of pain, his eyes welled with tears and his Adam's apple threw a tantrum. Sam struggled to keep his food food in his mouth; Jake did likewise with his laughter. To those who consider Sam not up to the challenge, he wants it known that evening he ate sardines. Our host family has already gathered that Sam is not much of an eater. Inspired by Lindsay Lohan's truelife on Mtv, Frida and William have already talked to Jake about staging an intervention.

Every morning, we've created a To Do list, upon which the first job was to purchase a cell phone. For two days, we have been unsuccessful and Sunday promises the same fate. Mom, Dad -- we're okay.

Larium Dreams

So far a nightmare free Sam has been sleeping soundly. Far from scary, his dreams have been vivid and controllable. Dream shouts-out go to Maggie and Kyle, Sarah Dunn and Jessica Adelman. Thank you for making my nights amusing.

The Back of Jake's Packing List

Important African phone numbers

Allergy medicine

The bottom of his mosquito net (see picture)

An Educational Economic Stimulus Plan for Shimbwe

This is the challenge we have set for ourselves: to help build a development project that simultaneously maximizes our investment in the village in measurable social and economic terms and minimizes competition for the benefits of the grant by integrating our project within preexisting institutions capable of management and resource distribution. The idea is to create a productive balance of power between them. Our grant proposal, which lays out our basic plan, is posted below. Click on the pages to see them full-sized.

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