Too Much Food!

I need a break from food! I haven't stopped eating since Cathy picked me up--ugali, greens and chicken, BBQ beef and plantains, fried cassava and spicy salad, makade with coconut, tropical fruit platters, and simmered pork with ugali. And I've only been here a day and a half! Oh, and not to mention that all of this is accompanied by big bottles of local brew. I had to tell Cathy this morning that I couldn't keep up with this constant food fest, my digestive system needs a break!

Goodbye Lodz, Hello Cathy!

After a few days of a comfortable, clean bed, a daily hot shower (or even twice daily!, and hour upon hour of relaxing by the pool or on the beach, my little fantasy world came to an end. I said goodbye to Lodz and her colleagues this afternoon, and while I was sad to see a good friend leave, I am so thankful to her for sharing the past couple of days with me. It waqs just the touch of luxury I needed and the dose of English-speaking compainionship I longed for after weeks of village life. I need to be in Mombasa for July 4, so for the next few dyas I'll be staying with my friend Cathy. Already we have talks of endless foods I need to try, places I need to see, and people I need to meet. I have a feeling its going be be a busy couple of days!

A Whole New ME!

I am really proud of myself! Close to eight months, eight countries, and all by myself. I've been selfish, I've fallen in love, I've fallen out of love, I've accepted and embraced me for me, and for once, I really like my hair! :) I've learned the importance of balance--of working hard and enjoying the things in life that I love. It's okay to spend money on myself, to treat myself to nice things, and demand only the best. And finally, I've started to let go of the pressure I've always put on myself to be thin. Food and exercise have been a nagging obsession that I have struggled to abandon for years--my stomach isn't flat enough, my legs are too big--an persistently unhealthy obsession with body image that has stuck with me despite incessant attempts to abandon it. I never had the self control or true desire to starve myself, but thoughts of calories and exercise were always on my mind. And now finally, I am starting to let go. Who cares if my stomach isn't as firm as the girls in magazines or my legs aren't as thin as the next girls. I've been blessed with a healthy, functional body that allows me to do everything I love, why hasn't that been enough? I have more important things to think about than focusing unnecessary energy on my imperfections and striving for unrealistic, conformist ideals of beauty. I've finally let myself focus on the great things that make me, me. It's liberating, it's freeing, and it's one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.

Dar Es Salaam and the Kunduchi Beach Hotel

My alarm sounded at 4:45am, not that I was sleeping anyways. Knowing that I had to get up extremely early, I had crawled into bed by 8:30pm and had a relatively sleepless night. Excited and anxious for my upcoming travel to Dar Es Salaam, I spent most of the night tossing and turning in anticipation of the next day's journey. Normally such a night frustrates me, but last night I was just happy. So happy I guess that I didn't want to waste my time sleeping. After 4 weeks of living at the training camp, in a village, as part of a family, my body pulsed with the excitement and freedom of traveling again. Long bus rides. The quiet and luxury of retreating into my thoughts. Forging into new lands and unknown places. I couldn't wait! And so, when my alarm finally sounded, I popped out of bed, the wind whipping through the trees outside, the darkness of night surrounding me. After a warm cup of chai and under the glow of the moon, Patrick and Rehema walked with me across the school yard and through the village down to the main road, the wind a biting cold, reminiscent of an alpine winter. The bus was scheduled to arrive at 5:30am, but 5:30 came and went. We stood under the shelter of a bush, trying in vain to escape the wind blowing cold into our bones. At 6am, as the sun began to chase the moon from its throne, the welcomed glow of headlights raced towards us along the road. Buses, trucks, and dala dalas passed us by, honking as the approached, and slowing just slightly as the inquired at the muzungu standing on the side of the road before dawn. Wrapped in layers of clothing and fabric against the early morning cold, my hopes were raised and then smashed with each approaching beam of distant headlights, in a desperate bargaining with the bus gods to get me out of the wind. Finally after nearly an hour of enduring the lip chapping, ear aching cold, my bus arrived. Hugging my hosts goodbye, I climbed on board and squeezed my way through the overcrowded bus to my seat. Seated in a row of 3, I plopped down ungracefully next to a woman and young man. The woman was the epitome of large. Her mama African hips swelled onto all three seats, her bussom rested in her lap. The boy was pushed against the window and I wedged myself onto what remained of my seat. Only my right butt cheek fit, the rest of me hung off the side and into the aisle. I spent the next 12 hours trying to find a comfortable way to balance myself on half of a seat, my legs always in the way as people moved up and down the aisle of the bus. But after enduring a flat tire, a girl getting sick on my feet, eardrums pierced by the screaming blare of the radio, and a very sore butt, we arrived in Dar Es Salaam.

I was met by Cathy, the manager of a tour company here and colleague of a friend from Arusha. She drove me out to Kunduchi Beach Hotel and Resort where I met up with Lodz. Cathy is a young, ambitious, and worldly having lived in India for close to a year, and at just 25, is the managing director of a successful tour company. She's invited me to stay with her at her home, to show me her city, and to take me to Zanzibar! I think I'm going to have some fun here!

We pulled up to the resort and I was floored. The Tanzanian and Arabic grand architecture of the entry invited me into a world of a 5 star resort. The warm, tropical breeze flowed through the reception and the calm crashing of waves filled my senses. I love the beach. My reunion with Lodz plastered a smile on my face and a happiness that radiated from my heart. We hadn't seen each other since finishing grad school nearly 3 years ago, and finding each other in Tanzania was such a surprising coincidence. She is currently working in Haiti on an HIV/AIDS project through the University of Maryland, and is here in Dar Es Salaam for their annual training with their other country projects, including staff from Nigeria, Kenya, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Zambia. Lodz treated me to a buffet dinner and a few bottles of Kilimanjaro--fresh rolls, eggplant Parmesan, spaghetti, salad, and chocolate cake were just a few of the many different foods | piled high on my plate. What a night! There's nothing like a 5 star hotel, a great buffet, big bottles of beer, and a HOT shower to perk up your mood!

Meeting Neema and Faudhia

The Massong family, Patrick and Rehema, and their two children, Maria and Peter, have embodied the true spirit of African hospitality. I've spent two wonderful days in their home, just outside the town of Singida. Rehema has made sure that I am well fed (maybe a little too well fed!), well rested, and always happy. I spent much of today visiting the home of Neema and Faudhia. Both girls live on the outskirts of Singida in the most basic of homes imaginable. Mud bricks stacked less than 5 feet high form the walls and layered sticks sealed with mud and cow dung formed a roof. One room for sleeping, one room for cooking. And that's it. Only 2 small holes allow light into home's dark interior. The walls are caked in black soot from years of charcoal and wood fires used for cooking and heating the home. Neema's family has 7 children, Fauhdia's 6. Seeing their living condition, really truly seeing it and experiencing it, not just seeing it in a picture or reading about the poverty stricken lives of Africans, sparked deep seeded inspiration to do everything in my power to lift these families from the only reality they have ever known. Neema's father is a night watchman and is the sole provider for the family with an income of less than $50 per month. Fauhdia's family are farmers and live solely on the crops and cattle they produce. During my visit with each of the families, through Mr. Massong as my translator, I explained the Athletic Scholarship Program and what the future could hold for their daughters. I emphasized that through determination, hard work, and dedication that their daughters could achieve anything. The parents, with deep gratitude in their watery eyes, thanked me for bringing such blessings into their lives. Feeling the sincerity in the grasp of their hands and in their words, I too was moved to tears. Something so basic, but utterly life changing. I am more determined than ever to see this program succeed.

Congratulations Girls!

I am thrilled to report that the girls won every event they entered. Rehema took first place in the 400 and 800 meters, Faisila and Anastazia battled it out to the finish line to finish 1-2 in the 1500m, and Zaituni and Natalia ran a strong, fast 5,000m to take 1st and 2nd. Juma, the only boy on Team 100, also finished 1st in the men's 5000m race. The Manyara Region is a newly formed region in Tanzania and as such, has few athletes and even fewer decent track facilities. The competition was held at Babati Stadium, but a stadium isn't exactly what I'd call it. In the center of the town is a wide-open field which serves as the community center. Foot and vehicle traffic use it as a short cut through town, cattle and goats graze on the patches of grass, church functions take place here, and now, the field is home to the town's track. Using nothing more than a shovel, the track's perimeter has been dug out and individual lanes created. The dusty, soft dirt ground is scattered with tall patches of grass, littered with holes created by the long winter rains, and lots and lots of rocks. Not exactly the ideal place for a track meet. In fact, the track perimeter was so difficult to see, that a handful of athletes actually got lost, and took shortcuts while running around the nearly invisible track. But it worked. Many athletes ran barefoot, some girls ran in skirts, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

Manyara is located in the hills above the Rift Valley and has produced many of Tanzania's best long distance runners. I met more Olympians, marathon winners, and world record holders in my 2 days in Babati than I could count on 2 hands. Unfortunately, most elite athletes from Tanzania lack the knowledge or English skills to make the most of their talent after their professional running careers are over. The majority become low-level coaches, tour operators, or involved in local politics. Without English they are confined to the East African, Swahili speaking nations, and without knowledge of world events or current running standards, they again are limited to where they came from. It frustrated, saddened, and motivated me. There is so much talent in Tanzania that is being wasted. Being a world-class athlete brings a world of opportunities to these people, but they lack the know-how of how to make the most of it. The business of running has brought great prosperity and recognition to countries like Kenya and Ethiopia. With just a few elite Kenyan runners in the 1960's, they have managed to churn out hundreds, thousands of athletes who are notorious for their amazing long-distance capabilities. Just last year, a single training camp in Kenya (located less than 100 miles from Babati), sent 27 athletes to US universities on full athletic scholarships. And for Kenya, this is normal. But for Tanzanians, Zach is one of only a handful who have ever made it to a US university. It's not that they lack the talent or the smarts, they lack the connections and the knowledge of what is available to them. And so, this is the gap that I am determined to fill with the Team 100 Athletic Scholarship Program.

Every year, starting in 2013 I am going to help 2 Tanzanian students enroll in US universities on full-athletic scholarships. Under Zach's guidance and training, there's nothing standing in the way of making this a reality. We have already picked the first 2 girls for the program, Neema Raymond (the younger sister of Rehema Raymond who joined Team 100 2 years ago) and Faudhia Shabani. Both will complete primary school (8th grade equivalent) in September and assuming they pass the National Exam to enter secondary school, they'll move to the Team 100 training camp in October and start secondary school in January. I've personally guaranteed Zach that I will find funding for these girls in the form of a grant, donations, or from my own pocket, as I know this is the start of something much bigger than then $80 a month it will cost to train, feed, clothes, and education each of them.

This morning Rehema and I said goodbye to the others and headed for Singida. We were all supposed to be traveling to Singida together, but yesterday it was confirmed that the Nationals have been rescheduled for July 11 & 12. Rehema and I came to Singida in order for me to meet her sister, Neema and the rest of her family, as well as Faudhia and her family. I am staying at the home of Mr. Massong and his wife, also named Rehema, who run the primary school where close to half of Zach's athletes attended school. Mr. Massong has been the one to identify these talented young athletes for Zach, beginning with Zachia over 10 years ago--and today she's ranked 6th in the world in the 5000m. It's amazing what's sitting right here, an amazing opportunity that I'm hoping I can help to launch Tanzania on to the world running scene and to produce athletes that aren't only exceptional runners, but well-educated scholars and visionaries who will do great things for their country.

Arriving in Babati

Yesterday was a whirlwind of commotion as we prepared to leave for Babati. The girls ironed their clothes, scrubbed their shoes, and packed their bags so full I thought some had plans of not coming back! Dressed in their Sunday's best, the 8 of us said our goodbyes and walked the long 3km into town. The bus was scheduled to leave at 1pm, but of course African time dicates here, and we didn't roll out of the bus station until nearly 2:30pm. I passed the time reading a newspaper and buying tempting snacks that were being hawked through the open windows and door. Roasted peanuts, lollipops, biscuts, and assorted drinks are sold from deteriorating cardboard boxes perched perfectly ontop of the heads of young women and men. Sitting in the first seat behind the door and being a muzungu, the snack vendors couldn't resist me. At one point, I had 5 people all selling the same snacks, pushing their merchandise into my face, "Muzungu, muzungu!!" they yelled, as if I was deaf and standing 50 meters away. I buried my face behind the pages of the newspaper and tried not to be noticed.

Once we left the bus station, the chaso didn't end. Police checks, falling baggage, a young girl getting sick in my lap, and what seemed like a contest to see how many people could squeeze inside the bus and hang off the sides, were all just part of the 3 hour ride that never left chance for a dull moment. The uncomfort created by the chaos inside the bus was obliterated by the passing scenery. Tall yellow-green grasses stretched on for miles, the high clouds and late afternoon sun cast warm shadows on the deep green hills. Massai villagers cloaked in red, herded their goats and cattle, taking respite from the sun under the cool shade of an acacia tree. Kids chased eachother and rolled down the hills, smiling, waving, or simply staring at the white face zooming by in the bus.

We arrived in Babati tired and dusty. But thanks to Zach's many friends who live in Babati, we were warmly welcomed into the guesthouse and shown to our rooms. The place is basic, but clean and very comfortable. And, at just 3000 Tsh per night (about $2.50), there's no complaints. After cleaning up, we enjoyed a great fish, rice, and greens dinner, followed by chai. The chai had extra cloves and cardamon which reminded me of Christmas time. It was a great end to a long day.

Leaving for Regionals in Babati

We're leaving for Babati in a few hours and Zach just received a phone call from the Tanzanian Athletics Foundation informing him that each club is only allowed to bring 6 athletes to regionals. For bureaucratic reasons having to do with budgets and personnel, he was also given the news that the national competition scheduled for next weekend has a 50/50 chance of being rescheduled or cancelled all together. Frustrated, Zach had to give the news to the girls first thing this morning and had to choose which girls would be attending. So unfortunately, only the girls who will score points for the team are being allowed to travel today. The girls have been very understanding, but you can see the disappointment in their eyes.

I am still excited to see Zaituni, Natalia, Rehema, Faizila, Anastazia, and Juma run. Plus, my trip to Singida will also give me the opportunity to meet the 2 girls that have been tentatively chosen for the Athletic-Scholarship Program. They have both been highly recommended by their primary school teacher for not only their academics, but also for their running potential. This is the same school teacher, Mr. Massong, who helped Zach to identify some of his most promising athletes. I am thrilled that I will get to personally meet both girls and their families before the program begins. This will be the beginning of a long relationship with these girls, one that will hopefully see them graduating from US universities, running in international competitions, and most importantly, doing something great for their country.

Mexican Food, Team 100, and Donations

My days at the Team 100 training camp in Arusha are quickly winding down, and before I left, I wanted to do something special for the girls. So today, after much planning and a marathon trip to the produce market and Shop Rite, the only supermarket in town, I chopped, sauted, mashed and mixed my way to a Mexican feast. The girls were enormously helpful, cooking nearly 100 chapatis, otherwise known as the tortillas, while I made refried beans, Spanish rice, pico de gallo, and guacamole. Starting before 9am, we didn't sit down to eat until after 2pm, all 35 of us. The food was a huge hit and everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of trying to prepare and eat a taco. The whole taco concept was a little too foreign, so after just a tentative bite or two, most conceded to eat their chapati, rice, beans, and toppings mixed all together using their fingers as utensils. The girls appreciated getting to try some new foods and of course, I absolutely loved sharing a little piece of my home and culture with them.

We leave on Friday for Regionals in Babati (just south of Serengeti National Park) and head further south to Singida for Nationals. Unfortunately, we under estimated the cost that both competitions would incur and now have to make the difficult decision of who to leave behind. Transportation alone, due to gas prices that are now up to $9 a gallon here, is going to cost over $500! Thankfully the generous donations of my friends and family will help to lessen the burden that the Gwandu's will incur and without which, participation in either of the competitions would not be possible this year. I'm sad to have to leave 4 of the girls behind though, especially after they had gotten their hopes up about seeing their families.

A big THANK YOU to Irene Hatsu and Paula and Matt Dillon for the final contributions to Team 100. I have now exceeded my goal of raising $400!

Late Night Adventures

After dinner, feeling cold, tired, and in need of some alone time, I cozied myself into bed to immerse myself in my current novel, The House of Sand and Fog. Living in such close quarters with 13 girls there is little such thing as quiet or privacy. Reading is my way to get to that quiet, isolated place I need occasionally. Zaituni, who sleeps across from me, brought me a hot cup of tea to lessen the biting cold that was numbing my fingers and toes. Appreciative of the warmth to wrap my fingers around and of the heat that filled my chest, I lost myself in the world of foggy Half Moon Bay, the smells of the Pacific, and the contorted, complex lives of fictional characters. Soon, my eyes grew heavy and sleep was just a few relaxed breaths from lulling me into its warm embrace, but the tea too had begun to settle in my bladder. Against my better judgement, I ignored the slight pange of discomfort and let sleep take me.

I awoke in the dark of night, cursing myself for not going to the bathroom when I had the chance. I tried to ignore the sharp pain the constant pressure in my lower abdomen as I listened to the rain fall outside. Just ignore it, go back to sleep, I'm sure it will be day break soon, I tried to convice myself. But it was too much to take. I switched on my phone, the absurdly bright, neon blue light blinding me. 1:36am. It flashed, taunting me. Irritated, I satup knwning full well I'd have to make the long, wet journey through uneven, mud-slicked terrain to the toilet. I had no other choice. I removed my socks, searching blindly for my headlamp, and as soundlessly as possible, slipped my feet into flip flops 3 sizes too small. Keeping my headlamp turned off so as not to further rouse the 7 girls sleeping around me I bumped and bruised my way towards the door. All the while, Zach's voice rolling through my head, reminding me of the bandits who roam the streets and villages at night looking for unsuspecting homes to break into. Just 2 nights ago, a house not more than 50 meters up the road was attacked by 30 masked men demanding radios, cell phones, and money. The last girl to bed each night locks the door from the inside with a key, and places the key on the bookshelf in the bedroom. But as if my hesitation to go outside had made the decision for me, the door of course was locked, and the key was not where it was supposed to be. I couldn't find the key anywhere. Shit. There was no way I could hold my bladder for another 4 hours. Desperate in those last moments before release, when you begin to lose control of holding it any longer, I found a water pitcher and hastily filled it with just an inch of water to lessen the hollow announcement of pee hiting the bottom of a plastic container. The release was euphoric. I held the plastic jug in place, my thumb slipped over the lip, acting as a gauge on the jug's interior wall. The last thing I needed was for the container to overflow. The pee came and came and came. I started to worry that one of the girls would wake and come check on the noise in the front room, only to find me squatting over a water pitcher relieving myself. What a sight that would've been! To shake me from this image, I felt moisture on my thumb, and while I still wasn't finished, the rest could wait until the morning. I pulled up my pants and flipped on my headlamp only to find the jug that I had just peed in surrounded by a large puddle. Either I have bad aim or the container has a leak. Not wanting to risk further reprocusions of the ladder, I swiftly picked up the jug and placed it in an empty bucket nearby. I'd deal with the urine puddle in the morning. I crawled back into bed and sleep didn't come easily, the nervous excitement of what I'd just done still pulsing through me. As I lay there, the bunk above me began to stir, squeeking and creaking with movement. One of the girls climbed down and soon the familiar dribble of urine hitting water sounded. And when she finished, another girl, and then another. I guess they all pee in a bucket in the middle of the night. Silently I laughed at how silly it all seemed.

I made sure to be one of the first one's up in the morning, to clean up the mess I'd made, dispose of the evidence, and thoroughly wash the containers I'd soiled, containers by the way that are used for drinking water! After cleaning up, I headed back into the room, and sure enough just beyond the last bunk there was a designated pee bucket, filled 3/4 full with the collective liquid waste of 7 girls. If I had only known.

Donations Update

Thanks to my latest contributors, Jen Abrams and my family, I am now just $50 short of reaching my goal! We leave on Friday for Babati where the girls will run in regionals and then from there, we will travel directly to Singida where the Nationals will be held. The girls are training hard, excited, and so appreciative that people all the way in America actually care enough to donate money on their behalf! Thanks again.

Pictures from Kenya and Tanzania

Here's what I've been up to for the past 3 weeks!

The Future of Team 100 and Me

I feel like things are really starting to fall into place. Zach and I have created a plan for me, for him, and for the girls that we will all benefit from in the coming years. I have an opportunity to become a manager for these girls. As manager my role would basically be representing them at the international level, securing participation in races, and finding corporte sponsorship. It's a big job and one that will take a few years to fully develop, as many of the girls still have a good two years before they will be ready for international races. I have a lot to learn not only about the world of professional running, but also about business if this is going to be successful. But it's exciting and something that I am passionate about.

But first, I am working to establish the Team 100 Athletic Scholarship Program. Two girls each year, starting in January 209, will be selected by Zach on the basis of athletic and academic potential in their final year of primary school. The girls will live and train at the Team 100 training camp while simulateneously attending secondary school. The girls will be expected to maintain a minimum 3.0 grade point average during their secondary education and Zach will work with them to ensure that they meet NCAA Division I standards. As director of the program, I will develop relationships with coaches and athletic directors at top US universities to facilitate the offering of a full-athletic scholarship. Each of the girls training under Zach today, had they had the opportunity to attend secondary school, could attend any top NCAA Division I school of their choice. At just 16 and 17 years old, many have already broke college-level records. It's exciting to be at the forefront of an opportunity that has the potential to bring many great rewards to Tanzania.

Missing home and all its goodness!

Today is the first time I've really longed for home recently...specifically for a few of my favorite things:
- Sharing a pot of coffee with Michelle
- Going to the movies and devouring a large popcorn with plenty of butter and salt
- Super burritos from Taqueria Guadalajara in Davis
- Grocery shopping and lunches at the Food Co-Op
- BBQ Chicken Pizza from California Pizza Kitchen
- Drinking great California wines over dinner with my family
- Saturday mornings at the Davis Farmers Market
- Watching reality TV with Michelle over a bowl of her famous popcorn
- Fuji salads from Crepeville
- My mom's hot sausage grinders
- Jumping on the trampoline with Michael
- Danish pancakes and fikadela at Michelle's house
- Going to spin classes with Jen at 24 Hour Fitness
- Ginger Martini's with Paula and Bea in Walnut Creek
- Skateboarding around Sacramento with Bauer
- Tuna fish sandwiches and Cape Cod potato chips with my mom and sister
- Cycling on the American River Bike Trail
- Big diet cokes with crushed ice and a 3 Musketeers Bar/Sour Patch Kids from AM PM
- Driving my car
- Lazing around the house on Sunday mornings, reading the newspaper and listening to smooth jazz with my mom
- Running at McKinley Park
- Trader Joe's
- Coffee from Java City (medium roast with half n' half and 2 packets of Splenda)
- Baking chocolate chip cookies
- Frozen yogurt from Big Spoon (vanilla with fresh raspberries, walnuts, and mini chocolate chips!)
- Saturday morning garage sales
- Going to San Francisco just for sourdough clam chowder bowls on the pier and dinner at Nankings!
- Potato rosemary bread with Danish butter
- Snickerdoodles from Whole Foods
- Road trips up to Oregon to see my dad

I am so looking forward to going home! See you in September :)

Another Day at Church

Church was, once again, another interesting rendition of intense faith and absolute belief. The service was very similar to last week's-- ear-piercing ballads, simultaneous yelling of random prayers, and collapsing congregation members--with the insertion of an off-the-cuff speech by yours truly. The pastor called me forward during the morning announcements and asked me to say a few words to the congregation about the Team, my faith, this community, and the future of Tanzania. My mind went blank, frozen in fear and uncertainty. What am I supposed to say to this congregation of over 200 Swahili-speakers? I stood up there, staring out into the sea of dark faces, colorful head wraps, and squirming babies, and the words just started spilling from my lips. A man stood up and translated my words. I babbled on for a few minutes, talking about the importance of giving to others and the notion of interconnectedness and karma. I challenged each of the congregation members to be a part of Team 100 through loving guidance, imparting their wisdom, and through prayers. Throughout the few minutes I was up there, several times the congregation erupted in an explosion of "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!." I ended with asante sana and everyone started laughing. The translator even translated my final words, "Thank you very much!." After a few hours of songs, a sermon, a little dancing, and prayers for individuals that resulted in sobbing, wailing, and collapsing of church members, the pastor pointed to me, motioning me to come forward. I hesitated, looking around to make sure he didn't really mean me, but then "Muzungo, come here." Ok, that's me, I thought. Nervously I stepped forward in my schmorgishboard of funky backpacker clothing made even more appalling by the colorful, mismatched accessories the girls had given me that morning to wear. A bright pink and purple flowing hippy skirt, chaco sandals, a lime green shawl draped over one shoulder, and a scarf on my head. It was bad and I was self-conscious, made worse by the fact that the entire church was focused on me and what was about to happen. The pastor raised my hands, grabbed my head, and through clench teeth and with spit spraying my face, began to shout exotic words. His hands trembled and his grip tightened. His tone intensified. I stood motionless, terrified that I too would faint or start muttering in tongues just as the people before me had. Unsure of where to look, I kept my eyes down, too scared to look into the pastor's eyes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he slapped my forehead with a fierce "Asante Baba," (Thank you Father) and turned me back towards my seat. as i turned around, I discovered two women standing close behind me prepared to catch me if I fell. I later found out that the pastor was simply blessing me, asking the Lord to guide me, and through me, to bring great success and growth to Team 100. I'm glad next week will be the last marathon church service that I will attend here! Hopefully next week, my participation will be limited to sitting silently in my chair. :)

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

I want to extend many many thanks to Johnna Phillips, Toni Adams, Emily Perez, and Vibhu Athavaria for their generous donations to Team 100. From the donations of just 4 people, I am now more than half way to my goal of $400. Please help me ensure that each of the girls gets to attend Nationals this year! Thanks for your continued support.

Dona

Obama Fever

News of Barack Obama's nomination for the Democratic ticket has sparked widespread celebration across Africa. Fan clubs have popped up from Ethiopia to Nigeria, and diginitaries and heads of state are publicly announcing their support for the politician with Kenyan roots. Obama is treated with such esteem here that he is seen as a symbol of tolerance and hope for the future of Africa. People expect that Obama will solve many of the problems that have devestated the continent for decades--the fighting in the Horn of Africa (Somalia & Eritria), rising food and oil prices (1 gallon of gas in Tanzania is nearly $8!), and even, they hope he will bring about an end to the political corruption that is crippling the continent. A town in Uganda has named a street after the Senator, Obama Boulevard, and locally made t-shirts and bumper stickers are cropping up everywhere. In Niveria, txi's have been drapped in Obama paraphenalia and websites have been set up to rally support from Africans in Diaspora. Beyond the buzz, Obama has clearly touched something profound among Africans, something that is deeper than skin color or ethnicity. He has sparked a glimmer of hope for a generation of young people who have known nothing but violence, corruption, and hopelessness.

Living in Arusha is Paradise

Time is passing so quickly! Already, I've been in Arusha for 10 days and looking back I am amazed at how effortlessly I have slipped into life here--with no running water, no electricity, no proper toilets, and certainly none of the small luxuries I grew accustomed to in Mumbai--but here it doesn't seem to matter. People are happy, laughing, and living. I am happy too. Life here is simple, we live by the sun,and there's something very rejuvenating about that. Strip away all of the modern luxuries and you really get to know people. Despite the language barrier, its easy to find something to laugh about. There are no expectations, just simple acceptance for who you are. I am blessed to be living in one of the most beautiful, fertile, and green places on earth, not to mention among some of the most welcoming and gentle people I've ever encountered, and have to remind myself to relish in this reality before its gone. Even though there's no blending in here, and I'll always be a muzungoto the locals, I fit in perfectly here. It all feels so familiar and comfortable.

My First Day of Running

I went running with the girls for the first time today, and even though it was just a recovery run for them after a hard speed workout this morning, I was actually able to keep up with them for the entire 40 minutes! Granted, I don't think we were running faster than a 10 minute mile pace, but after 7 months of not running, I was pretty proud of myself. We ran on the roads that meander through the villages, past kids playing soccer, and streams with women washing clothes, up hills, and through herds of goats. Kids and adults shouted "Muzungo!" some even mockingly ran behind me for a good laugh. I don't think they see too many white people running around here.

When we got back home, I taught the girls some new stretches and introduced them to different ab exercises. They laughed and giggled their way through yoga-inspired stretches that had them mending in ways they never thought possible and groaned as they worked their abs in places they didn't know they had muscles. Ok, is that enough? "No, continue, continue!," echoed throughout the courtyard as I dug deeper and deeper in my memory, back to my days of gruelling track workouts, to come up with new things to teach them. The run and stretching felt great and even though I know I will be sore tomorrow, I'd love to make this a daily event...ok realistically, at least a 3 time a week event!

Let's Send Them to Nationals!

The girls of Team 100 are training hard in preparation for 2 big competitions in the coming weeks. On June 21-23, they'll be running in the Manyala Regional Championships and just a few days later, June 27-29, will be competing in the Tanzanian National Championships. The Nationals will take place in Singida, the hometown of 13 of the 14 girls on the team. The girls only get to see their families once each year due to the prohibitively high cost of traveling the 8 hours from Arusha to Singida. All of the girls are giddy with excitement at the prospectus of getting to see their families an additional time this year.

Competing in races is a crucial part of the girls development and in launching them into the word of professional, elite running. Unfortunately, due to costs, Zach has to limit the number of races that each girl gets to participate in. Because the Tanzanian Nationals are being held in the girls' hometown, I want to ensure that each of everyone of them has the means to attend the competition, to see their families, and to show their parents what talented athletes they are. Most of the girls parents have never seen their daughters run. I estimate that it is going to cost Zach close to $400 in bus fares, accomodations, and food for the 14 girls plus himself and Mama Gwandu to attend the competition. Many of you have asked how you can support me, an organization, or a cause over the course of my travels. I've decided that this is it. Please donate whatever small amount you can afford so that I can guarantee that each of the girls gets to attend the Nationals and see their families.

Click on the Donate Now button to help these girls as they work toward fulfillng their dreams.

Peanut Butter Brings Such Happiness!

Each morning the girls eat 4 pieces of plain white bread and a cup of sweet, black tea. Unhappy with the quality of this breakfast, especially for growing athletes, I've started purchasing bananas or oranges to add to their breakfast. This morning I set a jar of peanut butter on the table as the girls sat down, and they went absolutely crazy! It's like it was Christmas morning. They devoured nearly the entire jar, spreading the thick gooey peanut butter thickly onto their bread. They giggled, laughed, and laughed even harder as their tongues got stuck to the roofs of their mouths. The scene would have made a perfect Got Milk? commercial. The happiness that it brought them filled me with sheer joy. It's amazing what a simple thing like peanut butter can do. Plus, seeing them eat a more complete, well-rounded breakfast satisfied the health nut in me!

Sunday Morning Church

We arrived at church at 8:30am, and already the band was playing and the first few rows of seats were filled. I followed the lead of the girls and sat with them in one of the hundreds of plastic chairs that filled the concrete building. As the minutes went on, the band grew louder, the church filled to capacity and the energy intensified. By 9am, the band was hushed, and one of the senior members of the church began a prayer. Soon the entire congregation had their hands in the air, eyes closed tightly, and were muttering collectively individual prayers. The tone gradually increased until I was uncomfortably surrounded by hundreds of devout Baptists, swaying, hands shaking, heads nodding, yelling out to God, praying for salvation, praying for redemption, confessing their love for the Lord. The would continue for a long few minutes before the prayer leader slowly silenced the congregation, she spoke a few calming words, and again the intensity, the energy, and the prayers would start again, continuing for an uncomfortably long few minutes. After 4 or 5 repetitions of this cycle, the band was started up, and instantly the church as transformed from a place of devotion to a rock concert. People began dancing, singers belted out horrible karaoke renditions of Africanized songs of praise, and the smiles on peoples faces were infectious. A few of the girls I am working with joined a small group of women in the front of the church in traditional Tanzanian dances, people shook hands and welcomed each other, hips were shaking, and hands were clapping. It was the most fun I'd ever had at church. 30 minutes of dancing and ear-piercingly loud singing later, the and slowed and the pastor took his place at the podium. From here the typical church events ensued; testimonies from community members on acts of miracles, a sermon on the importance of loving God completely and the blessings this will bring, offerings to the church, and then when I thought it was over, things really started to get interesting.

By this time it was already 12:30pm, my stomach was grumbling and my ears were muffled from the 4 hours of onslaught that they endured sitting near speakers turned up about 100 decibels too high, and needless to say, I was anxious to leave. Through broken translations from the man sitting on my right, I was informed that the pastor has the power to heal through the holy spirit and to remove evil spirits that are tormenting congregation members. So the pastor had called forward anyone in the congregation who had a problem that they needed additional help and prayer to solve. Close to 100 people crammed to the front of the church. The simultaneous intense praying that I witnessed at the beginning of the service began again. The pastor too muttered and mumbled words into the microphone, asante baba, asante baba, thank you father, thank you father, were the only words I could make out as his head began to twitch seemingly uncontrollably, his eyes flickering and squeezed tight. And then, the words stopped, he moved into the crowd, and then he slapped a women on the forehead, and the another, an anger and aggression in his eyes. He clenched the head of a man, digging his fingers into his scalp. Women started convulsing, fainting, screaming, crying. People lay twitching, seizing on the floor, unconscious. The pastor moved through the crowd, praying for them, slapping foreheads, clenching scalps. The intensity in his eyes frightened me. I've seen this before in movies and read about it in books, but never before have I witnessed such a sight.

After the crowd had thinned, the pastor called on a few individuals, claiming the holy spirit had sent him messages for them. He advised one man to find a new home, another man to visit his ailing mother, and prayed with a woman to ensure that all the money that was stolen from her is returned. He picked each of these people from a crowd of hundreds, I wonder if his messages from the holy spirit were really right?

The pastor said his closing remarks, and all the while, laying just a few feet from me, a woman who had fainted continued to lay unconscious, sprawled uncomfortably on the cold cement floor. At the closing of the service, the band began to play again, startling the woman from her sleep. She sprung to her feet, confused, breast hanging out of the top of her shirt, she stumbled in circles, swinging her arms, a look of panic and fear in her eye. The pastor fought to calm her, muttering prayers, and slapped her forehead. With a single slap to the forehead, a light flashed in her eyes, and she was back. She smiled and began dancing, hugged the pastor, and was back to normal. It's like she was hypnotized, possessed and controlled by something else.