A fruit salad blog.

I made a list Wednesday of things to talk about, while traveling with Mary back from Moshi, her families town.

On the way home Mary bought some sugar cane. Yummy. As I was chomping, chewing and sucking on the sugar cane, it made me think that perhaps that form of sugar was stronger and made it faster into my system than perhaps sugar in chi or soda. In fact I was wondering if it was comparable to tobacco chew? It's got the same movements. . . . So I imagined it gave me instant sugar, instant rush. Ha that seems funny to me.

Also I noted how in my few short years of existence/travels I've been called many things --- and they all seem to mean the same thing. They have different origins but still the same meaning, the same setting, the same method of sharing the word and the same effect on me.

Gringa, 

        Nasara,

                  Mzungu.

On our way to pick up eggs Tuesday from the chicken farm (more on that later) we passed Maxi, he runs a local shack/shop on our road. As we passed he said something about a mzungu and I, in typical Sonya fashion, decided I should let him know that was not my name. So I pasted together the words to say in Kiswahili, "Hapana mzungu, jina la guni Sonya. Hapana mzungu." Then he wanted to know if I was a mama or a dada. Mama being a mom (duh) which then he would put my child's name next, for example my mom would be Mama Christopher, because of my older brother. Dada would be a nanny of sorts/house lady/baby sitter (duh :)). Being neither I told him rafiki, friend. 

Now when I pass he shouts out, "Rafiki!". Much better.

While traveling on the bus Wednesday I was given a glimpse of how it must have been for my grandma at baseball games. When I as younger we would all go together as a family and watch the Rangers play. All during the game we'd eat peanuts, drink soda (Dr. Pepper being the summer drink of choice in Texas) and cotton candy or other sweet things. Then at the end of the game my Grandma would start to pick up all the peanut shells and we would tell her, " No Grandma, just leave them. There are people who pick it up for us, it's their job." Even then we'd have to work to convince her to just leave them on the ground. The insight for me came on the bus with Mary. She took my trash out of my hand (I was saving it for a trash can) and she put it on the ground, under our feet. The same place we would put our trash at baseball games, and I had trouble doing that on that bus. Perhaps it's the "leave no trace" training that has been engraved in me over the last year. It's going to be picked up by a worker and it's better than throwing it out the window as they do in other countries. Knowing all that I still had trouble with the bus and my trash. Really though, is there a difference? I wish my grandma was around so I could ask her.

I made notes about these thoughts while on the bus and how I needed to write them down because I need to share the thoughts from my head. Especially here where English is spoken but culture is still different, jokes still hard to get. If you'd have been with me on that bus I would have leaned over and whispered them to you. You would have promptly laughed out loud and perhaps shared something back with me. I can't help it, I like people and I like to share with them, to make a connection. So consider yourself connected, now share back.