Moja kwa Moja

Two days after I wrote my last blog I had my second day off. Melisa, a PCV in Konde (10km away) came with Justin and Ginger to the resort to go diving. We went out with the other two couples who remained as guests. I started my Advanced Open Water course, going down to 32m. We ate a tomato and cracked open eggs to prove visual distortion at that depth. We let feeder shrimp clean our mouths and swam through caves with schools of fish. We had some fun during our surface interval just relaxing on a beach. After being out all day I returned to Konde with the other Americans just to have some time away from the compound. I saw Melisa’s house, which used to be my friend Jack’s. I bought some voucher, watched Duck Dynasty and played with the girls.

When Ginger returned me to the compound our guard wasn’t there to let me in the gate. Weird. I snuck into the kitchen and took a plate up to my room to eat. I messed with the voucher on my phone and made some calls to America. While I was on the phone with my Mom I started hearing weird noises. I shut off the lights in my room to listen better and to hopefully see down to the dining area where the noise originated. Somewhere in this mess my door was jiggled, I hung up the phone, turned the lights on and then off again, realized the noise was gunshots and heard loud voices. My neighbor Nya, who was a marine biologist guest, came to our shared patio to ask what was going on. I let her into my room when we heard another gunshot go off. We quickly decided the best place to hide was in the bathroom because it provided the most concrete barriers between the outer walls and us. We sat shaking, holding hands wondering where her husband and the other guests were. Every time a shot went off I just imagined the worst. Since it had been my day off I felt guilty I didn’t know everyone’s whereabouts. We heard about 10-15 shots total, yells for help (that turned out to be our dive instructors running to the village for help), and watched three men rob the couple across the way at gunpoint. The whole ordeal lasted about 30 minutes, but we stayed in hiding for another half hour just to make sure the robbers had left.

We all congregated in the dining area: a PCV friend who had just COSed, me, four guests, our two dive instructors and the chef who had been walking home when the shots were first fired. The manager was missing. We eventually found him blood-soaked, with ten shotgun pellets imbedded in him and two lacerations in his ear. The events of the night are still unclear, but it seems the robbers entered by sea and went to the office. The manager heard the noise and locked his girlfriend in the office. The robbers were mad so they shot at him and dragged him up the hill to get the office keys. Before they arrived up the hill our two dive instructors had fled from their bunkhouses to try to get help from the village. One guest was on the patio by the ocean and never was sighted by the robbers; one was in my room; and two had gone to sleep for the night.  The robbers beat up the manager up top, but when he faked a faint they freaked out and assumed he was dead. They came back down the hill only to discover the couple who had gone to sleep were peeking out their door. They robbed them, then noticed Nya’s door had been left open when she came to my room. A gunshot went off in her room. They continued to the office and somehow got in. They never found the safe or much of value, but did kick the PCV in the head and steal her watch.

It took two hours for the police to arrive after being called. When they showed up there were about 15 of them being completely unproductive. They did find two shotgun shells and just noted the “disheveled” appearance of the rooms that had been ransacked. There had been a previous attack in December by Kenyan pirates who hit up about 20 other resorts. There is also a possibility this was an inside job because none of the staff had been paid for the month and there were other threats going on between staff members over personal issues. However, it is unlikely for villagers to own guns. I did find out it isn’t uncommon for police to rent out their guns for the night.

I stuck around the next day just to make sure the guests were fed. All activities were canceled because no one was in the proper state of mind. It was such a surreal experience. We were all half asleep, mortified, yet abnormally calm. I decided that I had better, safer things to be doing with my life. Although I feel guilty about leaving a job after only 18 days, I couldn’t justify risking my mental sanity just to have the experience of living on an island.

I headed to Dar for two days and finished up stuff with Peace Corps staff at the office. Then I flew to Mtwara and had a lovely two-day vacation all alone. As soon as I arrived in my familiar surroundings, my body finally let on to the fact that it was overwhelmed. I slept 14 hours each night I was at the beach house. I went diving with a different dive center. Next I went to Minh’s village and stayed with him a night. Then I went to Newala to buy my ticket to Dar and then hopped a piki to Deirdre’s village. The next day after coming to Newala for breakfast I took a piki to Kathryn’s old village. It was nice to stay true to my promise to visit my friends’ sites. I had so much fun being back in the real villages and seeing how well my friends have integrated. Newala grew up while I was gone and I didn’t feel like I belonged. I visited my school, coworkers, neighbors, market people, but things weren’t the same. I had been absent for eight long months. And what do you talk about? Yes, my health is fine…Yes, America is fine…Yes, my family is fine. How’s the village? Kama kawaida? I realized my life had moved on in America. A bunch of the new volunteers came into town and we had one last Dirty South Ed 2012 reunion with me and my boys. I took the new safi bus back to Dar and was treated to a free few hours at Econo and a small gifti from the owner. I was so touched. My taxi driver took me to the airport at 1am and asked when I would return. After I told him I was going moja kwa moja he left me with, “Weww ni vijana. Utarudi kutembelea. Una saa.” (You are a young adult. You will return to visit. You have time.)

I was in Tanzania for exactly one month, and have been home for exactly one month today. Tanzania will always be a part of who I am. I only felt threatened for one hour out of ten and a half months living there. I don’t think it was the robbery that made me want to leave. It was just the final straw. I don’t want to live overseas for the rest of my life. I love adventures, but I also like familiarity and security.  I realized I have to completely let go of Tanzania in order to move on with my life.

I got a job offer last week as a Counselor in Stockton, California. I’ll be mentoring and supervising teenage delinquents, fresh from juvenile hall who are now in a group home. Two-thirds of them are sex offenders and the others are emotionally disturbed. It will be a crazy yet rewarding learning experience. I’m also going to apply to be a one-on-one aide with autistic kids to change behaviors by using Applied Behavioral Analysis.

I just need structure in my life right now. I have had an easier time readjusting to America this time around. I finally visited a bunch of friends down South and visited Long Beach for the first time since graduating. I went to Las Vegas and am planning to visit another high school friend in Sacramento this weekend.

Although I’m happy for my fellow PCVs who are still in country safe and healthy, making a difference, I’m happy with my decision to return to America. Although the first time it was not my decision, I feel I made the right decision this time around. I’ve definitely experienced a lot in the past year and a half and it has made me the well-rounded person I am today.

 “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” –Anatole France