Yes I'm alive, quite well, and in case any were worried about/interested in my life, here's a hefty dosage of Tanzania for ya. For those who don't know (which is virtually everyone considering how unreliable the internet/power tends to be here) I was in Zanzibar all last week soaking up some sun and experiencing what it's like to party with some Muslims on holiday. This post, however, is not about my trip to Zanzibar at all...hopefully that will come later today/tonight, but in case not I'd rather you have something to read instead of nothing...again. What this is though, is the post I had intended on publishing before I left for Zanzibar early last Saturday (the 21st) morning but couldn't when the power went out Thursday afternoon and didn't come back until real late Friday night, rendering me completely helpless and unable to publish until now, especially considering that because my floppy disc wasn't working I had to save it to this computer's C-Drive in the computer lab....man I need a flash disc...or better yet, my freakin lap top. But yeah, anyway, I originally hoped that I could have left this for you all to read while I was chilling on the beach in Zanzibar but unfortunately I had no such luck. So instead, read this now and wait a bit (not long I hope...although I know I've said that before...) to hear about my adventures in Zanzibar. So until then, Post #1 starts here--------> Welcome to a week in the life of me, Tanzania Zach. Believe it or not I've settled into somewhat of a routine here in Dar es Salaam; which in one respect has rendered me void a sufficient sampling of intriguing African tales one in my position might like to present to his loved ones back home (and as such that you've gotten use to hearing/reading in my blog thus far), yet has also given me this opportunity to elaborate, if you will, on the 'routine' happenings of my day-to-day life. While surely these insights in many ways are not quite as provocitively interesting as other's before them have been (like close-ups with lions, two-day Usumbara Moutain excursions, deranged monkeys with gin bottles, and late night beachy fires), they are all in there own way amply exciting, unique, and special and are all an important part of my overall African experience. Furthermore, I should heed your advice in retracting any statement(s) I may have made in my last post that attempted to define them as anything less. Which reminds me...thank you a thousand times over for the 15 wonderful comments you guys left (and now, post-Zanzibar, 17...). I realize that at least 6 were from a combined 3 people and that 1 was published then erased (what a tease), but all things considered they really made my day(s) and I appreciate it. African love stuff to all. But anyway, back to my life. Next week takes me to Zanzibar (actually last week took me to Zanzibar...craziness to come) and with any luck I'll be in Tanzania's largest game reserve, Selous, on the first weekend in November (still a go as of now, but keep your fingers crossed)..... but for now we're gonna role with this stuff. So here it is in all its glory, an average African week retold as could only be experienced by me... Monday: I’ve always thought it absolutely imperative to start your week off right; the tempo, style, and overall groove of your entire week can be established (or ruined) in the first few hours of Monday, so it becomes increasingly important in my opinion for one to kick things off with a bang in order to ensure a solid, enjoyable, and smooth sailing 7 days. That’s not to say, however, that by any means I’ve always done this or am in any way a model example of well managed Mondays, but I should point out that I’m not sure there’s a better way to do it then by teaching a group of 8 year old Tanzanian school children about the complexities of our English language. Actually there’s probably a ton of things I can think of that would be slightly more exciting (like that car commercial where the guy parachutes off his front lawn perched on top of this mountain into the canyon below where his car is parked so he can then drive to work), but so far this method has seemed to work pretty well for me. (Sidenote: starting Monday Oct. 30, I will no longer have the luxury of starting my Mondays in this fashion. My seminar for PS232 is finally commencing…go figure, it’s now freakin week 8 of the semester…and I will instead have to sit through various seminar presentations at 8 in the morning for the rest of the semester…pole sana to me.) After stumbling out of bed (ironically enough on the ‘right side’ of my bed due to the fact that the left side is adjacent to the wall) around 8:30 I usually then proceed to dump a half gallon of water on my head (which acts as a shower when the water isn’t running….which is a lot of the time), brush my teeth, put some clothes on (preferably the ones that smell the least like BO since laundry doesn’t happen all that often these days and really should considering how much I sweat…who would have thought that the tropic zone would be so hott?) and meander down to the duka for some breakfast which, conveniently enough, is right on the way to the primary school. I use to prefer an ndiziati (remember, an ndizi wrapped in chapati with a little sugar) and a samosa (a kind of miniature calzone only it’s fried and not baked…and it’s Indian not Italian…) , but I’m really trying to cut down on my carbs (I swear I’ve gained like 5-7 lbs. since I got here) so I instead opt for a couple machungwa (oranges) at shilingi hamsini (Tsh50) a piece and an ndizi (shilingi mia…Tsh100) sans chapati…sad day. It’s about a 15-20min. walk to school and my Monday morning class starts at 9:20am, so I usually eat my breakfast on the go. It’s always a random surprise as to what my Mwalimu, Philomena, will have me teach on Monday mornings, but with enough luck and a little b.s. I manage to piece a lesson together no prob…at least enough to occupy and entertain (mostly because my Swahili is bad and the students probably think I’m crazy) the kids for 40 min. This Monday we learned about how to use negatives in the future tense, and on Tuesday I prepared a special lesson about the body parts…complete with “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and mother f-in Toes”…word. Anywho, after class I make my way back up to the dorm and basically sit on my ass for about 2 hours. Occasionally I’ll decide to do something constructive with my time, but usually this portion of my Monday morning consists of stripping down to my boxers and laying sprawled out spread eagle on my bed so as to properly circulate air to my various smelly pits while listening to my i-pod (which on these occasions is more than likely Guster). My amazing dance class that meets on Thursday evenings has a boring and very random lecture period that meets on Mondays at noon. I’d be lying if I said I went every Monday, but then again when have I ever had a conscience…I go every Monday, take lots of notes, and learn tons about nothing. As for the rest of my Monday it’s always a mystery as to what I’ll do with my time. To be frank I have no other commitments or obligations whatsoever and usually don’t know what to do with myself. I’d spend time on the computer being productive and getting things done but since the city rations its power during the day on MWF there’s never any power until around 5:30. Often times I’ll persuade Sam to join me in a sporting round of frisbee toss, which most often leads to some basketball with the Chinese and an early dinner. Monday evenings have been excellent triple feature Film Festival days as of late, but due to the fact that it’s unfortunately over now I’ll need to instead come up with something else I can spend my time on. But yeah, Mondays are pretty chill. Tuesday: A rather early morning for me (yet late still in comparison to my roommate who gets up every morning at 5:30…freakin ridiculous) is again started with preparations for another morning of teaching at Mlimani. I usually try to be out of bed (key words ‘usually’ and ‘try’) by 7:15 in order to collect and arrange myself (in whatever ways necessary) before reporting to class by 8am. Depending on what Philomena has requested on Monday that I should prepare for the morning’s lesson, I give my lecture in much the same fashion as the day before…give or take a few songs and silly antics…and am amazed at how fast 40min. flies by. If there’s no work to be corrected I’m usually back at my room by 9:15, which leaves me about an hour and a half to do whatever before I leave again at 10:45 for my 11am boring history lecture. The professor is a nice enough guy who got his Masters from Iowa and the material is moderately interesting, but man do I love going to Luther where we’re privileged enough to not have to worry about having to sit through an insanely dry lecture given in a drab lecture hall that doesn’t have a projector and a shotty microphone and by a professor who never brings chalk despite numerous pleas from his 300+ student audience. Afterwards I break for lunch at Cafeteria 1 (wali na maharagwe, Tsh500…insanely cheap and surprisingly still tasty after all this time. It helps to change it up every once in awhile and throw in some roasty, but I often prefer to save the extra 300 shilingi for “Admin Lunch Day”…) and make my way across campus to Yombo 1 for Contemporary East African Politics (PS232). Fortunately the class has only 30 people in it, but it’s been pretty lame so far, the seminar is attempting to ruin my Monday mornings, and the professor, though really smart, is freakin weird and talks really quiet. As soon as class is over I usually decide to take advantage of how close the Hall 7 computer lab is (as in it’s right next door to Yombo) and being that I don’t have class again until Swahili at 5 and would rather not walk all the way back home end up instead working on internet stuffs for a few hours…and if I’m lucky, chatting it up like a pro with my skype buddies scattered across the globe. That is of course assuming the power is on and working like it’s suppose to be on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which in the often likely chance that it’s not I instead fall asleep somewhere for 3 hours…or do my Swahili homework that I have more than likely not done yet. Anywho, like I said, Swahili is at 5pm and because we only meet two times a week it lasts until 7. After which I have about an hour and 45min. before my Tuesday/Wednesday-biweekly Champions’ League date with Arne at Udasa (a moderately cool little outside restaurant with a big screen projector and the best chicken and fried ndizi in Tanzania for only Tsh2000…okay atmosphere, often times shitty service, good food, plenty of Fanta Passion, and excellent European soccer…hmmm). Sidenote: last night’s prime time coverage pitted Tanzanian favourite, Chelsea, against defending champs, Barcelona, in what was an exciting and virtually even keeled match that left Chelsea with yet another win and Barcelona wondering what the hell happened to their 15 game winning streak (again, this happened a long time ago and I apologize for the 'old news')-*..insert random thought...*-positive products of globalization in TZ that I like: British Premiere and Champions’ League soccer (thanks to South African ‘Sports Net’), Snickers, Fair Trade, health care, and the Internet. Others that are arguably counterproductive to “development” in the region and rather annoying: Celine Dion, SUV’s, 50 Cent, Coke and Pepsi, diesel fuel, and porn. But anywho, back to my life…. On off weeks with no Champions’ League coverage I would previously take in a couple Film Fest flicks in Mwenge, only now (like I said before) that it’s over I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do with myself… Wednesday: I promise this one won’t take as long as Tuesday did. Actually, there’s really only 4 significant things worth mentioning about Wednesdays. 1. no classes. 2. Wednesday is one of the three days a week that I visit Mzee Mbunju down-town for lessons in drum making (sidenote: I made/ruined an African marimba this last Wednesday-pole sana Mwalimu. man this shit can be tough) 3. Wednesday is also frisbee day-which means a chance to run around in the wind (it’s honestly always windy on Wednesdays) and heat with some missionaries for an hour and a half and pretend we know how to throw a piece of 175g plastic to each other up and down a dirt field. 4. Champions League/yoga/homework time…haha, yeah right. Thursday: By far my busiest and most “stressful” day-only, compared to what I’ve already described you’re probably wondering how my life could possibly get any more complicated and demanding than it already is. Thursdays start off around 8:30 or 9 or whenever the general dorm ruckus/my roommates’ inconsiderate morning clamour becomes too much to sleep through. I have my second two hours of Swahili from 10-12 followed by the previously alluded to “Admin Lunch Day”, which for those who don’t know is my weekly lunch date with Sam (who’s also in my Swahili class) at the pricier yet far tastier Café just outside the Administration building. Before my history seminar at 1pm I tend to make my way up to Mama Kaaya’s office to chat for a bit and check the International Student mail box that always has plenty of stuff for others but never for me (*cough*cough). Well, I mean besides the exhilarating Financial Aid letter I got from Luther the other day. After my scintillating seminar at 1 I have the luxury of sitting through another PS232 lecture at 2, and then am free to do whatever until dance at 5. Which, being that today is Thursday, consisted of me attempting to write a few emails and finish this blog post on the computer until the power went out and came back on three times in a span of 20min. and I decided to work by hand for awhile. Dance (at least the Thursday night portion) is by far my favorite class and it’s always really nice to get in a two-hour ass-shaking workout every week. We’re learning and will perform only one style/custom of traditional Tanzanian dance, but have already learned 4 “movements” and will learn at least a few more I think. Either way it’s pretty challenging and not to mention uber-tiring, but is also really rewarding and a quite a good time. After dance I often times make my way to the computer lab and, depending on the electricity situation and my motivation, get some stuff done until yoga at 10. I know that I have previously referred to our rooftop yoga as being “naked”, but unfortunately due to its growing popularity we (the governing body of Hall IV rooftop yoga) have decided it most wise of us to instead keep at least some of our clothes on so as to avoid deterring any interested parties and instead include all who wish to participate regardless of sex or clothing orientation. The yoga was originally started by four goofy, bored, and slightly immature Americans but has sense grown in both size, scope, and nationality so as to encompass a wider audience and facilitate a more profound purpose. Anywho, I need to move on to Friday because I’ll otherwise run the risk of being late for yoga. Friday: Friday is again a day of no classes yet full of drum makery. On Fridays I meet Mbunju around 11am, meaning that I need to leave chuo around 10 or shortly after so I’m not late. Fridays may or may not include breakfast (depending on how early I wake up or am woken up), but in roughly one hours time via two dala-dalas costing a total of 500 shilingi (that price also accounting for machungwa miwili-two oranges-if I’m in the mood) I can get from the bottom of the hill of my dorm to Mbunju’s workshop/office. After a day full of sucking at something that’s really hard but really fun I head home for dinner (unless I grab some food at my favorite hole in the wall place down-town-best damn beans and roasty I’ve ever had) and wander around campus in hopes of finding friends and something worth doing. Friday nights here aren’t really all they’re cracked up to in the States and it’s unfortunately often hard to find something un-lame and worthwhile to do that doesn’t end up costing lots of money. It’s times like these that I wish I were either in England with Kevin and Hilary taking in Nottingham’s seemingly entertaining and crazy club/pub scene, running around (most likely naked) in GJ with Nathan and Jamie, or playing an excellent board game/watching a quality movie with friends in Decorah...or, lest I forget to mention, possibly enjoying the quality, intellectually stimulating, and friendly atmosphere of our beloved Scoe’s. But yeah, no such luck for awhile but we’ll make due anyway. Late-night baboon chasing anyone? Speaking of late-night, I miss Wendy’...there’s definitely something to be said for greasy fries, 99cent frosties, and a Spicy Chicken sandwich at midnight. Saturday: Insert everything I just said about Friday here and you’ve got Saturday. Sunday: Think about what your Sundays consist of...insert Africa and minus homework and church and you’ve got what Sundays are like for me. Unless of course I decide to splurge a little and go to the beach, because in that case my Sundays are very different from yours and include a lot more palm trees, Fanta Passion, salt water, and skin Cancer then I’m sure you’re used to. But yeah, that pretty much sums up my “week in the life"...hopefully you’ve enjoyed my ramblings and find it at least somewhat interesting. I promise that for those of you who are bigger fans of tales/fables concerning epic Tanzanian adventure your appetites for the extreme will soon be whetted. Next week I’m throwing myself a little curve ball and have decided to spend it in Zanzibar. At some point next week Ramadan is suppose to end and I’ve heard that Zanzibar is definitely the place to be when all the Muslims (roughly 90% of the island) get to eat in daylight again...we’re talking serious island party. I say “at some point” because in reality no one actually knows when Ramadan is going to officially end. You’d think that a holiday (Eid-al-fitr, the end of Ramadan) whose date depends on the moon’s visability could be determined scientifically, but apparently it’s all up to some guy in Mecca to decide when the fasting is over and everyone can get there grove thing on again...and I mean that in more ways than one. Anywho, next week is Zanzibar week and with any luck I’ll have more craziness to throw your way in about a week. Until then, enjoy all that your respective lives have to offer and salama kabisa...time for some yoga. P.S. For those who thought they might at some point like to give me a call on my cell phone, don’t because for one skype is much cheaper (because it’s free!), two-you should send me a letter with the money instead, and three because my cell phone got stolen last week and when trying to reach me you’ll instead end up talking to the Tanzanian man who took it out of my pocket on the dala-dala and probably only speaks Swahili. Hakuna matata though, I didn’t like it that much anyway. Just get skype cause it’s cool and all the cool kids are doing it...just like speed, lot’s of fun, only much bigger pay-offs and less expensive. ok peace.

Well, it’s officially October and I officially have no idea what to talk about. I realize it’s been awhile….and quite a long while at that….since last I graced this blog with a new post, but to be honest I really haven’t had that much to talk about….I mean write about. Strange yes, especially when considering the plethora of crazy and strange adventures I’ve had since July 19, and even stranger when considering where I am and what I’m doing. Still, in comparison to what Kevin would call my previous ‘fables’, any attempted reconstruction of my Tanzanian activities as of late would seem rather boring. Furthermore, if anyone else has developed a keen interest in the blog ramblings of my fellow international study abroad-ers (that’s you, Kevin and John), you can understand how impossible it would be for me to top or even hope to contextually compare to these guys’ stories and respective European insights, much less compete and vie for our readers’ (that’s you) attention (too much blog, not enough time….although, I must say that Justin has been doing a rather stellar job….he must not have a life.) Actually, everything I’ve just said is bullshit. I mean, John and Kevin’s blogs are amazing (but there’s really no reason to feel like I in any way need to compete with their prose…however refreshingly good it may be and regardless of how jealous I become of their talents…by the way, good form gentlemen) and there really hasn’t been much that’s happened in my life these past two weeks that’s necessarily worth “writing home about,” but I suppose me living in a crazy place like Tanzania should enable me the ability to at least make something up without you knowing the difference. And in reality, considering how many randomly provocative thoughts I have whizzing around in my head right now I really shouldn’t have to make anything up, and should instead able my sore fingers (I’ll explain why my fingers are sore later) to conjure up something insightfully fresh and new for ya’ll, if only just slightly perceptively worth-while. Yet, for whatever reason, I just can’t seem to find the motivation...until now that is (check that, I found the motivation last Sunday but because of frequent power outages have been rendered unable to post until today, but whatever). It’s almost as if my brain has been running on information/provocative thought-overload, and instead of trying to release some of that “tension” I just don’t and instead let my mind continue to float…or maybe sink is a better word? Maybe it’s too immense or too complex to adequately “release” on paper and I should give myself a break; only problem is, is that everyone I think to talk to about it is a thousand miles away and one phone card (and lots of money) short of convenience. And not that there aren’t people here I can talk to and who can most definitely relate, but it’s just not the same kind of comfort and lacks a certain familiarity. Not to mention I’m a little behind in my LCCT work (what’s new). Here I go bitching again…point is, things are good, life is crazy, school is weird, I often feel stupid for how little I know about my country and at the same time really wish I knew more about this one, my mind is cluttered and for lack of a greater ability I have no idea how to either describe it or dispel it (but hakuna matata), and while my life really has not been all that “exciting” lately, I’ll do my best to hit on some of the finer points. Here it goes…and mind you without paragraph breaks despite my most recent request to include them from my favorite LUFDA captain ever (I love you sweety). Trust me, I’ve tried it already and for whatever reason the online template for my blog doesn’t allow it….or maybe I’m just too stupid. But whatever, deal with it. Anyway, about my life…concerning my passing reference to “sore fingers”: making African hand-drums is a bitch. A really fun bitch (what?), yet extremely tedious, hard, time consuming, and rather unfriendly to one’s hands (which is interesting considering how important a hand-drummers hands are to his art, but I’m really just convinced that Tanzanians are tougher than Americans…or maybe I’m just a wimp). Plus, wet goatskin smells horrible…imagine a mix between urine, my dog Hershey after a bath, and Frenchie. And how would I know all this you ask? Well, for starters I should explain why I’m learning how to make African hand-drums…aside from the fact that it’s really cool and I love hand-drums…which, in turn, should also key you into why I am “behind in my LCCT work.” So, on top of studying/taking courses at the University (hapa…that means here) for a semester, we (meaning the LCCT students…which for those of you who don’t know what that means it stands for Lutheran College Consortium to Tanzania…get with it folks) are required to submit either a research paper or a creative project and methodology paper on a topic/subject area of our choosing to the LCCT board in December and then give a presentation at St. Olaf for our “re-entry meeting” (lame) in Febuary, which all counts for a third of our total “program grade” that in the end earns us a total of 16 credits at our respective home institutions. Plus, we’re suppose to be “journaling” four times a week (yeah right) and are responsible for doing 30 reflective newspaper article responses…which I’ve done, let’s see, zero of…but that’s not the point. The point is, is that with a little help from my dance teacher and Thomas (oh Thomas, where would we be without you), I’ve contacted and developed a relationship with a charming little man by the name of Mzee James Mbunju who is the owner and artistic director of the Simba Performance Group stationed in down-town Dar. Mwalimu Mbunju has agreed to take me on for the remainder of the semester as his personal apprentice in the art of drum-making (and hopefully some drum performance too). On average I’ll be going down to his shop three times a week and am hoping that with a little creativity (and a little luck) I can pass this off as my “creative project”….I suppose now all I need to do is work my ass off and try to make a ton of drums as well as also figure out what to do for my methodology paper (that’s a big word, ‘methodology’… what does it mean?). I originally paid him 72,000/= to cover the cost of materials and what I thought was a little extra to compensate him for his time in teaching me this stuff, but I get the feeling that he wants more money for more materials and I’m afraid my budget may not allow it. If I could I’d pay him a ton more in order to show my appreciation for what he’s doing and buy tons of materials, but the reality is that I’m a poor college student with empty pockets and big aspirations…we’ll see how it all works out though. I know that we’ll at least be making one drum entirely from scratch together (and hopefully I’ll make one entirely from scratch by myself), so I imagine that that alone should count for something. I think it would be interesting to elaborate in my paper on the social and economic implications and taxations of making, playing, and performing drums and other percussive instruments as your main source of income, and examine how this trade and/or market has changed and evolved as a result of European colonization and imperialism. It’s amazing how hard this guy works and how much time he pours into his craft; I can’t imagine how he’s survived after all these years and am certain I’d be burnt out. There are so many other artisans in similar positions, only not as fortunate as Mbunju to own their own theater companies…but no need to elaborate on all that, I’m sure there will be plenty of time for that sort of mush and for now I really should move on. Aside from the joys and tribulations associated with making hand drums three times a week down-time, this opportunity has also given me an excellent chance to: a) associate and familiarize myself with this bustling yet highly impoverished coastal metropolis (with insane amounts of crazy Muslim influence); b) see first hand how unbelievably bad-ass my Mwalimu and his performance group really is; and c) experience the implausible perfection and sheer beauty that is Heritage Hotel’s 4500/= Indian lunch-buffet. The city itself is not all that big (in comparison to Chicago or New York, or even MSP for that matter), but is sufficiently complicated enough to thoroughly confuse at times even the most astutely spatially directional person like me. I’m getting better though and within a couple weeks I’m sure I’ll be just fine… but man can it be a nut house/rat race sometimes. If there’s nothing else to be said for big cities like Dar, I’d at least better mention all the crazy smells (some considerably less pleasant than others) that are constantly changing from one step to the next that one must become accustomed to when walking around. I first noticed this phenomenon when traveling around New York City for a couple weeks at the end of my senior year of High School. Dar is definitely no different when speaking in reference to the plethora of intriguingly sporadic smells big cities have to offer, only instead of pizza mixed with garbage and fuel exhaust (as is common in Chicago and New York) you experience samaki (which means fish) mixed with garbage, chipsi ma yai (which is french-fries sautéed, if you will, with eggs), cheap cologne, marijuana, car exhaust, and fesses….and let’s not forget the sounds of Dar: above the caustic and slightly overwhelming street vendor ruckus (trying to sell you mindless shit that you neither need or would ever want), you have a pleasant mix of car horns, what I like to call harbor madness, and the nearest Mosque’s call to prayer/three hour Islam-lecture being that it’s Ramadan right now. Another interesting thing about down-town Dar: privately employed “security guards” with sawed-off shot guns protecting the entrance to the classier/high quality joints….like jewelry stores, Chinese restaurants, and porn shops. Makes for quite the experience and man is it always one hell of a time. As for my Mwalimu being the world’s biggest bad-ass, there’s really no way I could hope to describe his company’s performance I had the pleasure of watching last Friday night, but let’s just say that an evening full of dancing, drumming, fluting, singing, acrobatics and fire-breathing like they provided is enough to make even a grown man wet himself and cry out of sheer disbelief and enjoyment. It was hard enough keeping track of what Mzee Mbunju was doing from one moment to the next (be it drumming, singing his lungs out, playing the flute like a mad man, or getting his groove thing on) much less trying to fathom all the other craziness happening on stage, but I must say that they put on one hell of a performance (to say the least) and I can’t tell you how honored I am to be his student. And for those interested in knowing more about cheap Indian buffet, just know that it’s the closet to heaven I’ll ever get…or should I say Mecca? As for the rest of my life…like I said, boring. Well not really, but it’s time that I actually get on with publishing this damn thing and if I don’t hurry and finish now I’ll be late for the 5:30 showing of the Swiss murder mystery about falling rocks and sex scandal going down at the “European Film Festival” in Mwenge (sidenote: the Finish Embassy has sponsored a three week long Film Festival highlighting some of Europe’s finest cinematography in the last few years. Admission is free, popcorn from Cafeteria 1 is 100/=, and I’m pretty sure I’d fail all my classes if the festival didn’t end next week….and Finland proves once again why they’re the coolest country in the world). sidenote mbili: I wrote that last part last night (it’s Friday now) just before the internet cut out, meaning that I’ve already seen the movie (along with a French film that reminded me of Megan and a horrible Polish flick), am very sorry to postpone yet again, and am now again headed back to Mwenge only this time in order to pick up a shirt I’m having made…pretty sure it’s gonna be the sweetest shirt I’ve ever owned. But yeah, toodles for now because it’s time for me to embark on my Friday journeys, which like I started to explain will take me to Mwenge, down-town for some present shopping (wouldn’t you like to know who for?) and Indian buffet (give me a break, it’s been over a week), and then onto more adventures in hand-drum making. With any luck you’ll hear from me much sooner than last time, but for now please enjoy the new post and salama kabisa. I love everyone…except those who have already seen the first episode of LOST: Season 3…I hate you and feel that I won’t be able to talk to you for at least a month. Kwaheri!