Mori: Mzungu Parade

This is the first of several entries about my trip to Mori, a little homestead on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Keep watching for more tales of Mori to come soon!

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Going to Mori, I knew that it was going to be a big thing for the small community to have so many guests. I didn't think about how much of a spectacle we would be. It started in Kiboroloni...not exactly a tourist destination. When eleven mzungu got off the bus in this small place there were many raised eyebrows. Since it is on the way to a Kilimanjaro base camp, they probably thought that we were just lost. Our ride to Mori was waiting for us though when we got off of the bus. I knew we were going in a Land Rover. I didn't know that the back was open and we were standing in the back along with the luggage holding on to the roll bars on the way up the hill. As we went along, more and more people piled in with us. By the time we got half way up the path there were about twenty people in the back. It was loads of fun, yet there were some huge bruises involved. Every time we hit a bump...and there were lots of them...I smashed my ribs or hips into the bars. Ouch! All along the way, small children came running out of driveways and down the street telling, "Mzungu, Mzungu! Good morning! Hello!" Then they would yell to their friends and siblings in the house something the equivalent of "Come see this strange thing!" It's not everyday that white people come in mass through the village standing in the back of a truck. It didn't help that our driver kept honking his horn - sometimes to get livestock out of the road and other times for attention.

Once we got to the house, there were a host of people waiting to see us. For the remainder of the evening, anytime I looked at the fence, I could see little sets of eyes peering in at us. I felt a little like Marco, my fish might if he had complex feelings. Our compound felt a bit like a fish bowl and we were being watched to see if we would do any tricks. It wasn’t a bad feeling, I just haven’t ever felt like I was so watched in a curious way before. Our host jokingly told us, “They (the community) think that we stand on our heads when we are home.” This of course was not a literal statement. It was meant as we are different and there is so few mzungu that come through that we are a bit of a curiosity. I am generally not a person who draws attention to herself. Having this much curiosity directed my way was a new experience. Being in the community and trying to talk with children who wanted to practice their English also was an adventure. We would make it through the Hellos and Good Mornings before they started giggling uncontrollably.

During the week, we ate the same food they did, washed our clothes and fetched water from the spring. Our host would report to us at night the things she heard during the day about us. Most things were casual statements of amazement. Our cooks apologize for making us their kinds of foods. They assumed that we wouldn’t eat it or like it. Most of what they cooked was good. There was one thing, mtindi, which is a little bit different. It is their version of yogurt. It tasted more like runny sour cream with chunks in it. I liked it but not with rice and ugali. It would have been better with tortilla chips. I think by the end of the week, the community around us realized that we were content to be there and participate in daily life. The kids were always amused by the sight of us moving around town on foot or in the back of the Land Rover.