Birthday Party Flashback.

South African vintage collection bottles consumed: too many to count
persons befriending the toilet post spirits imbibing: one
skinny dipping participants in the Indian Ocean: three
hospital bills for 3 malaria victims: very, very many monies
memories to last a lifetime: priceless

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Source: Kristen Pfau via

My heart Swells with Pride.

The city we now call home recently ranked 12th out of 25 on a quite impressive list.

This Forbes list ranked the top 25 most dirty cities in the world. Dar landed itself the #12 spot both because of its souring population growth, which adds undue stress to the city's sanitation programs and also due to the fact that solid waste from the city enters directly into the Msimbazi River, which contributes widely to the spread of infectious diseases among Dar residents. You can scope out our competition here.

This list was developed based on the Mercer Human Resource Consulting's 2007 Health and Sanitation Rankings as part of their 2007 Quality of Life Report. This Report ranked 215 cities worldwide according to the following parameters: levels of air pollution, waste management, water potability, hospital services, medical supplies, and the presence of infectious disease. 

All joking aside, the realities for residents of most of these cities can be very harsh, in places where "black plumes of smoke, acid rain and free-flowing sewage are part of everyday life." Also, such conditions are almost guaranteed to bear negative affects on the population's health and by extension life expectancy. Not so surprisingly, life expectancy here is extremely low. The UN reports that life expectancy for men is 55 years, for women 56 years, while USAID estimates life expectancy to be a bit lower at 48 years (due in part of the ravaging effects of HIV/AIDS and malaria). In either case, these statistics paint a dire picture, and anecdotally, I can attest to the fact that it is a rare sight to see elderly people around here. I can only imagine the horrendous conditions and associated consequences for the health of the residents of the cities unfortunate enough to rank ahead of Dar es Salaam on this list.

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References:

http://www.forbes.com/2008/02/26/pollution-baku-oil-biz-logistics-cx_tl_0226dirtycities.html

http://www.istafrica.com/general_information/student_guide/facts.htm

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/country_profiles/1072330.stm

http://www.usaid.gov/locations/sub-saharan_africa/countries/tanzania/index.html

Malaria Strikes.

Tropical paradise took its revenge on both Andrei and me over the past week. And it wasn't pretty.

Andrei fell victim first. After two feverish nights in bed (and mind you, not from newlywed extracurricular activities), he causally passed by the medical center on the way to work to get tested for malaria. When the results were returned with an astronomically high count of parasites in his blood cells he was casually informed he would not be making it into work that day, would be held for 24 hour observation (or beyond as the case proved to be), and an IV was swiftly inserted into the most convenient vein his body had to offer. I found him in one of the two admittance beds drowning in a sea of thick wool blankets. And there he remained for the next three days, sometimes more visible than others depending on his respective level of sweats. Somewhat on the mend or at least able-bodied enough to entertain visitors, we all shuddered when a dear friend stopped by to remind us that not everyone recovers from this disease. Right, thanks.

According to his parasite count, his case was much more severe than mine, according to whining and complaining, my case was definitely the more severe of the two. And just when I thought the puking and the nausea would never subside, that the pounding in my head would never stop, that my eyes would never uncross, that I would never be able to see without tunnel vision again, that I would never be able to arrest the seemingly unbreakable cycle of sweats and shivering and teeth chattering, I eased into a night filled with actual rest and awoke with a clear head, normal body temperature, and no dizzyness. Thank you pharmaceutical industries and tropical medicine doctors.

Thousands of dollars later in top of the line medical treatment, we have realized that good health is priceless. Well, almost.

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Photo Credit:

http://katearends.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/sleep_viasimplyseductive.png

Sweet Victory.

Andrei and I have finally outfitted our bed with a properly functioning mosquito net.

The bednet we purchased was delivered to Tanzania by Population Services International through the President’s Malaria Initiative. As in President Bush.

PMI is a huge five-year push by the U.S. Government to reduce the burden of malaria and help relieve poverty on the African continent. The goal of this $1.2 billion program is to reduce malaria-related deaths by 50 percent in 15 countries with a high burden of malaria by expanding coverage of four highly effective malaria prevention and treatment measures. One of these prevention measures includes the use of an insecticide-treated mosquito net.

The irony is not lost on us – we have purchased a mosquito net, in Tanzania, largely subsidized through our own US taxpayer monies.

Scientists claim that using a non-insecticide treated bednet is as “reckless” as not using a bednet at all. We can testify to this on a personal level, given several days delay in treating our bednet with insecticide. While a non-treated net provides a physical barrier between your sleeping space and malaria-carrying mosquitoes that come out between dusk and dawn, its comparative weakness stems from eventual tears in the net and inevitable openings in how the net aligns with your mattress or bed frame. By comparison, an insecticide-treated bednet works by poisoning and subsequently killing a mosquito upon landing on the net. Each morning, we now derive a devilish pleasure in counting the number of mosquito corpses that died upon impact whilst we slept peacefully throughout the night.

Mosquito Nets.

Arguably the most decorative facet of my hotel room in Moshi is the mosquito net tied into a neat bundle over my single bed frame home to a rather thin and unforgiving mattress. The first night here, following 36 hours of travel between 1 cab, three airplanes, 1 people mover, and 1 land cruiser, I crashed into bed succumbing to the functional rather than decorative use of the mosquito net mainly born out of a fear of unknown African creepy crawly things that may be lurking in the darkness.

My second night here following a distracted afternoon gazing at Mount Kilimanjaro, I crawled into bed with approximately 27 mosquito bites covering my ankles and wrists as evidence of my distracted, jet lagged state. Again I looked to the functional purpose of the mosquito netting, only to awoken moments later by the telltale, deafening buzz of a mosquito.

This brought on a range of emotions.

Confusion: Am I hearing this from inside or outside of the mosquito netting?
Fear: Is that bugger carrying malaria or not?
Relief: Sustained silence.
Doubt: Is he gone? Are they nocturnal?
Defeat: Buzz. BUZZ. Even louder than before.
Resignation: This will be a sleepless night.

Strange defeat.